The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)

by Paul Doherty

  He chattered on. Sobeck warned me with his eyes to keep silent.

  ‘Once my loins were fresh and fertile, my seed came pouring out. I used to sleep the four quarters of the night with slave women on either side.’

  Again I made to interrupt, but Sobeck gestured to keep silent.

  ‘I was scribe of the Execution House, the recorder of the Slaughter Yard in the House of Chains. I answered directly to Pharaoh, but even then I was growing old.’

  ‘Which Pharaoh?’ I asked.

  ‘Tuthmosis, father of Amenhotep the Magnificent. Now, as you know, Amenhotep fell in love with a beautiful young girl from the city of Akhmin. She was of the Apiru tribe. Oh, I got to know them all well,’ he sighed. ‘Tiye and her brother Ay. I learned all about the legends of her people: how they came from Canaan; how they look forward to a great leader to take them back; how they were special in the eyes of God. I read their records. I even saw the paintings out in the Valley of the Grey Dawn. I also learned about the Aten, the One God. I visited Canaan. I have studied the Apiru more carefully than any scholar in Egypt.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I reported all to Tuthmosis. He was very alarmed. He tried to warn his son, who then was no more than a boy. Amenhotep met Tiye when they were both Children of the Kap.’ The old man held his hand with two fingers wrapped together. ‘They were inseparable, one of those love matches which begin even before the loins are excited. Tuthmosis was advised by his priests against the marriage.’

  ‘But Tuthmosis died suddenly,’ I interrupted, ‘a mysterious death. Wasn’t he in his late twenties?’ The old man agreed. He stuffed sesame cake in his mouth and slurped wine.

  ‘Did you keep any record?’ Sobeck asked. Seenu, his mouth full, shook his head.

  Sobeck, poking me in the arm, led me out into the garden, telling our visitor to eat and drink as much as he could.

  ‘Why have you brought him?’ I asked. ‘I know about these legends, you know that I know.’

  I heard a sound behind me and whirled round. Nothing, though I was sure someone was there.

  ‘Seenu tells me nothing new,’ I continued.

  ‘He lives in Western Thebes.’ Sobeck measured his words carefully. ‘A week ago he was overheard boasting in a beer shop how General Rameses wished to see him.’ I felt a chill, brought on more by fear than the night breeze.

  ‘I had him arrested,’ Sobeck continued.

  ‘Who, Rameses?’ I asked.

  ‘Don’t joke, Mahu. The old man. I gave him a comfortable chamber in one of my houses. I hired a temple girl to keep him warm at night and made sure his belly remained full. He is greedy and lecherous as an old goat. I wanted to know why Rameses was looking for him. He told me about the Apiru. It took some time to get the whole story. Ten years ago people would have dismissed it as the babblings of an old scribe, only too willing to bore you to death for a drop of ale. I also listened to other reports. Rameses has sent spies into Canaan. He has scribes searching the records. He is looking for Akenhaten. He believes he is still alive. He is also hunting for Meryre and growing more knowledgeable about the origins of Akenhaten and the legends of the Apiru. To put it bluntly …’ Sobeck paused. ‘If Rameses had his way, a savage persecution would be launched. They would not only wipe out any member of the Aten, but anyone who has anything to do with the tribe of Apiru. That includes Djarka, Mert and their child.’

  ‘So what do you propose?’

  Sobeck paused, as if listening to a bird fluttering in the tree.

  ‘I intend to kill the old man.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I have no choice. He will die peacefully in his sleep and I will hand his corpse over to be embalmed.’

  Sobeck walked back to the pavilion.

  ‘Best be warned.’ He raised his voice. ‘The hunters are out.’

