An Evil Spirit Out of the West (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)

by Paul Doherty

  ‘We must leave,’ the hunters insisted. ‘She knows of our presence and will tolerate us no further.’

  The lioness returned to the baby gazelle, standing over it, licking it, gently reassuring it. Then she lifted her head, those great amber eyes glaring up at us. The hunters were now pleading.

  ‘We have seen enough,’ Ay whispered and we withdrew.

  Akhenaten revelled in what he had seen, striding ahead with Nefertiti almost as if he had forgotten his ungainliness, swinging his cane like a soldier would a sword, one arm round her shoulders, his mouth only a few inches from her ear. Ay, however, questioned the hunters as did Horemheb and Rameses, yet this was no trickery.

  ‘Have you ever seen that before?’

  The elder hunter, a grizzled veteran, shook his head.

  ‘Never, my lord,’ he replied.

  ‘You are a Kushite, aren’t you?’ Ay demanded.

  ‘My mother was. My father was a farmer in the Black Lands.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of such a story?’ Rameses insisted.

  ‘I have heard tales about the great cats treating a gazelle like a cub, but until this day I never believed it.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s true.’ The other hunter gazed round. ‘Perhaps it can be explained. The lioness may have lost her own cubs. She may even have killed the gazelle’s mother and dragged her body away. I have known the young to follow the killer which has taken its mother.’ The hunter hoisted his bow over his shoulder. ‘I forgot to bring the sand quails,’ he smiled. ‘We’ll leave them for the lioness. It was worth the price.’

  Later that afternoon we left that strange deserted cove along the Nile. Akhenaten stood in the prow of our barge staring until it disappeared behind rocky outcrops and the thick hedges of palm trees. Once it had disappeared he stood, head bowed, tears trickling down his long furrowed cheeks: he grasped Nefertiti by the hand and they both returned to the cabin amidships.

  The news of what we had seen soon spread amongst the crew, only increasing their curiosity about the journey and its destination. Some declared they had seen similar signs. Horemheb and Rameses looked genuinely perplexed. Ay could only shake his head.

  ‘Some things can be explained,’ he confided, ‘some things cannot. The Prince believes it was a sign and it’s best if we leave it at that.’

  Our journey back to Thebes was uneventful. We were distracted by the different sights on both shores as well as the varied life along the river. At dawn and sunset there were the undecked fishing boats with their huge nets; fowlers in their punts, busy along the reedfilled banks. In the cool hours came the pleasure boats bright with their gilding and blue, red and yellow paints which cast vivid reflections on the surface of the shimmering water. We passed Dendera, following the river down past the desert mountain ranges giving way to wide swathes of cultivated land where palm, acacia, fig tree and sycamore thrived. Eventually we glimpsed the silver-and gold-plated tops of the pylons, obelisks, temple cornices and rooftops of Luxor, Thebes and Karnak. We made our way carefully through the different flotillas going up and down the Nile or across to the Necropolis. At last we slipped along our own quayside thronged with servants waiting to greet us.

  It seemed strange to be back in the Palace of the Aten. Later that day Akhenaten and Nefertiti invited both Ay and myself to a splendid but private banquet held on the daïs behind thick gauze curtains at the end of the hall of audience. Snefru kept guard and brought the food himself: plates of freshly cooked meat and bread, dishes of vegetables, small pots of sauce, a welcome relief from the hardened bread and dry salted flesh we had eaten on board during most of our journey.

  Akhenaten was fascinated by what we had seen. Time and again he returned to the lioness and the gazelle as a sign from his Father that all was well and all would be well. He began to question Ay about the place itself: the building of quaysides, the exploration of wells, how canals could be dug. Akhenaten’s face became flushed, eyes bright as he talked of plans to found a new city, build temples open to the sun. I wondered if Tiye had arranged the journey to distract her son. Or was it what she and her husband intended for this rebel at the imperial court? Was Akhenaten to be banished from the Malkata and the City of the Sceptre to some lonely outpost where he could indulge his own private beliefs? Nefertiti seemed just as enthusiastic. I found it difficult to imagine a woman like herself, not to mention her father Ay, being expelled from the centre of influence and power. The meal was coming to an end when an imperial herald arrived. He was dressed in white, a gold fillet around his head, a white wand in his left hand, a scroll of papyrus in the other. Snefru brought him to the hall of audience. The man knelt before the daïs and handed over the scroll. Ay unfolded this: it bore the crest of the imperial cartouche, Pharaoh’s own seal. Ay studied the contents and looked anxiously at Akhenaten. ‘A summons from your father. Tomorrow afternoon you are to join your brother, the Crown Prince Tuthmosis, in the Holy of Holies in the Temple of Amun-Ra at Karnak.’

  All pleasure faded from Akhenaten’s face. ‘The vigil,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘We are to spend four days before the tabernacle of that hideous demon and pledge our loyalty to the God of Thebes.’ He sat, head back against the wall, eyes glaring, his strange chest rising and falling as if he had been running fast.

