The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)

by Paul Doherty

  ‘What brings them on?’ I asked. ‘Will they pass?’

  Pentju edged closer. ‘As you say, Mahu, that’s for the future. What terrifies me is the likes of Horemheb discovering what you know and arguing that our Prince is not fit to govern the Kingdom of the Two Lands.’

  seshetat

  (Ancient Egyptian for ‘a true mystery’)

  Chapter 13

  My love, my lover,

  My heart is yearning,

  All my dreams sing of you,

  Your face like a ghost haunts my heart.

  Your perfume comes like an inviting cloud

  Taking me back …

  I remember this poem. I composed it that evening as I tried to quieten my heart. Pentju’s words had quickened my own agitation, my deep concerns for the future of the Prince. I felt soiled, dirty, polluted by the past, the way it would give no release and allow us to continue. In a way Akenhaten still ruled Egypt. He certainly ruled my heart. I thought as much when I bathed again in the Pool of Purity, then oiled and perfumed my body, putting on my chain of office and sparkling rings in preparation for the small banquet Nebamun’s cooks were preparing. I asked Djarka to play the double flute and, for a while, listened to Tutankhamun sing. He had a good, carrying voice and his singing always thrilled me. When he had finished, I let my soul go back into the past, to meet her, the Beautiful Woman. No, not Nefertiti the murderess during those last gloomy days in the City of the Aten, but the red-haired, blue-eyed young woman who had captivated my heart when I had first met her. I wrote those lines that night but, after a while, gave up to stare through the window, half listening to the sounds of the servants as they prepared the tables.

  Colonel Nebamun was most gracious. He allowed us to sit and eat, as I jokingly put it, ‘as a family household again’. Ankhesenamun simply glowered at me, but Tutankhamun clapped his hands and thought it was a splendid treat. We sat before the small tables, cushions piled around us. Alabaster cups, brimming with wine and beer, were served first to whet our appetites and appease our thirst. We began with dried and salted roe, grey mullet and small fishcakes. The main dish was roast goose, served in a spiced sauce in which we could dip the soft white bread fresh from the house bakeries. Djarka and Pentju were there. Khufu’s death soul hung like a shadow around us, though the conversation grew livelier when I announced that we were to return to the City of the Aten.

  Ankhesenamun was furious. ‘The City of the Dead,’ she snapped. ‘Everybody is leaving! Thebes is the place to be. How can we go to the markets? What about clothes and perfumes? No one goes to the place of the Aten.’

  Tutankhamun, however, was pleased at the news. Thebes had frightened him, with its busy streets and soaring temples. I explained patiently how it would be best if, for a while, the Royal Family stayed in the shadows.

  ‘Egypt is not at peace,’ Pentju confirmed. ‘The City of the Aten is much safer. Colonel Nebamun will be our guard, we shall be protected.’ He smiled at Tutankhamun. ‘Whilst its gardens are truly beautiful.’

  ‘Do you want to go there, Uncle Mahu?’ Tutankhamun chewed noisily on a piece of bread. ‘And what about Sobeck?’ The Prince had taken a great liking to my companion, who had regaled him with frightening tales of life in the slums and ghost stories about the Necropolis.

  ‘I think it’s best, Your Highness, if we do. You and the Princess Ankhesenamun will one day marry and then be crowned Pharaoh and Queen of Egypt.’

  ‘I am going to ride in the state chariot,’ Tutankhamun declared. ‘Uncle Mahu, you will be my charioteer. I shall wage war on the vile Asiatics and the Kushites; they shall tremble before my name.’

  We all began to tease him; I let the conversation drift for a while.

  ‘There’s something you want to say, isn’t there, Uncle Mahu?’ Ankhesenamun asked spitefully. She and Amedeta sat close together. They looked like twins, two beautiful spoiled women with an eye for mischief. Both of them had spent most of the meal flirting outrageously with Djarka. At first he had been dour, but as he had drunk more deeply, he had responded wittily to their barbed remarks.

  ‘Yes, Uncle Mahu.’ Djarka now joined in the teasing.

  I glanced warningly at them and nodded towards Tutankhamun, now rattling an ivory-handled knife against his alabaster cup.

  ‘Do you know who the Watchers are? Has anyone ever made reference to them?’

