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Authors: Paul Doherty

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BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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‘What happens if there is no need?’ I declared. ‘What happens if Akenhaten does not pose a problem to us or to Egypt? Why not let the problem wither on the branch? The present troubles are not caused by him, but by the usurper.’
‘He could be used by others,’ Horemheb declared.
‘I don’t think he’d allow that.’
‘Why did he take his treasure?’ Maya asked. ‘If he had found true peace and harmony, what does he need his treasure for?’
‘He doesn’t,’ I smiled, ‘not for himself, but it can buy silence, the co-operation and connivance of others.’
‘And this correspondence?’ Huy asked. ‘The documents found in the usurper’s tent?’
I smiled at Ay. ‘Nothing more than sand in the wind, Lord Huy.’
‘And Khufu?’
‘A mere babbler.’
Horemheb straightened up. Ay gestured for silence as servants carried platters of woven reed heaped high with meat and vegetables, laying out napkins and refilling goblets.
‘Don’t worry.’ Ay toasted me with his cup. ‘I have had General Nakhtimin,’ he gestured to where his sinister brother stood with the other officers, watching intently what was happening, ‘make sure that our food is, how can I put it, free of any potions or powders.’
‘And I put my trust in Colonel Nebamun,’ Rameses simpered. ‘I asked him to keep an eye on everything. Well,’ he smiled, ‘we shall eat and drink safely.’
I gazed around. The hyaena pack was still unified, but the tensions were there: Horemheb and Rameses confronting Ay, with Huy, Maya, Pentju and myself in between.
‘Has Meryre been found?’ Rameses asked, his mouth full of food. ‘Surely a fat priest and his followers, not to mention Lord Tutu and the group from Buhen, would be clear targets in the desert? I mean, from what I gather, they not only fled but took their wives, servants and children with them.’
‘One thing at a time,’ Ay countered. ‘A search will be made. If they have become lost in the desert, then that’s one problem solved in the best possible way. On our return to Thebes we will redouble our efforts, carry out a proper investigation, release the hunters.’
‘He should be captured.’ Horemheb slurped from his cup. ‘Meryre and the rest should be put to the question.’
‘My lord Pentju,’ Ay toasted the physician with his cup, ‘you remain silent. You have become nothing but a watcher of our activities. Is it true,’ Ay glanced quickly at me, ‘that Lord Meryre approached you? Those we tortured say the High Priest was most eager for you to join his company.’
‘Meryre can ask the stars to fall,’ Pentju quipped, ‘but that doesn’t mean they will. As for my silence, Lord Ay, that is my own business. I was appointed by Pharaoh Akenhaten to this Royal Circle. I was chosen to guard his infant son. He is still my concern.’
‘He’s
our
concern,’ Ay soothed. ‘I propose that if Generals Horemheb and Rameses stay in Memphis to keep an eye on affairs in the north, the Prince and my granddaughter should return to the Malkata Palace in Thebes.’
‘No.’ Horemheb put his platter down.
All the bonhomie of our meal and the hunt disappeared.
‘My lord General,’ Ay whispered. ‘Is there a problem with what I proposed?’
‘Yes.’ Rameses answered for him. ‘Why can’t the Prince stay in Memphis with his official protector, Lord Mahu, and, perhaps, Lord Pentju?’
‘He is my grandson.’ Ay’s face assumed that stubborn, pugnacious look. ‘He is heir to the throne. He is to be crowned. Thebes is Pharaoh’s city.’
‘Memphis it should be,’ Horemheb retorted.
I gazed across at Huy; he stared blankly back. Maya was the same. This was the point of power. Whoever controlled the Prince would eventually control Egypt. I recalled Khufu’s story; the City of the Aten with its honeycomb of tombs.
‘My lords,’ I intervened, ‘may I propose a solution? A compromise? The city of Memphis is in the north; Thebes is in the south. In between lies the City of the Aten, in many ways still a thriving community. What I propose is that I, the Lord Pentju and his Highness the Prince, together with the Princess Ankhesenamun, return to the City of the Aten. No. No!’ I raised my hand to still the objections. ‘The city is well guarded by my mercenaries. They have taken an oath of personal loyalty to myself as well as to the Prince. It can also be easily guarded: it is built on a cove surrounded virtually on three sides by cliffs and on the fourth by the Nile. Perhaps it will be best if the land routes, the clifftops, were patrolled by Colonel Nebamun’s chariot squadrons, the river by soldiers and marines sent north under General Nakhtimin, whilst the city itself can be policed by my mercenaries. It will be good for the Prince to be away from Thebes whilst matters are harmonised and the restoration of the old ways continues apace. Once this has been done, the Prince can be returned to Thebes, where he will be crowned in the Temple of the Amun-Ra, and, of course, like his predecessors, process annually between Thebes and Memphis displaying his crown and power.’
