‘And you believe those stories?’
‘I am the son of farmers from Thebes. Of course I do.’
‘Intef, may I tell you a story of my own?’
* * *
He watched her lift one of the lamps and motion to him to follow her, and soon he was sitting atop the pile of earth beneath their growing tunnel while she ducked inside it and began to chisel. ‘Can you hear me?’ she asked.
‘Quite well,’ he said. He gazed at her sandals and the small, intelligent feet that donned them. ‘You may begin your story.’
‘This is a true story,’ Aya said, beginning to tap at the rock. ‘About how Tausret died.’
‘Did you not say that she died on the birthing blocks?’
‘Yes, but I wish to tell you how she got there. I believe the High Priest hoped this story would end with me.’
Intrigued, Intef leaned back against the wall next to the tunnel. ‘Go on, then.’
Aya tapped softly as she spoke. ‘It was almost a year ago, already the second year of the drought. I was standing beside Pharaoh’s throne in the reception hall of the palace, receiving a delegation from the kingdom of the Hittites. There must have been two hundred men filing into the hall and I remember how their robes swished across the marble floor as they walked.’
‘Two hundred Hittites?’ said Intef. ‘An extravagant invitation for Pharaoh to extend in the middle of a drought.’
‘But they were not invited,’ said Aya. ‘They had arrived in Pi-Rameses without notice. Their capital Hattusa had been sacked by a confederation of the Sea Peoples. They were on a mission, searching for allies.’
‘It is the first I have heard of the sack of Hattusa,’ he remarked. ‘Go on.’
‘As the bearded noblemen assembled before the throne,’ Aya continued, ‘a ripple of alarm seemed to pass through their ranks. I watched several men notice Tausret and frown, though I could not determine what they found wrong with her.
‘As all Pharaohs, she wore the heavy double crown of the Lord of the Two Lands and in her hands held the symbolic shepherd’s guiding crook and goading flail. She was in every way the leader of her flock, but the Hittite noblemen continued to whisper and stare, and Pharaoh asked me what I thought was the matter.’
‘And what did you tell her?’
‘I told her I thought it was perhaps her lack of a pharaonic beard.’
Intef laughed. ‘And a man to wear that beard!’
‘The great Pharaoh Hatshepsut wore a beard. And she was very much a woman.’
‘I suppose you are right in that,’ Intef conceded. Although Hatshepsut had been erased from history by her successor, her legend lived on among the women of Egypt. ‘Go on.’
‘A tall man in a henna-coloured robe stepped forward. He prostrated himself before the throne and made the customary obeisance. Then he motioned to a group of servants who presented Pharaoh with twenty amphorae of the finest Hittite wine, fifty pairs of shoes from the weavers of Keftiu and ten golden necklaces strung with pearls.’
‘A fine collection of gifts,’ said Intef.
‘Not for Tausret,’ replied Aya. ‘She did not care about filling her own closets with riches.’
‘Really? I was always told she was a selfish, greedy kind of woman.’
‘Not at all!’ said Aya. ‘She told the ambassador to bestow his generous gifts on some other worthy ally, that her only interest was in securing grain for her people.’
‘Did the ambassador not take offence?’ asked Intef.
‘No, for that was when the crowd of men split apart and in their cleft appeared a middle-aged man in a bejewelled leather skull cap and a lavish white robe,’ Aya said.
‘The King of the Hittites?’ asked Intef.
‘So it was,’ said Aya. ‘King Suppiluliuma the Second. He sank to the floor before Tausret just like his ambassador had done. When she bade him rise, he recounted the woeful tale of the sack of Hattusa, the great capital of the Hittites, and he asked for the aid of Egyptian troops.
‘“We will give you men to stand against the Sea Peoples,” Tausret replied, “but in return you must bring us grain—at least two hundred thousand barrels.”
‘The King’s eyes grew wide. “Your Majesty,” he said, “it is enough grain to feed a nation.”
‘“It is what I require,” said Tausret.