  Pentju shook his head. Djarka cracked a joke about Horemheb and Rameses. Ankhesenamun wondered aloud if I was referring to spies, so I let the matter drop.

  The next morning we slept late, and when I rose, I immediately became involved in the preparations for the return to the City of the Aten. Colonel Nebamun was pleased that he had received a commission, loudly declaring that he would rather be patrolling the Red Lands than confined to barracks.

  A week later we left Memphis. The other members of the Royal Circle came down to the quayside to make a solemn farewell, their shouts and good wishes carrying across the water. Horemheb and Rameses were eager to return to the Delta to reinforce law and order, whilst Nakhtimin, Maya and Huy were full of the preparations for their return to Thebes. I gathered from Nebamun that prisoners were still being tortured, but if fresh information was dragged from them, Ay kept it a secret.

  Our journey back to the City of the Aten was full of pomp, a colourful flotilla led by two great barges, The Glory of Amun and The Power of Ra, bedecked with standards and streamers, gilded prows and sterns dazzling in the sun. All around us clustered war barges full of soldiers with their armour, chariots and horses. For a short while a boatload of musicians, together with the temple choirs, made sweet music, their songs and hymns echoing across the water. After a while they left us and we continued our journey with as much speed as I could urge. Ay had made sure that Tutankhamun would want for nothing. Big-bellied barges full of provisions accompanied us, as well as a host of flunkeys and court retainers to serve in the Prince’s household. Some of these officials were from Thebes, others handpicked at Memphis. Djarka and I had already decided that once we reached the City of the Aten, we would interrogate them ourselves and try to discover which were the Lord Ay’s spies, not to mention those whom Horemheb, Rameses, Maya and Huy would also place with the Prince to watch and whisper and keep them informed about what was happening.

  ‘We’ll have more spies here than we do in the House of Secrets,’ I murmured to Djarka as we stood in the stern, staring at the flotilla of boats around us.

  ‘Each of the Great Ones,’ he agreed, ‘have nominated people, flunkeys or musicians, stable boys or kitchen cooks. How dangerous are they?’

  ‘To the life of the Prince,’ I replied, ‘no danger whatsoever. It’s in everyone’s interests that our young boy reaches maturity, becomes Pharaoh and begets an heir. It’s as simple as that. Tutankhamun will keep the peace in Egypt.’

  ‘And what about Meryre?’

  ‘You heard my lord Ay. He will be hunted down. That is,’ I smiled thinly, ‘if he isn’t dead already.’

  Indeed, the whereabouts of Meryre and the other members of the Aten cult still concerned me. Despite my diffident observations about him, Meryre was a Child of the Kap, a cunning, astute man who had come within a hair’s-breadth of bringing about a revolution in Egypt. A man full of his own ambition and vision of the way things should be, rather than what they were. But while the Royal Circle had been busy issuing proclamations and decrees against him, one serious problem had been virtually ignored. Canaan was still gripped by unrest, and every report we received pointed to the growing power of the Hittites. Nebamun had voiced this concern. Would the Hittites break out of their mountain fastness and sweep south, overrunning the Canaanite princelings, not stopping till they reached Sinai? What if, I wondered, Meryre and his followers fled to the Hittites for protection, or even tried to set up a government in exile? Or worse still, discovered the true whereabouts of Akenhaten? I decided to let matters rest, though they were lurking nightmares. All I could do was look after the Prince and
take whatever measures were necessary for his safety.

  Five days after leaving Memphis, our barges swung left towards the City of the Aten and its waiting quaysides. Go there now and it is nothing but a burning, desolate sea of sand, a warren of ruins in a vast amphitheatre ringed by limestone cliffs. However, on our return, the city dazzled in the sun, the fertile strip beside the Nile was still being cultivated and the quaysides were busy. The vineyards and gardens were flowering and the temples of pink and white limestone eye-catching in their beauty. It was a city of sun temples and pleasure parks, of well-laid-out paradises with fruit trees and orchards planted in the black soil of Canaan. Artificial lakes, stocked with golden fish, shimmered in the sun; the blue and white lotus buds floating on top exuded a powerful, cloying perfume. The great avenue was kept in good repair and lined with colonnaded walks, their pillars and columns of different colours. The City of the Aten still glowed like a jewel.