Rameses made to object, but Horemheb tapped him on the shoulder. Ay clicked his tongue, a favourite gesture whenever he was thinking deeply.
‘Of course,’ I added, ‘the City of the Aten will be an ideal place for the Royal Circle to meet every so often to discuss matters. All members of the Royal Circle will have equal access to the Prince. No major decision will be made without us all agreeing.’
‘I would accept that,’ Horemheb snapped.
Huy and Maya immediately voiced their support.
‘There is another problem.’ I waited for a servant to bring a fresh wine jug. ‘Outside the City of the Aten lie the Royal Tombs. Some of the dead were casualties of the plague. They include members of the Royal Family, Lord Ay, your own daughter, Queen Nefertiti, your sister, Great Queen Tiye, the Princess Ankhesenamun’s sister and others of the Royal Court.’ I was pleased to see everyone nodding. ‘It is obvious,’ I continued, ‘that the City of the Aten will one day die, return to the desert. However, we have a duty to the Gods, as well as the dead, to ensure that these graves are not violated, their treasures plundered.’
‘What do you propose?’ Ay demanded.
‘That every coffin and sarcophagus be removed by river to new tombs in the Valley of the Nobles or the Valley of the Kings, and that this be done sooner rather than later.’
‘That will be major work,’ Maya remarked, ‘requiring much silver. Caves have to be excavated. It should be done secretly,’ he added. ‘If the grave robbers around the City of the Dead learn of what can only be termed a rash of royal burials taking place in the Valley of the Kings, their curiosity, not to mention their greed, would be roused. These tombs,’ he declared solemnly, ‘should be excavated and prepared in secret, the coffins brought by night and sealed away.’
‘And how should we do that?’ Rameses asked.
‘Use General Horemheb’s great victory.’ Ay joined his hands together. ‘We have a horde of prisoners of war. They can dig and they can excavate. They can be given as much food and water as they need. Afterwards, what the eye has seen, the ear heard and the mouth spoken can remain a secret.’
‘You will massacre the slaves?’ I asked.
‘They will be taken out to the Red Lands,’ Ay agreed, ‘once their task is finished.’
‘And who will be responsible for emptying the tombs in the City of the Aten?’ Pentju demanded.
‘Why, my lord Mahu!’ Ay smiled. ‘Assisted and helped by the Chief Court Physician, Lord Pentju. We will send barges and escorts north when you are ready. It is an excellent proposal.’ He plucked up a date and popped it into his mouth. ‘At the same time, we’ll begin stripping the palaces in the City of the Aten of all their furniture, gold and silver.’ He licked his fingers. ‘I am so glad we are reaching agreement on so many things.’
‘Akenhaten!’ Horemheb’s voice cut like a lash. ‘We should send troops into Canaan.’
‘We are going to send an army into Kush,’ Maya countered. ‘The treasury is exhausted. My lord Horemheb, to invade Canaan we would need an army prepared and provisioned for at least a six-month campaign. The House of Silver cannot afford it. Until the present crisis passes we need every soldier this side of the Horus Road.’
A murmur of agreement greeted his words.
‘We could send assassins.’ Rameses glared at me. ‘My lord Mahu?’
