The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)

by Paul Doherty

  ‘And?’

  ‘She gave that terrifying smile, not looking at me direct as I knelt before her, but at some point beyond me.’

  ‘Why do you think Pentju’s family were murdered?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the Stammerer gabbled. ‘My lord Mahu, you know how it is.’

  ‘No I don’t,’ I interrupted.

  ‘You deal with murderers?’ he whined.

  ‘Yes I do. But not ones who kill women and children.’

  ‘Nefertiti cursed Pentju and the baby Prince. She dismissed him as illegitimate.’

  ‘Illegitimate?’ Sobeck queried.

  ‘She meant he wasn’t of her blood line.’

  ‘And Yakoub?’ I asked. ‘Why was Nefertiti so cruel towards him?’

  ‘She was convinced he had come back for something, that he knew the truth about her husband. She suspected Pentju was involved in this with others of Yakoub’s blood. She mentioned a man called Djarka.’

  Sobeck glanced quickly at me. I gestured at him to keep quiet.

  ‘My lord, we did what she asked, her rage was formidable.’ He fell to his knees again. ‘Lord Mahu, I beg forgiveness. I know nothing else.’

  We left the cell.

  ‘Well?’ Sobeck asked. ‘What do you do now?’ He gestured back at the door. ‘Shall I have his throat cut?’

  ‘Take him back to the river,’ I snarled. ‘Where you put him is up to you!’

  I wanted to hide my own rage. I ran from the House of Chains, across the courtyards into the deepest part of the garden, sheltering under the shade of the date palm trees. At first I was so distracted I could not keep still. I reflected on what Khufu had said, and that priest’s strange death. Everything else I had learned was also sifted as I tried to impose some order on the chaos agitating my heart. I must have stayed there for at least two hours, alternating between bouts of depression and anger at being fooled. Sobeck discovered where I was.

  ‘I am taking the Stammerer back to Thebes,’ he announced. ‘I think I can use him before I have his throat cut.’ Sobeck stood tapping his foot.

  ‘You haven’t come about the Stammerer,’ I accused. ‘It’s the treasure, isn’t it? You are not taking it, Sobeck!’

  ‘I didn’t say I was. I just want my share. When you return to Thebes the treasure will come with you. I want your promise that I’ll have half.’

  ‘Agreed.’ I clasped his hand.

  ‘And what about Yakoub’s corpse?’

  ‘I’ll take it back to its tomb.’

  ‘What are you plotting?’ Sobeck demanded.

  ‘Sobeck, take your Stammerer and any of the treasure you can safely conceal; the rest leave to me.’

  He left. A servant came to tell me that one of Nebamun’s squadrons had brought in some desert wanderers with a girl they had kidnapped and tried to sell.

  ‘Fine them and whip them,’ I shouted.

  ‘The girl is Egyptian and highborn.’

  ‘She’ll have to wait. She’ll have to wait.’ I dismissed him, still restless and uneasy. I wanted to lash out. To distract myself I went to look at some acrobats training in a courtyard; one of the chamberlains had hired them for a feast he was planning. I watched their sweaty, oil-drenched bodies twist and turn, followed by the jugglers and the fire-eaters. I grew bored and began to mentally compose a poem about a hyaena, wounded and alone in the Red Lands: a ridiculous effort! I felt imprisoned by my obsession. Why not leave the court and my duties, I wondered, and take Lord Ay’s offer of a country mansion? I thought of the hyaena. You can lecture it, imprison it, but once free, it still hunts.

  I went back to the garden. Amedeta came looking for me, ostensibly carrying a message from Ankhesenamun. A servant directed her to where I sat under a tree, almost hidden by the long grass. She flounced up shredding a lotus flower, her lovely face framed by a perfumed wig with silver fillets. She was all perfume-drenched, her dark sloe eyes, ringed with green kohl paint, bright with passion, lips full and red, breasts thrusting against her thin linen robe, bangles and anklets clattering and jangling. I was aware of her high-heeled sandals, the soft gold flesh of her legs, the golden gorget round her throat and the cornelian pectoral displaying Nekhbet, the Vulture Goddess, glinting against her chest. I took her as she intended to be taken, had plotted to be taken, soft arms around my neck, thighs either side of mine, eyes closed, mouth open in cries of pleasure. I took her and took her again, my nails digging into her back, lips pressed against hers. Afterwards she rose, smiled at me, throwing the last of the lotus petals down on to my stomach, and left, hips swaying, singing softly under her breath.