  The Royal Palace towered over all, an elegant building with its bricks of glazed blue faience, its lintels, doorways and entrances of dazzling white limestone surmounted by silver masts from which red, blue and green streamers fluttered in the breeze. Inside the palace lay splendid chambers with glazed tiled floors, walls decorated with vivid, eye-catching paintings. At first sight, it had all the splendour and majesty of the Malkata, except for one aspect which Djarka shrewdly commented on as we left the quayside and made our way up to the great central palace of the Aten. The city was quiet, lacking the frenetic clamour, the constant noise of Memphis or Thebes. The market squares had their booths and stalls, and yet the crowds did not surge there; it was more of a mausoleum than a great city of Egypt. Some of the population had stayed, especially the craftsmen and the merchants, because the City of the Aten was well placed on the Nile, halfway between Memphis and Thebes, an important trading post for those who made it their business to sell and buy along the river. Of course, Lord Ay had been busy, issuing orders and proclamations for the palaces, temples and other royal buildings to be prepared for our return. Yet in reality, the City of the Aten was no better than a summerhouse, a place of retreat for quiet and calm. No decrees, edicts or proclamations had been issued against it. The Royal Circle did not want to kill the city or destroy its buildings; simply leave it to its own devices. If it survived then it would be just another city; if it lingered and died, it would be quietly and quickly forgotten.

  We took up quarters at the heart of the palace, in rooms which looked over a central courtyard where the passageways and entrance could be easily guarded. The next few weeks were busy with the unloading of cabinets, beds, chairs and chests. Flowers had to be gathered for bouquets, the kitchen organised. Djarka and I interrogated all the servants, sifting out those who might be spies, though, of course, Ankhesenamun was the principal source of information for the Lord Ay. My mercenaries I trusted, men of the Medjay, Kushites and a few Libyans, braggarts, drinkers, but good fighting men. I paid them well and made sure they were comfortable in defensive rings around our quarters. They were under strict orders: people were only to be allowed to pass if they carried warrants or letters bearing my seal. Anyone else was to be treated as hostile. Colonel Nebamun’s chariot squadron arrived, organised on a rota basis; they set up permanent camp along the clifftops with regular forays out into the eastern desert, whilst General Nakhtimin’s guards supervised all river traffic.

  The news of the Prince’s return soon became well known. The city became an attraction for the merchants and traders eager to sell their goods and produce to the court. The weeks slipped into months as we settled down, establishing a harmonious if boring routine. I was determined on that. Naturally, I listened to the news from Thebes. If Ay and the rest had their spies in the City of the Aten, I still controlled a legion of whisperers and tale-tellers in Thebes organised by Sobeck, who was always eager to pass on the chatter and gossip of the city drinking-booths and eating-houses. Lord Ay was quick to move, establishing his power as First Minister in practice if not in name. Justice was ruthlessly and speedily dispensed. The usurper and all his companions were paraded in chains through Thebes for the mockery of the mob. Ay himself carried out public executions in the incense-filled courtyards of Karnak, crushing the skulls of his enemies and hanging his victims in chains from the Wall of Death. Huy and Maya were equally busy. New taxes were raised, the House of Silver replenished, granaries filled, whilst envoys were sent across Sinai and beyond the Third Cataract to inform our allies that the new power of Egypt was not to be taken lightly. Ay also kept his word about the dead. Slave gangs were moved into the Valley of the Kings, where caves were dug, tombs constructed, the Mansions of Eternity prepared for those whose corpses mouldered above the City of the Aten.

  Late in the season of Shemsu, the second year of Tutankhamun’s reign, Ay dispatched a letter asking that the tombs in the eastern cliffs of the City of the Aten be emptied and the coffins and sarcophagi be transported by night along the Nile to Thebes. I personally supervised this. I had made my preparations well. The tombs in the limestone cliffs above the City of the Aten, about thirty in all, were arranged in two patterns, some in the northern cliffs, others in the south, whilst Akenhaten had chosen a sepulchre in the centre of these mountains, in line with the rising sun. Of course, Ankhesenamun, and even Tutankhamun, wished to be present. The tombs themselves were ringed by high protective walls, entered by a double-barred gate, which was guarded by my mercenaries. Some of the tombs contained nothing, empty caverns with little more than wall paintings; others were full. I began the grisly task of bringing out the dead. The tombs were treasure troves, full of costly possessions and beautifully gilded coffins and caskets. My scribes made a precise inventory. Each item was tagged and carefully noted before being lifted on to a waiting cart and transported down to the quayside. I had commandeered certain warehouses where these relics could be stored till the barges arrived. It was an eerie experience to walk amongst the dead, to stand in a burial chamber, the oil lamps and torches flickering, the air thick and cloying with the smell of natron, perfume and the rich odours of the embalming oils.