  The months turned into seasons, the seasons into years. Six years passed. I grew a little plumper. Djarka and Mert had another child, a girl they called Miriam, a companion for her elder brother Imhotep. Djarka now led his own life. He came and went as he pleased. We very rarely discussed the glory days when we had plotted, conspired and fought, either on the battlefield or amongst that brood of conspirators at the imperial court. Djarka seemed infatuated with his wife and children. A husband and father first, rather than a soldier. We grew apart, like the gap that divides a father from his son when the latter moves away to be with his own family. I was still deeply attracted to Mert, but she had eyes only for her husband. It was a true love match. Oh, we reminisced and, when the wine flowed like water, became nostalgic. Djarka warned me not to discuss what had happened in the Valley of the Grey Dawn, and when Mert was present, Lord Ay’s name was never to be mentioned. Their two children were beautiful and delightful. I made up nicknames for them, ‘balls of fluff’, or ‘pots of sweet honey’. If I became bored with my garden, writing in my journal or Pentju’s drunken mutterings, I’d always go looking for them. I did so reluctantly at first, not because I didn’t like children, but because I felt unclean in their presence. I had blood on my hands. I had killed and killed again. I felt like a jackal put in charge of baby ducks. When I described my feelings to Djarka, his face broke into a smile and he punched me playfully on the shoulder.

  ‘More like a guard dog,’ he replied.

  I felt better after that. Perhaps it was the children’s innocence which frightened me. Somehow or other they might recognise a soul which reeked of sin. They didn’t. They enjoyed my games, especially when I pretended to be a lion. I discovered I had a gift for woodwork and would love to carve a giraffe or antelope or fashion a wooden sword or shield. Imhotep, as he grew older, would often seek me out; even when I was squatting like a scribe, he nestled close to me. He regarded me as a great warrior. I was touched and flattered, for this was how Djarka described me. Ah well, it was better that than being called an assassin.

  Sobeck’s lovely wife gave birth to twin boys. She too visited our mansion, bringing the children together with an army of wet nurses and servants. I grew to enjoy the long evenings, the feasting and the chatter. Sobeck now heeded my warnings, and did everything he could to pose as Ay’s faithful retainer.

  ‘There’s nothing like children,’ he once remarked, ‘to make you prudent and careful.’

  He also brought news of how the restoration of Egypt’s fortune was growing apace. Nowhere more than Thebes, where new buildings of marble and white granite dazzled the eye. Rivers of treasure flowed in from north, south, east and west. Egypt’s enemies, the people of the Nine Bows trembled, frightened of Egypt’s powerful regiments and teeming squadrons of war chariots. Imperial war barges patrolled the Nile and the shores of the Delta, high-beaked and powerful, crammed with archers and spearmen. They fought off pirates and invaders from the Great Green. I often glimpsed such barges from my rooftop, patrolling the river, standards displayed, great sails billowing out.

  People exclaimed how the marvellous days of Amenhotep the Magnificent had returned. Envoys from other nations, even the long-haired Hittites, hastened to pay lip service at least to the Great House, the Palace of a Million Years.

  Such reports never disturbed me. I mellowed and remained patient, like a man lost in a dream. I seduced the maids. When I wished to be alone, I put on a broad-brimmed peasant’s hat and tended my gardens. I grew rather bored with flowers and cultivated new types of vegetables and herbs, including an original onion. I became expert in growing capers, not so fleshy but still rich in oil. I wrote a learned paper on this and sent it by way of Sobeck to the House of Life at the Temple of Horus. It was well received. I also specialised in poisons, mixing the juice of ivy with fat berries and other ingredients. My strain was virtually tasteless, or so Pentju told me. He examined it carefully whilst I hopped from foot to foot. Sometimes my physician friend was so drunk, he’d eat or sip anything placed before him.

  Pentju showed little interest in Sobeck’s visits, except on one matter. At first I thought he was keen to learn news about Canaan when he r
emained sober and questioned Sobeck carefully. After a while, I realised he was more interested in the doings of the House of Envoys, which controlled Egypt’s foreign affairs. The generals’ desire for war had been constantly frustrated, even though everybody was becoming alarmed at the growing power of the Hittites. Lord Ay, supported by Maya and Huy, had developed a different policy: they turned to the other great powers, particularly the Mitanni, to check the Hittites. Pentju became more alert than ever over this and questioned Sobeck about Ay’s furious attempts to win over Tushratta, King of the Mitanni.

  ‘Ay has done everything in his power,’ Sobeck reported on one occasion. ‘He sends envoys to the Mitanni with costly gifts: kites of gold and silver to raise mercenaries.’

  Once Pentju’s questions were answered, he would go back to his drinking. He had grown obese and red-faced, and more often than not he was drunk. He could still be a skilled physician and a witty companion, but he insisted on sleeping the day away and drinking through the night. He confided in me that when darkness fell, the ‘demon thieves’ sprang out of the darkness and plagued his soul.