  I stayed for a while then returned to the palace. I invited Djarka and Pentju to dinner out on the terrace. The darkness was lit by beautiful coloured oil lamps. The cooks served us a choice of dishes: strips of beef, aubergine salad, rice with broad beans and coriander, whilst the alabaster chalices were kept brimmed with the rarest wines. Djarka sang a song as a hymn of thanks. I dismissed the servants, explaining that I would serve my guests. For a while we ate in silence. Djarka and Pentju were watchful, now and again moving to wipe the perfumed sweat from their cheeks.

  ‘My lord,’ Djarka began, ‘why are we here?’

  ‘Because you are my friends.’

  ‘What is it you want to ask?’ Djarka was wary.

  ‘Why you murdered Khufu.’

  Djarka swallowed what he was eating. Pentju lifted his cup, gazing at me across the rim.

  ‘You did murder Khufu,’ I declared. ‘You were both involved.’

  ‘Impossible!’

  ‘Djarka.’ I leaned across the table and pressed a finger against his lips. ‘You are my friend, as dear to me as any son. Now don’t,’ I raised my voice, ‘sit at table with me and lie when confronted with the truth. The only comfort I can take,’ I added bitterly, ‘is that you lie and deceive me to keep some great secret hidden. You murdered Khufu. You went to that window and enticed him to remove the wooden grill. Perhaps you said you had messages from me, or you wanted to help. Khufu followed you into the garden. You shared a wine jug, but you made sure his contained some powder which sent him into a deep sleep.’

  ‘But I examined the corpse.’

  ‘Shut up, Pentju! When Khufu was drugged you took him back to his chamber, going back through the window. You already had the rope ready, and what you did is what I found. You removed the door bolts as if they had been wrenched off and pulled the door shut. A wooden wedge was placed under the bottom to make it seem locked and bolted. You also replaced the wooden window grille from inside. When the alarm was raised the door was forced. I noticed the scuff mark on the floor. To those breaking in, however, it looked as if the bolts had been snapped. They found Khufu hanging by his neck, a pool of urine beneath his feet, the stool knocked over. When I examined the window it looked as if the wooden frame hadn’t been removed. Djarka, you’ve worked with me often enough to know what I’d search for. It’s easy to strew dust on a sill as if nothing’s been disturbed. You also prepared the ground outside, making sure there was no trace of what had happened; a full jug of water from the window of Khufu’s chamber would also help disguise any marks on the grass. To all appearances Khufu, frightened out of his wits, had hanged himself. In truth, he was murdered by you, Djarka, on the advice of the Lord Pentju. He wanted Khufu silenced because of what he knew.’ I paused. ‘Do you remember that scrap of papyrus I found in his chamber? I showed it you, Pentju. It listed Akenhaten, Nefertiti and Pentju, followed by a reference to Hotep the Son of Ptah, one of the Memphis triad, associating him with Tutankhaten. I also recalled the other references Djoser and Meryre had made: how they wanted you, Pentju, to be a member of their circle. When the Lord Akenhaten left his city, he must have told you, Pentju, guardian of his son, about his departure. I was ill at the time, or still recovering from the plague. Those who assisted Akenhaten must have taken him out to the Red Lands to the members of a clan called Israar of the Apiru tribe. Are you of Israar, Djarka?’

&nb
sp; ‘Of course, my lord.’

  ‘Did you help the Divine One to leave the city?’

  ‘I knew it was about to happen. You were very ill at the time. I often brought Yakoub and his companions into the city. The night they were captured by Nefertiti’s guard, I was waiting here in the palace grounds. When they never appeared, I knew what had happened.’

  ‘Why were you waiting?’

  ‘They had a message for me which I was to give to the Lord Pentju.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘My lord, I don’t know. The prisoner you interrogated today, the one Lord Sobeck brought up to the quayside, I am sure he told you the reason why Yakoub and his companions failed to deliver it.’

  ‘What was Yakoub doing in the city?’ I insisted.

  ‘My lord, all I know is that he and his companions were to take something from the treasury and give it to me to hand on to Lord Pentju. I repeat, I don’t know what it was.’

  I glanced at the physician. ‘Do you, Pentju?’

  He shook his head and drank deeply from his wine cup.

