The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) (48 page)

Unemui Bain
(Ancient Egyptian for ‘the Eaters of Souls’)

Chapter 17

I rearranged the torches and studied the wall friezes. They were the work of a professional artist, who had first plastered the rock face before telling his story. The first tableau showed a Pharaoh preceded by his standard-bearers and other officers in war chariots. They were pursuing a sheepskin-clad enemy who had advanced to meet Pharaoh but who now, routed and overthrown, were seeking the protection of a large hill fort on the banks of a river. The citadel was defended by soaring walls and towers with square windows. In front of it some of the enemy who had been captured were in the process of being impaled. Others were stretched out on the ground, wrists and ankles manacled in bronze clamps, waiting to be skinned alive. This grisly ceremony was being watched by the occupants of the fort. Men pierced by arrows fell from the walls whilst Pharaoh’s foot soldiers advanced under the cover of tall shields.

In the second tableau, Pharaoh, attended by his parasol-bearer, was questioning prisoners whilst a tally was made of the enemy slain by counting the severed heads heaped in front of Pharaoh’s chariot. In the third, the background had changed, and was dominated by hills, some steep, others shallow. The sheepskin-clad enemy, pursued by Pharaoh’s soldiers, had arrived before a fortress; its gates had been set alight, and bright red flames were licking hungrily upwards. In other minor paintings, warriors, naked except for loincloths, carried round shields and long spears against Pharaoh’s troops. They were led by a warrior who looked as if he had stag horns on his head. In the last tableau, the citadels had been taken; the ground was covered with corpses, heads impaled on poles. Pharaoh and his charioteers were leaving; behind them trundled carts filled with booty and slaves carrying baskets of the severed heads of his enemy.

I examined the paintings most carefully, Djarka standing quietly behind me.

‘These were not painted by an Egyptian,’ I remarked. ‘He is not celebrating an Egyptian victory but the defeat of his own people.’

I looked at the enemy again.

‘They are Hyksos,’ I whispered. ‘These paintings describe the Season of the Hyaena, when Pharaoh Ahmose drove the Hyksos out of Egypt. You know the story, don’t you, Djarka? How the Hyksos were a violent and vicious enemy, a motley collection of peoples, an army of mercenaries made up of various tribes, many of them from Canaan.’

I gestured around this makeshift sepulchre and grasped Djarka tightly by the shoulder.

‘You should have told me about this!’

He didn’t try to break free, but simply wiped a bead of sweat running down his nose.

‘Do you know what these paintings say, Djarka? Amongst the Hyksos were shepherd kings from Canaan, aggressive and warlike. These paintings show how they were driven out. Your people were the shepherd kings! They returned to Canaan, where successive Pharaohs pursued them. When warfare failed, your people, these shepherd kings, the Apiru, amongst whom is the tribe of Israar, gave up their weapons of battle and returned to Egypt as travellers and herdsmen. This time they won the favour of Pharaoh. Years had passed, so memories had dimmed. They had brought their God or Gods with them.’ I let go of his shoulder. ‘This is not in the paintings, but one such group settled at Akhmin. They became more Egyptian than the Egyptians. Rich and powerful, they gained high office. One of them, Lady Tiye, caught the eye and undying affection of the great Pharaoh Amenhotep III. Now your people had their opportunity. Queen Tiye, with her ideas of one, omnipotent, invisible God, began to teach her husband the secret knowledge of her people. By then, everything described here was history, dim folk memory. Amenhotep the Magnificent never realised the connection between his lovely young wife and the shepherd kings who once terrorised Egypt. He didn’t care if she worshipped the One God under the guise of the Aten, nor did he really care if she made this the staff of life for his younger son, the one he had rejected, the boy I met, the Veiled One, who later became Akenhaten.’

I went and sat on a rocky plinth, gazing up at Djarka.

‘I wonder, Djarka, what Generals Horemheb and Rameses would make of these paintings. They’d quickly realise that the Apiru are the descendants of the shepherd kings, the allies of the cursed Hyksos. That they present a great danger to Egypt, with their notions of One God, of a Messiah, of being a chosen people. They’d declare war on the Apiru. They’d exterminate them as well as launch the most ferocious campaigns in Canaan to wipe out your people root and branch. Did you know of this?’

Djarka went across and picked up his quiver of arrows and his powerful composite bow.

‘What are you going to do, Djarka? Kill me? Are you frightened I’ll send a message to General Horemheb in Memphis or the priests of Amun in Thebes? About this sacred place, where your people used to stop as they crossed Sinai into Egypt? A place where they could recall the deeds of the past and bury their dead? That’s why Meryre and Lord Tutu came here! I don’t know whether they are of your tribe; if not, they are still prime examples of how the ideas of you people can suborn the souls of even the most educated Egyptians. This is what Lord Ay sent Nakhtimin to discover. What do you want to do with it, Djarka?’

Djarka plucked the string of his bow. ‘What will you do, my lord?’ He stepped back so his face remained hidden in the shadows.

‘I am going to lose my temper if I think my friend, a man I regard as a son, is thinking of killing me.’

‘I don’t threaten you,’ Djarka stepped into the pool of light, ‘but I beg you by all that’s sacred …’

‘To destroy it? Of course I will. This valley is now polluted. It is only a matter of time before one of my merry boys amongst the mercenaries babbles about these caves, and how the Lord Mahu and Djarka took a great interest in one of them. Sooner or later General Rameses will send his own troops here, and they’ll comb the valleys till they find it. So, Djarka, put down that bow and bring as many oil skins as we can spare.’