‘Without turning, King Suppiluliuma lifted his arm. “Leave us,” he said and every member of the delegation except the ambassador exited the hall.’
Intef laughed with delight. ‘A dramatic exodus! How I would have loved to have seen it.’
‘It was as I describe,’ said Aya. ‘When everyone had departed I remember the King swept his fingers through his long beard and told Tausret that he could procure the grain she needed, but that he would require something more than just troops in exchange for it. Tausret asked him how much gold and silver he would like. He told her he was not looking for riches.’
‘Do not tell me he refused Egyptian gold?’ exclaimed Intef.
‘He did indeed,’ replied Aya. ‘For he said that he had no heir upon whom to bestow such wealth. Then he mentioned the threat of General Setnakht in the south and how Tausret, too, was in dire need of an heir. I wonder if you can guess what he asked next?’
The answer came to Intef instantly, though he could hardly believe it. ‘King Suppiluliuma asked Tausret to lie with him?’
‘When you are not being rude, you are quite astute,’ Aya teased.
Intef could not help himself—he bent his head beneath the tunnel and gazed up at Aya’s standing figure, the dust falling down around her like rain. ‘And did she agree to lie with him?’
‘Ack! What are you doing there?’ And there it was—that gorgeous, gap-toothed grin. He felt a strange rush of delight.
‘You look rather lovely for a filthy stone mason,’ he said.
‘Return to your seat, young man!’ she scolded.
‘Ah! So now I am young.’
He returned to his place and heard the sounds of her chiselling resume. ‘Well? Did she agree to lie with him or not?’
‘She did not reply right away,’ Aya continued. ‘I remember that she stood up from her throne and began to pace. I watched the tall, weighty crown rock back and forth upon her head.
‘“Lie with me and get me a child,” King Suppiluliuma urged her, “and in return I will get you your grain. When our son is born, he shall bind our countries as allies. My name will not be lost. Nor will yours,” he said.
‘And I remember that Tausret’s lips had twisted into a frown. It was the thing she feared most, you see—to bear another child. She had borne three sons as Pharaoh Seti’s Chief Wife and none had survived his first year. She asked me for my advice.’
‘And what did you tell her?’ Intef asked.
‘I told her to refuse him,’ Aya said, ‘but I was not convincing enough in my arguments. She kept talking about how many people would be saved by so much grain. At length she stepped down the dais and took the King’s hand. “For the good of Egypt,” Tausret said. And the rest is history.’
Intef sat in silence, listening to Aya’s chiselling. ‘You have helped me see the truth about Tausret,’ said Intef. ‘I am grateful.’
‘People should not believe everything they hear from priests.’
‘The priests of Thebes always said that women should not be pharaohs. But perhaps women make the best pharaohs of all,’ Intef mused.
‘If a woman is a good pharaoh, it is not because she is a woman,’ said Aya. ‘It is because of who she is.’
Intef frowned. He had not expected such an answer, yet he perceived the wisdom in it. ‘It is ma’at. Justice. That is what you seek for Tausret,’ Intef said.
‘I have never thought of it that way,’ said Aya. She stepped out of the tunnel and sat beside him. Sweat poured down
her dusty arms in long stripes. ‘Right now what I seek is strength, for it seems to have left me.’
He stared at the hammer and chisel she had dropped in the dirt. His hands ached just to look at them. ‘I fear that my strength has also abandoned me for the night,’ said Intef. ‘If night it is.’
He glanced at his sandals. According to the marks, they had been labouring for four days. Had it really only been four? It seemed like more than that. Perhaps five or even six.
‘The air grows sour,’ said Aya. ‘We are running out of time.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Intef, but his tone lacked conviction. The heat inside the small space was nearly unbearable and the air itself seemed dangerously thin.
‘I find myself in need of one of your jests,’ she whispered.
‘Just one?’ he said.