  ‘They wait for me,’ he whispered, tapping his fleshy nose. ‘I see them lurking in the cypress groves with the fires of hell burning all around.’

  Djarka lost patience with him and declared he was mad. I believe he was as sane as any of us. Like me, he was plagued by ghosts from the past, and not all such ghosts are easily exorcised.

  Shta-i

  (Ancient Egyptian for ‘the Secret Place’)

  Chapter 19

  In the first week of the month of Thoth – the eighth year of Tutankhamun, Lord of the Two Lands, Mighty Bull, Most Fitting of Forms, Horus in the South, Horemheb and Rameses visited me. I truly thought I would never see this precious pair again. Yet they came swaggering through the main gates, splendid in their robes, all agleam with their medallions, collars, brooches and rings. Outside the gate their staff officers unhitched their chariots, chattering and laughing as they led them off into the green coolness of a palm grove. Horemheb looked a little plumper, a roll of fat beneath his black button eyes, slightly jowly, though his body was still hard and muscular. Rameses was more wrinkled but lean as ever, eyes full of malice, that smirk on his thin lips; he still reminded me of a vicious greyhound. They were pleasant enough, clasping my hands, ordering a servant forward with gifts, joking with Pentju and Djarka. Rameses mischievously asked whether Sobeck, my ‘constant visitor’, was present.

  I just smiled.

  ‘You haven’t come about my health,’ I suggested. ‘So you have come to plot.’

  They did not disagree. We met behind closed doors in the Blue Lotus Pavilion. After a few pleasantries Rameses threw down his whisk. I was highly amused by it. The whisk was sky blue, with a golden lotus on the handle; more suitable for a lady of the court rather than a high-ranking officer of the Imperial Staff.

  ‘Are you enjoying retirement, Mahu?’ he sneered.

  ‘You mean my exile?’

  ‘Your exile.’ Rameses smirked. ‘You must miss the heavy perfume of the court.’

  ‘I miss neither that nor your stench.’

  ‘Mahu, Mahu, you don’t miss your friends?’

  ‘I miss the smiles of Pharaoh. May he live a million years and enjoy countless jubilees.’

  Rameses and Horemheb hastily agreed.

  ‘The Divine One also misses you.’

  ‘How do you know that? I understand very few people are allowed to see him.’

  ‘We do meet him at the Royal Circle,’ Horemheb intervened.

  ‘And how do you find him?’

  ‘Quiet, serene.’ Horemheb shrugged. ‘The Lord Ay is his mouthpiece.’ I sensed the hidden tension, a shift in Horemheb’s eyes. Rameses was studying me curiously, head slightly to one side, puckering his lower lip between finger and thumb.

  ‘I understand,’ I broke the silence, ‘that you, General Rameses, have been very busy in your studies about the history of the Apiru.’

  ‘You know why.’ Rameses picked up the flywhisk. ‘I’m sure your friend Sobeck has told you everything, so let’s be blunt, Mahu.’

  ‘My lord Rameses, that would be a change.’

  ‘Akenhaten may still be alive. Meryre is definitely hiding in Canaan with the other heretics, stirring up trouble.’

  ‘But he’s not with Akenhaten?’ I asked.

  ‘You mean the madman.’

  ‘We all supported him, General Horemheb.’

  ‘For a while, but that’s not why we are here.’ Horemheb cleared his throat. ‘My lord Mahu, would you like to return to power?’

  ‘Why?’ I replied. ‘To be your spy?’

  ‘Oh come, come,’ Rameses protested.

  ‘Oh come, come, General Rameses. Why else are you visiting me? It’s certainly not because of my lovely eyes and generous character.’

  ‘We would like to see you appointed as Overseer of the House of Envoys,’ Horemheb murmured. ‘To lead a diplomatic mission to the Hittites. You are sly enough to assess their power, cunning enough to judge if they are a real danger to us.’

  ‘And report back to you, as well as Lord Ay?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rameses agreed.

  ‘You want me to go to Canaan to spy, but you are hoping that Akenhaten will show himself to me; for some strange reason he had a special liking to me. And if he does, you’ll kill him.’