We worked hurriedly. By early evening we had soaked that cave and all it contained: the mummies, the corpses of Tutu and his companions, and above all, those paintings. We threw in torches and the valley side burst into flame, the fire leaping out, burning the gorse and bushes around. Black columns of smoke curled across the valley before rising up against the dark blue sky. I never stayed to see how effective that fire was; I was eager to return to the camp and prepare for the next morning’s march. The troops were restive, desperate to be gone, tired, as one of them shouted, of the dead and the hideous night prowlers.

I redoubled the watch. My guards had reported sightings of a huge hyaena pack led by a fearsome brute; the men had nicknamed it Seth, as it showed little fear of fire or our weapons. The presence of so much flesh, the sweet smell of the cooking and the lure of fresh water had stirred them into a killing frenzy. During the third watch of the night the entire hyaena pack attacked the camp. If I were superstitious, I would have thought the beasts were possessed by some evil demon: they struck skilfully and cunningly. They decided the gate was the weak point, and exploited the gaps between the carts. In their first assault they concentrated on two guards, leaping on to the carts, tearing them down almost before the alarm could be raised. The gap they created allowed the others to penetrate the camp. I was woken by screams, by the braying of conch horns, men shouting and yelling. I burst out of my tent, Djarka behind me, and glimpsed the hideous shapes. They didn’t so much attack us as try and force their way through to the horse lines, which provided easier prey. The sounds and sights were horrendous. Horses maddened by fear broke their traces, some pounding through the camp, others finding a gap out into the desert where others of the pack were waiting. It was a night of searing screams and hot spurting blood. The hyaenas were cunning. They would attack any man by himself but kept well clear of those sensible enough to organise themselves into a circle or square bristling with lances, shields and the sharp barbed points of our archers.

We lost six men that night and about twenty horses. Six more animals had to be destroyed later, and it took us about an hour to clear the camp. We killed at least eight of the pack, including the leader, but they’d got what they came for. I decided to break camp immediately and flee that place. By dawn we were already on the march, leaving the hyaenas the victors of the field, hoping their kills of the previous night would distract them for a while. We abandoned many of our chariots and only stopped to distribute water when the noonday heat became too intense. We marched by day with a short rest at night; the only way to calm the men and impose any sort of order was to put as much distance between ourselves and the Valley of the Grey Dawn as possible.

After four days of forced marching the men were grey with exhaustion, and our beasts began to flounder, but even the most anxious amongst the standard-bearers conceded that the danger was behind us.

We rested at an oasis where a huge stela of Tuthmosis II boasted how this place was in the power of Egypt and its water belonged to Pharaoh. We were so thirsty, hot and tired, we couldn’t have cared if the Devourers from the Underworld had owned it. We took our rest and counted our losses: at least two dozen men over all and about thirty of our beasts. We continued our march in some semblance of order, alarmed by the growing interest of desert wanderers, who had learned that something had happened and realised our strength was considerably weakened. I ordered the men to wear battle harnesses and to advance as if expecting attack. The desert wanderers took notice of this and disappeared. Now and again they would reappear to dog our flanks, looking for any weaknesses or stragglers.

Five weeks after leaving the Valley of the Grey Dawn, we reached the rocky, barren expanse leading to the eastern cliffs and down to the City of the Aten. We entered the city at dawn, and even then I knew something was wrong. The streets were busy enough, the markets preparing for the day, but dark glances and mutterings showed our presence was not appreciated. The palace was heavily fortified and defended. Nebamun was more interested in informing us about what had occurred in the city than asking what had happened out in the Red Lands. I immediately demanded to see the Prince. Once I had satisfied myself about his health and safety, I met with Nebamun and his officers out in the garden. We sat in a circle under the shade of a sycamore tree. Both Djarka and I had bathed and shaved, washing away the dirt and dust. I felt so tired, my limbs ached.

‘I have talked to my men,’ the old colonel began. ‘They have described your expedition to that place of slaughter.’

‘My lord Ay and the Royal Circle,’ I replied, ‘will be informed soon enough.’

Nebamun half smiled at the snub, though his staff officers glowered at me. One of them spoke up.

‘We lost good men and horses.’

‘Horses die!’ I snapped. ‘Whilst it is the duty of the Pharaoh’s soldiers to lay down their lives if necessary.’

‘What did you find?’ Nebamun persisted. ‘Were such deaths necessary? They talked about a hyaena pack possessed by demons, of skeletons, of a hideous slaughter? How you set fire to a cave high up on the side of the valley.’

‘As I have said,’ I bit into a sweet grape, ‘I shall inform Lord Ay.’

‘He has already sent dispatches.’

‘I have seen them,’ I said. ‘My scribes had them ready. More of the same: don’t do this, don’t do that. What I want to know, Colonel, is how safe is this city?’

‘Lord Ay and his Royal Circle,’ Nebamun turned aggressive, ‘disapproved of your expedition, as did Generals Horemheb and Rameses. They could not see the point; the Prince and the Royal Household were left vulnerable.’

‘In which case, Colonel,’ I retorted, ‘I have more confidence in you than they do. Now, enough of bandying words. The city?’

‘The city seethes with unrest,’ Nebamun replied. ‘There have been attacks on officials and some of our soldiers. I have cancelled all leave to go into the beer shops or marketplace; gangs gather outside the palace gates.’

‘What do they want?’

‘Assurances that the city will be safe, that you, my lord, and, of course, His Highness, do not desert them. They talk about their livelihood, about their loyalty to Egypt. They have not moved here to live in a city which is going to be left to die.’

‘But they are right. You know, Colonel, as I do, for it is common knowledge, that once Lord Ay has settled Thebes, the Prince will return to marry the Princess Ankhesenamun and be crowned Lord of the Two Lands.’

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