  ‘Why,’ I asked him, ‘did Nefertiti murder your family?’

  ‘As an act of revenge.’

  ‘Or a warning,’ I added. ‘She really wanted to get her hands on you,’ I insisted. ‘And you know the reason why, Pentju? She had heard rumours, as had Meryre and others, that Akenhaten might not be Tutankhamun’s father, but that you were. You confided such a secret to Djarka but not to me, true?’ I paused. ‘Most of what I now say is a matter of logic. This scandal is something Khufu never confessed but only hinted at. Ptah is the third God of the Memphis trinity. Hotep is his son. On Khufu’s scrap of paper, you, Pentju, become Ptah; Tutankhamun is Hotep: in other words, father and son.’

  Pentju closed his eyes. ‘The truth, Mahu, is this. I loved my wife and children but I also fell in love with the Lady Khiya. Nefertiti, as you may recall, humiliated me at a banquet when I joked about her not producing a son. I plotted my revenge. I advised the Lady Khiya to take no more of the potions and powders sent by Nefertiti. I also gave her medicines to improve the fertility of her womb.’

  ‘Did you sleep with her?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I did. If the Divine One had discovered that, both I and the Lady Khiya would have suffered death and disgrace.’

  ‘But he never did. Is the Prince truly your son?’

  ‘Others would like to say so, but no: he is Akenhaten’s. Of course, when I stare at his face I sometimes like to think he is mine, yet I must not say that.’ Pentju shook his head. ‘Tutankhamun is of the imperial bloodline, True Pharaoh in nature and name. Nefertiti started those rumours. In time she would have tried to poison Akenhaten’s mind. Meryre and his fellow conspirators also found such stories useful.’

  ‘Of course.’ I breathed. ‘If they had been successful, they could have swept Tutankhamun aside as the illegitimate by-blow of some court physician; that’s why the dying Djoser referred to him as the true usurper.’

  ‘Khufu was the last of such conspirators.’ Djarka spoke up. ‘My lord, we trusted you but you promised Khufu life and limb. He was a snake in the grass. Whatever you promised, would the rest of the hyaenas keep faith? Wouldn’t Lord Ay’s spies have searched him out? Brought him back to Thebes for questioning?’

  I filled both their cups. ‘So,’ I stared into the night, ‘everything makes sense. Khufu’s death, the whisperings of Meryre and Nefertiti’s plot. She must have realised her husband wished to abdicate. If she’d managed to retain power, she would have staged a mock public funeral for him using Yakoub’s corpse and encouraged those stories about Tutankhamun being illegitimate.’

  ‘Do you think the Lord Ay knows?’ Djarka asked. ‘Nefertiti was his daughter.’

  ‘Lord Ay may know,’ I replied, ‘but it is not in his interest to publicise such scurrilous rumours.’ I held my hand up, fingers curled. ‘Tutankhamun is the clasp which holds everybody and everything together. What we have discussed here should go no further.’

  Djarka and Pentju glanced at each other and nodded in agreement.

  ‘Tell me,’ I sipped from my cup. ‘According to Khufu, Akenhaten, in one of his mad speeches, talked about the Watchers holding a secret. I don’t think he was referring to rumours regarding his son’s legitimacy. He didn’t know about them, and even if he suspected, he would have kept such a matter quiet: no man wishes to publicise that he has been cuckolded. So, what was he referring to?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Djarka retorted.

  ‘But you had conversations with Yakoub?’

  ‘Yakoub brought physicians and doctors to purge Akenhaten’s body and soul, to purify his flesh from the drugs of madness which had turned his head and blinded his heart. They talked to him about the true nature of the One, the Hidden God. They may well have talked about the future.’

  ‘And?’ I asked.

  ‘My people come from the western hills of Canaan. The Apiru are a tribe of herdsmen, of farmers and shepherds. Many years ago they wandered into Egypt; some, like Great Queen Tiye, became more Egyptian than the Egyptians, assuming high office, deserting their own beliefs. Queen Tiye paid service to the Fertility God Min, though in her case it was pretence. She returned to the old ways and taught them to her son Akenhaten.’

  ‘What is this teaching?’ I asked.

  ‘That there is only One God, an invisible being who creates all things and sees all things.’

  ‘There’s more?’ I insisted.