  Rameses smiled.

  ‘Do you think,’ I continued, ‘Lord Ay would embrace me and give me the rings of office? He’d realise you wanted me back as your spy.’

  ‘You’re our friend.’

  ‘Since when?’

  Horemheb laughed. ‘Very good, my lord Mahu. Huy and Maya would welcome you back.’

  ‘For what? To keep a watch on Lord Ay?’

  ‘Let’s cut to the marrow of the bone.’ Horemheb shifted forward. ‘The Divine One himself wishes your return.’ He smiled at my surprise. ‘Our Pharaoh is almost a young man, of seventeen summers. I find him strange. I don’t think his health is good, in either body or soul. You know that, Lord Mahu. You lived with him when he was a child. He is given to outbursts. In the last few months he has increasingly demanded in a pained voice, “Where is Uncle Mahu?”’

  ‘Why now?’ I asked.

  ‘Why not?’ Rameses retorted. ‘Perhaps he has done it before, though in private. He wants you and Pentju to return. Oh, by the way, how is the toper?’

  ‘As always, General, a better companion than you. So,’ I drew myself up, ‘the Divine One wishes me to return. A wish supported by new-found friends. Well, well!’ I leaned back. ‘My two lions, you have surprised me! Do you really need me, Horemheb? Don’t forget you’re married to Mutnedjmet, sister of Nefertiti!’

  ‘My wife is as different from her,’ Horemheb snapped, ‘as gold is from sand. She has nothing in common with her father, that mongoose of a man, or her scorpion sister. She does not like her father.’ He shrugged. ‘That was the beginning of our friendship.’

  Horemheb plucked at the tassels of his robe.

  ‘I want you back, Mahu. I want you in charge of the House of Envoys; I want to find out what is happening in Canaan. Lord Ay spies on me and I on him. Sobeck must have told you about the presents and the money he has sent to the Mitanni. At first, I thought this was just policy, to keep the Hittites contained, but there’s more. He has been searching for the Lady Tahana.’

  My heart skipped a beat.

  ‘She was principal lady-in-waiting to Khiya, Tutankhamun’s mother. She and her husband mysteriously left the City of the Aten and returned to the Mitanni court around the same time the plague struck.’

  ‘Why should he be searching for her?’ I asked.

  ‘We don’t know. Earlier this year, during the last month of the Season of the Planting, General Nakhtimin and a squadron of troops sailed up the Nile for a meeting with a Mitanni envoy. We don’t know why they met or what was agreed. They returned by night to Thebes.’ He paused. ‘According to my spies, Nakhtimin
brought back a man, his face covered by a jackal face-mask. I also heard reports of the same man being imprisoned in the old House of Residence, where we all trained as Children of the Kap.’

  I couldn’t hide my consternation. ‘Was it Akenhaten?’

  ‘No.’ Horemheb shook his head. ‘The individual was young, we could tell by his belly and legs. I have tried everything,’ Horemheb confessed, ‘to discover what happened. Nakhtimin’s troops closely guarded that part of the palace. In recent months they have withdrawn, which means the young man has either gone or died. Now,’ Horemheb scratched his head, ‘I’m afraid, Mahu. What is Ay plotting? Will something happen to Tutankhamun, and would Ay claim the throne? So,’ he smiled, ‘if the Divine One and the Royal Circle ask you to return, will you agree?’

  ‘I will think on it.’

  ‘And if you return, will you be our ally, not our spy?’

  ‘I will think on it.’ I made to rise.

  ‘You don’t seem worried about the Divine One.’ Horemheb clasped my wrist. ‘He was your charge.’

  I broke from his grip. ‘That was in the past, General. I cannot be held responsible for what I have no power over.’

  I recalled Tutankhamun’s gentle, almond-shaped eyes, his serene face.

  ‘You do care, don’t you?’ Horemheb asked.

  He felt amongst his robes, drew out a leather pouch and shook out the contents: an exquisite strip of gold depicting Pharaoh wearing the war crown of Egypt, smiting the head of an enemy in the presence of the War God Montu, behind him the Goddess Nepthys.

  ‘Lord Ay hired a goldsmith to fashion this for him; an apprentice in the shop made a fair copy.’