‘Nonsense,’ I countered. ‘It was dangerous enough in the Delta. It will be like looking for a pearl hidden in the sand. That will have to wait. Now, other matters …’
So there, in the Oasis of Sweet Grass, the power of Egypt was settled, the lines drawn, the agenda set. Akenhaten would have to wait. The old ways needed to be published and proclamations posted about what was to happen. It was agreed that stelae would be set up in every major city of Egypt proclaiming that the crisis was over and Egypt once again returning to its former glory. So we passed to other matters: the listing of enemies, of those to be arrested, fined or exiled. The number of executions would be kept to a minimum. Each of us argued for friends. Maya, in particular, demanded a general amnesty and pardon to be issued to Sobeck, that he should be restored to royal favour and given some high-ranking post in the city of Thebes. This was agreed. We moved on to the granaries, the prospect of a good harvest, the need for fresh taxation, the problem of the rebels in Kush. We argued and debated, but beneath the surface, the truth emerged. There were to be three sources of power in Egypt: the first, Horemheb and Rameses and the northern garrisons based at Memphis; the second in Thebes under the thumb of Lord Ay, General Nakhtimin and others of the Akhmin gang; whilst the third would be the Prince and the Keepers of the City of the Aten. For the time being that was the way things would be. Nevertheless, as we finished and prepared to return to Memphis, I wondered what would happen if Tutankhamun died, which of these powerful factions would gain ascendancy?
The sun had set, the desert wind turning chilly as I left the rest of the Royal Circle and returned with Colonel Nebamun to his house on the outskirts of Thebes. A runner, drenched in sweat, greeted us. He threw himself before Nebamun’s chariot, babbling out his message. The Colonel, still slightly drunk from the previous evening as well as the deep cups he had drunk at the Oasis of Sweet Grass, staggered down from his chariot, pulling the man to his feet. He made him repeat the message, whilst I stood in my chariot next to Pentju.
‘The prisoner Khufu, late this afternoon, they had to force his door. He’s hanged himself.’
We hastened back to Nebamun’s house. All was confusion and chaos. My mercenaries, swords drawn, were already gathered in the courtyard. Djarka, locking the young Prince in his room, came to greet me and took me up to Khufu’s quarters. The door lay resting against the splintered lintel and inside, swinging on a rope from a beam, a stool lying on its side beneath, hung the body of Khufu. The thick rope was tied tightly about his neck, his face had turned purple, his eyes were bulging, his swollen tongue caught between his lips. He’d lost control of his bladder in his death throes. A tragic, pathetic corpse swaying slightly on the creaking rope.
‘I came up,’ Djarka explained. ‘A servant had brought him food but he wouldn’t answer the door!’
I ordered Djarka to cut Khufu’s body down whilst I examined the chamber. A square, comfortable room with limewashed walls, a cot bed, a stool, two small tables, chests, and a small divan in the corner piled high with cushions. The door, undoubtedly, had been locked; its stout wooden bolts drawn across the top, bottom and centre. These were now broken, as were the heavy hinges. I noticed the scuff marks on the floor, probably due to the door being forced. The window was square, a thick trellis framework which could be slipped in and out, but only from the inside; the stone lintel on the outside was edged by a rocky rim as protection against robbers. By the dust on the ledge I gathered this wooden framework had not been removed. I gazed through the slats. The chamber overlooked an overgrown part of the garden where the grass sprouted long, thick and high, as if eager to reach the overhanging branches of the sycamore trees. I turned back as Djarka laid the corpse on the floor. I inspected the wrists and fingernails, the ankles, neck and shaven head, but could see no other mark or injury, no bruise or contusion, nothing to suggest that this heretic priest had been the victim of murder. The rope was thick and oiled.
‘Where did he get it from?’ I asked.
‘He was allowed to wander around,’ Nebamun’s chamberlain replied, wringing his hands and looking dolefully at me as if I had lost a close friend rather than a valuable source of information. ‘He wandered the house and out into the garden. My lord,’ he swallowed hard, ‘you told me yourself that Khufu had no desire to escape, that he was safe here.’
I nodded in agreement. When I had left Khufu the previous evening, he had been calm and reassured. He himself had admitted, his final words to me, that he felt safer in Colonel Nebamun’s mansion than any other place in Egypt. At the time I thought it was quite a perceptive remark. Khufu had the wit to realise that other members of the Royal Circle, particularly Lord Ay, might not show him such favour.
‘So what happened today?’
The chamberlain spread his hands. ‘The house was quiet. Apart,’ he added spitefully, ‘from the songs and shouts of your mercenaries. The Prince kept to his chamber with your man Djarka. Khufu wandered down to the kitchens for his food.’ The chamberlain pulled a face. ‘And then, late today, a kitchen boy came up to tell him that food had been served. He knocked and knocked at his door. There was no answer, so I sent for Djarka.’
BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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