  ‘Yes, my lord, there’s more: stories that the Apiru, particularly my tribe of Israar, have been chosen by this Invisible God, whose name cannot be mentioned, to produce a great Messiah whose rule will stretch from the great river to the far islands, who will bring all kingdoms under his way …’

  ‘And Queen Tiye believed her son Akenhaten was this Messiah?’

  Djarka nodded. ‘Queen Tiye’s theories became known to the priests of Egypt. They also knew of prophecies about the Gods of Egypt being overthrown, of a Messiah coming, of a great nation being formed. Most of it is superstitious nonsense: that’s why,’ Djarka held his hands up, ‘on the one hand Tiye and Akenhaten pursued their vision, and on the other the priests of Egypt opposed it.’

  ‘Akenhaten truly thought he was the Messiah,’ Pentju commented. ‘In his madness he really believed he would found a new city and a new empire, that all men would come under his sway. The dream died and Akenhaten became absorbed with wine and the juice of the poppy.’

  ‘And Yakoub?’ I asked.

  ‘Yakoub told the truth,’ Djarka replied. ‘Akenhaten was not the One but only a precursor. There would be other precursors, heralds, prophets. A nation would be formed out of Egypt, but he must withdraw to allow this to happen.’

  ‘How true is this story?’ I felt as if a cold breeze had tingled the sweat on my back. ‘Is it nonsense? The babble of priests?’

  ‘It’s dangerous nonsense,’ Djarka declared. ‘My lord, for twenty years Akenhaten turned everything on its head: the Gods, the temples, the rituals of death, life and the hereafter. He brought Egypt to its knees. Many in Thebes think the nightmare is over. Akenhaten has gone and this city will be allowed to die. However, if they suspected, the likes of Horemheb and Rameses and the other powerful ones of Thebes, that only the plant had been cut but the roots still survived …’

  I held my hand up for silence. ‘I follow what you say. First we have Akenhaten and his madness. He disappears, but Meryre picks up the standard and brings foreign troops into the Delta to threaten Egypt …’

  ‘So far,’ Djarka leaned across the table, ‘people think Akenhaten’s madness has died with Meryre. If they knew the full truth, they would lash out at my people.’ He spread his hands. ‘Now you understand why I’m so reluctant to speak, or to trust even you, Lord Mahu.’

  I felt a chill of danger, yet secretly marvelled at Lord Ay’s cunning. Horemheb and the rest had to be assured, comforted that Akenhaten’s vision had died, but if they began to suspect that those same ideas were sti
ll flourishing … Tutankhamun was Akenhaten’s son; Lord Ay and others of the Akhmin gang were of Apiru descent.

  ‘There could be a blood bath.’ Djarka broke my reverie. ‘Horemheb and Rameses would demand that anyone of Apiru blood be removed from high office either in the council or in the temples. The Apiru, like the Hyksos of old, would be declared to be the enemy within, to be ruthlessly crushed or driven beyond Egypt’s frontier. My people would pay a heavy price, as would those who have any ties with us.’

  ‘Tell me more about these rumours,’ I urged. ‘About the Messiah.’

  ‘What I say,’ Djarka replied, ‘is the chatter round our camp fires, but they talk of an albino, a man with hair and skin as white as snow, of strange eyes. He will lead our people out of Egypt into a Promised Land.’

  ‘What Promised Land?’ I asked, though I suspected the answer.

  ‘Canaan, a land flowing with milk and honey. Can’t you see, my lord Mahu, the new dangers? If Horemheb and Rameses, and those who support them, suspected what we are discussing now, they would regard it as treason! Stories about how a tribe Egypt has housed and sheltered would one day bring chaos to the Gods of Egypt before marching across its frontiers to occupy a land which Egypt regards as its own …’ Djarka shook his head. ‘They would offer only one solution: the total destruction of every single member of our tribe.’

  ‘How much do you know of this?’ I turned to Pentju.

  ‘Djarka has told me what he has told you,’ Pentju admitted ruefully. ‘But there is one difference, my lord Mahu. I believe what he says: one day the prophecy will be fulfilled. After all,’ he smiled bitterly, ‘Akenhaten did overturn the Gods of Egypt. What happened once can happen again.’

  I picked up my wine cup. How long, I wondered, would it take for Horemheb to reflect on what had happened? He and the other officers of the Imperial Army would regard the dreams of the Apiru as a serious threat to Egypt’s very existence. Egypt depended on Canaan for wood, wines and the rich produce of its river valleys.