‘Intef, I fear we are going to die. You cannot chisel any longer, nor can I. The air—’
‘Shh...’ he said. Her breaths were too short. He touched her arm. ‘What is our greatest tool inside this tomb?’
‘The chisel, of course.’
‘Not the chisel.’
‘The hammer, then.’
‘Not the hammer.’
‘What then, Intef?’
‘It is calm. A wise man told me that once.’
‘How can we be calm? We chisel so much and never reach the sky.’
‘We will reach it.’
‘And if we do not?’ asked Aya.
Then it has been my life’s privilege to know you.
‘I fear that I have failed you,’ she said, ‘that we have run out of time, that—’
‘You have not failed me, Aya. On the contrary.’ The top of her head was just a hand’s width away. Impulsively, he bent and kissed it, foolishly allowing his lips to linger in her hair.
She stiffened at his touch. ‘Do you not fear a deadly kick from your enemy?’ she asked, but there was humour in her voice.
‘No, but I am worried that my enemy may soon become too filthy to recognise.’
She laughed. ‘I am made of sweat and ceiling dust.’
‘Then I love sweat and ceiling dust,’ he said. The word lingered in the air around them like a strange spirit. Love.
‘It is so hot, Intef,’ she said, breaking the spell. She lifted the sweat-glazed hair off of her neck and fanned herself with her hands. She closed her eyes. And there it was once again—that unusual tattoo beneath her hairline: a triangle inside a circle.
She must have sensed him staring, for her eyes flashed open and he was struck with their piercing blueness. He turned away, remembering at once where he had seen the shape of her tattoo before. It had been painted on the eyes of the doll he had discovered inside the unfinished chamber. The doll’s eyes had also been blue.
‘Aya, how many years ago did Pharaoh Merneptah begin his reign?’ he asked. ‘The priests say that four and twenty years have passed.’
‘The priests are correct in that,’ said Aya. ‘He was crowned the year I was born.’
A strange knowing was emerging at the edges of his mind. ‘There is a cradle in the unfinished chamber that was constructed that same year,’ Intef said. ‘Have you seen the cradle?’
‘I have,’ Aya said. ‘It is a beautiful object—acacia wood, no?’
‘There is a plaque hidden beneath its base. It names the granddaughter of Pharaoh Merneptah—born in the first year of Merneptah’s reign.’
‘Granddaughter?’ said Aya. ‘It must be a mistake.’
‘Perhaps it is one of the babies Tausret lost,’ Intef offered casually.
‘They were all sons—I saw them myself,’ said Aya.
‘What about the heir? Did Tausret ever say for certain that her living heir was a son?’
Aya paused, thinking. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Can you think of a reason she might have wanted to keep the child’s identity secret?’
‘I believe Tausret did not wish for her child to share the same fate as she had.’
‘What fate?’
‘Tausret spent her life trying to produce an heir. She said she often felt like a brood mare. It did not seem to matter what was in her mind or her heart—only what was in her belly. I imagine that she did not wish for her one living child to share that same fate.’
‘But such a child would only share that fate if she were female.’
Aya shook her head. ‘We are running out of time, Intef.’ She stepped back into the tunnel. ‘I must continue my work.’
‘Is there anything else you remember Tausret saying about the heir?’ Intef said. He heard a frenzy of tapping. ‘Anything that might help us in our search?’
He could barely hear her words over her blows. ‘Just that he abides in Pi-Rameses...and that he has a distinguishing tattoo.’
Suddenly, all the puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place. Tausret had a daughter, Merneptah’s secret granddaughter, who was a twenty-four-year-old woman with eyes as blue as a doll’s and a distinguishing tattoo. She would have been a worthy marriage target for some ambitious official—someone like Chancellor Bay.
‘Aya, it is you,’ Intef said suddenly. ‘Do you not see? You are the great-granddaughter of Rameses the Great Ancestor. You are the heir. You are Tausret’s daughter.’