  In some cases the task was easy. The coffins and caskets were all carefully prepared, but I also witnessed the devastating effects of the hideous plague which had swept through the City of the Aten. The embalmers had been too busy, their ranks depleted by the ravages of the pestilence. Bodies had been hastily prepared, often doused in baths of pure natron, which dried the flesh and turned the bones brittle, before being hastily lifted into makeshift chests and boxes and lodged in the burial chambers with little ceremony. Many of these had rotted and crumbled, the remains inside nothing more than a heap of bones and dust. I did my best, with the help of the priests and scribes, to observe the rites, to honour the dead, yet it was a thankless task. I did not believe in the afterlife. When a man dies, his soul dies with him. Standing in those gloomy chambers where dried-out corpses half protruded from arrow chests or wooden boxes, it was difficult to conceive of the Land of the Blessed, of the fertile fields of Yalou where the green-skinned God Osiris ruled. We worked, our mouths and nostrils covered with strips of linen dipped in perfume. Occasionally we had to stop, to be free of the dust, to go out and catch the soothing air, or simply to sit in the sunlight so as to drive the shadows away.

  The news spread through the city. Crowds of sightseers surged up the cliff paths. There were few protests. The tombs had been the preserve of members of Akenhaten’s family and court, the coffins of the workers and traders being buried elsewhere. Every day the macabre work continued. After sunset, a sombre torch-lit procession escorted the creaking carts, pulled by lowing oxen, down from the clifftops. The treasures, of course, were carefully hidden under cloths and closely guarded. We began in the north and then moved to those in the south. Pentju was present when his family tomb was opened. He cried quietly as the coffins of his wife, children and kinsmen were taken out into the sunlight, the treasure buried with them stacked about. The coffins were sealed and secured. I would have lov
ed to have examined their contents, but that would have provoked a major confrontation. I hid my curiosity, putting more trust in the letter I had sent to Sobeck in Thebes.

  On my return to the City of the Aten, I had made careful examination about the chief embalmer Nefertiti had used, the one Khufu described as ‘the Stammerer’. At first no one knew of his whereabouts; a few claimed he had died. However, a well-to-do trader who did business with the fishing fleets sold me the information that the Stammerer, together with his wealth, had boarded a barge shortly after Queen Nefertiti’s death and secretly returned to Thebes. I decided to wait on developments.

  At last all the tombs were empty. I let matters rest for a while and then, accompanied by my mercenary captain, entered the courtyard which led to Akenhaten’s tomb, the royal burial place in the centre of the limestone cliffs. The courtyard in front of it was empty of all statues, the flower baskets had long rotted to nothing but dark dried masses in the corner. The workmen I had brought were most reluctant to start, but I paid a chapel priest to gabble a few solemn prayers. I informed the workmen that their task was blessed by the Gods and would be the source of great profit for themselves and their families. The wall leading into the entrance of the tomb was shattered, the plaster and brickwork beyond pulled away to reveal a long passageway. The tomb followed the pattern of others except that its tunnels and chambers were most majestic, a truly sombre underworld. The torchlight illuminated the paintings on the walls. The tomb had been planned as a place of glory, though its artwork had never been finished, due to the plague as well as the crisis caused by the rift between Akenhaten and Nefertiti. I walked into the royal burial chamber, which housed the coffins of Akenhaten’s five daughters and the blue and gold casket of his Queen, the Glorious Nefertiti. I stood for a while staring down at this, recalling how after her death the Lord Ay had given his daughter’s corpse over to the embalmers. The seventy-day funeral period had not been observed. Haste had been the order of the day. Nevertheless, she had been given a coffin worthy of a queen, though probably not the one she had intended.