Chapter Eighteen
It was as she had feared: the sour air had begun to drive them both mad. It had started with her bizarre idea for an archery contest. They should have been chiselling, not shooting arrows! Then Intef had put forth some absurd theory that Aya was the heir to the double crown. Aya, in her weakened mental state, had been unable to contradict him.
Then, as she dozed on her bed mat that night, Aya found herself inside what she thought was another one of her memories.
Slowly she realised that it was not a memory at all, however. It was as if she were beholding some version of the future...
She was standing on a cliff looking out over a vast desert hardpan, searching for signs of movement below. Hours before, there had been a great battle. Hundreds had perished, but the losers had not yet come to collect their fallen.
Everywhere there was death. The air hummed with the buzz of flies. Somewhere in the distance, a pack of jackals had already gone to work.
Aya spotted movement near the middle of the plain: a man in a long white kilt and leather breast guard. He was lying on the ground, his hands and wrists tied, as if someone had taken him captive and then changed his mind and left him to die.
Though he was far away, Aya could see the tattoo on the back of his neck: a triangle inside a circle. He was no mere man—he was the heir to the double crown—Tausret’s son. She started down the steep cliff.
She did not get far before she stumbled. The rocks were unstable, the path steep and treacherous. She had to go slowly, lest she fall to her own death. She kept her eyes on her footfalls, not daring to look up.
Finally, she arrived at a large flat rock about halfway down the cliff and paused atop it. She caught sight of a moving chariot on the plain below. It was borne by a single white horse and a man in a white hooded robe. She recognised his long beard and corpulent figure even from the distance. It was Chancellor Bay.
He was careening across the flat plain at great speed. He lifted his whip high in the air and cracked it above his horse. He was heading towards the heir.
Aya had to get to the young man before Bay did, for she knew the chancellor would kill him if he could. But Bay’s chariot was moving faster than her unstable legs could take her and she knew she would not reach him in time.
In that instant Bay’s white hood flew off his face. He looked up at the cliffs and in the strange space of the vision Aya could hear his words. ‘What are you doing, Little Cow?’
‘I am stopping you,’ she whispered.
She found the centre of her heart and let the arrow f
ly. Snap went the first string from the horse’s harness. It coiled in the air like a snake. The chariot veered to the side while she loaded another arrow and let it fly.
Snap went the second string of the harness. The horse ran free, leaving the chariot teetering across the plain, raising a great cloud of dust. Bay tumbled to the ground just twenty paces from where the heir lay writhing.
Aya watched in horror as Bay calmly returned to standing. Incredibly, it appeared he was not harmed. It was then Aya noticed his leopard skin pelt and adornments of the priesthood.
The man was no longer Chancellor Bay at all, but the High Priest. He drew a sword from the sheath around his waist and walked calmly towards the young man.
‘Do not touch him!’ she shouted.
She launched another arrow and pierced one side of the priest’s voluminous robe, pinning it to the ground. She followed it with another arrow that pierced the other side.
The priest stopped in his tracks, pinned. He looked to his sides, puzzled by the two arrows that kept him in place. He tried to move forward, but he was stuck. He looked up at Aya and hissed.
Then he disappeared—replaced by a long white snake with shiny white scales. Apep. The beast wriggled out from beneath the High Priest’s robe and slithered towards the heir. Aya had one arrow left. She cleared her mind and took her aim.
The arrow landed right in the middle of the snake’s head, skewering it to the ground. Aya yelped for joy. She had done it. The heir to the Horus throne was safe! For once in her life, Aya had done Pharaoh proud. She had done her duty.
She made her way down the cliff and rushed to the young man’s side. He was still lying on his stomach, his face buried in the dirt.
‘I slew your enemies,’ she said. ‘I have come to release you from your bonds.’
She gently rolled him to his side, then on to his back. He blinked up at her and the sky seemed to be reflected in the colour of his eyes: a deep, uncanny blue.
And then she realised that she was not looking into a man’s face, but a woman’s. It was her own face. She was looking at herself.
* * *
Saved by Her Enemy Warrior Page 13