  Ay ordered the herald to withdraw. Akhenaten’s face grew ghastly, liverish, eyes starting in his head, lips moving but no sound, not a word. Nefertiti tried to calm him but he brushed her hand away. He made to rise but slumped back. He grasped his cane and with one sweep sent the platters and plates, cups and goblets, alabaster oil jars flying from the tables. He rose to a half-crouch, the cane rising and falling, smashing into the acacia wood, cutting deep as if it was a sword, whilst the anger raged in his face; his lips white-flecked, eyes popping, chest heaving. The oiled, perfumed wig he wore became dislodged. Akhenaten threw it at me and, with both hands, smashed the cane up and down, curses tumbling from his lips. Ay stood and watched. Nefertiti flattened herself against the wall, fearful and watchful. At last Akhenaten let go of the cane and, turning sideways, placed his head in his wife’s lap, drawing his knees up like a child, fingers going to his mouth. Nefertiti stroked the side of his face, talking in a language I could not understand, soft gentle words to match the rhythmic movement of her hands. She glanced at Ay and gestured with her head. Ay left the hall and returned, a small goblet of wine in his hands. Snefru still stood by the doorway, transfixed by what he had seen. Ay handed the wine over to Nefertiti who coaxed her husband to drink, making him sit up, holding the cup for him until he grasped it with two hands, drinking greedily, face now slack, a terrifying look in his eyes.

  ‘Leave,’ Ay whispered to me. ‘Leave and never repeat what you have seen. Take Snefru with you.’

  I did so at once, pushing Snefru out into the cold night air, closing the doors behind me.

  ‘What was that?’ Snefru asked.

  ‘The rage of a god,’ I replied.

  Snefru was about to walk away when he came back. ‘Master, I apologise, but on the night you returned, a message came for you.’

  ‘A message?’ I asked. ‘No one sends messages to Mahu. It cannot be Aunt Isithia.’ I spread my hands. ‘Snefru, where is this message?’

  ‘It was brought by one of those amulet-sellers. Only a few lines: “Let’s live and love”.’ Snefru rubbed the scar where his nose had been. ‘Yes, that’s it. “Let’s live and love. Suns set and suns rise”.’ He shrugged and spread his hands.

  My heart quickened. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘The amulet-seller said he came from the small-wine booth which stands at the mouth of the Street of Jars. Do you understand what it means, Master?’

  I shook my head and walked away. Of course I did! Sobeck had returned. He was in Thebes and wished to see me.

  The hieroglyph for ‘enemy’ – hfty/hefty – is a placenta, a horned snake, a bread loaf and plural strokes.

  Chapter 11

  Pale-faced and anxious-eyed,
Akhenaten left the palace the following afternoon. He was surrounded by shaven heads from the Temple of Amun and escorted by guards displaying the golden ram’s head of their god. My master had quietened down. Nefertiti had attended to him and Pentju had also been summoned in the dead of night to give him a soothing draught and check that all was well. Nobody was allowed to accompany him; even Horemheb and Rameses were ordered to stand aside as my master was taken down to the waiting barge: a black-painted, sombre craft with the ram’s head on the prow and an ugly carved jackal face on the stern. Once Akhenaten was gone, our house seemed to lose its soul. A chilling silence drove Ay, Nefertiti and myself out into the garden to sit under the shade of date palm trees. Snefru, sword drawn, circled us like a hunting dog, alert for any eavesdropper, brusque in dismissing servants who came our way. Ay’s confidence had been shaken. He conceded the priests of Amun had acted more quickly and ruthlessly than he had ever imagined.

  ‘An imperial summons,’ he shook his head, ‘cannot be ignored.’

  ‘He could have feigned sickness.’

  ‘Daughter, they would still have taken him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ostensibly,’ Ay sighed, ‘to acquaint himself with the God.’

  ‘And the truth?’

  Ay glanced at me. ‘Mahu, you are so quiet. Can the pupil inform the master?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nefertiti moved closer, her breath on my face, her perfume tickling my nostrils, hands against mine.

  ‘For one or two reasons,’ I replied.

  ‘Yes?’ Ay demanded.

  ‘To break his will.’

  ‘Never.’ Nefertiti’s eyes widened.

  ‘Or to kill him.’

  Nefertiti’s head went down; she gave a low moan, a heartwrenching sound. When she glanced up, her eyes were mad with anger. Her hand lunged out, nails ready to rake my cheeks, but her father seized her wrist.

  ‘You are sure, Mahu?’ he asked.

  ‘I am certain. The Prince will not be cowed. He asserts himself. He worships a new god.’

  ‘Whom his father also worships,’ Ay declared.

  ‘Only as a ploy,’ I replied. ‘A political balance against the host of Amun and only then at the insistence of Queen Tiye. Egypt has many gods,’ I continued. ‘Amun does not object as long as its supremacy, its monopoly of wealth and power is not challenged.’

  ‘But our Prince is not the heir.’

  ‘He could be,’ I replied. ‘He might be.’

  The garden fell silent except for the call of a dove to its mate. ‘What makes you say that?’ Ay plucked at a blade of grass.

  ‘Tuthmosis is a blood-cougher.’

  ‘Not necessarily the mark of death.’

  ‘In one so young?’ I challenged. ‘Even if he lives and enjoys a million jubilees – may the gods so grant,’ I added mockingly, ‘so might our Prince.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Our journey to the North is now well-known. What if, in the future, during the reign of an ailing Pharaoh, Akhenaten withdraws from Thebes, journeys to his holy site and sets up a rival court, a new temple of religion?’

  ‘Very good,’ Ay whispered. ‘A master pupil. You do think, Mahu.’

  ‘He just doesn’t talk, do you, Mahu?’ Nefertiti’s anger had cooled. She was staring curiously at me. ‘Go on,’ she urged.

  ‘If our Prince dies there’s no threat of schism, no challenge …’

  ‘But if Tuthmosis dies as well?’ Ay asked.

  ‘The Magnificent One has daughters,’ I smiled. ‘Shishnak or someone else might marry one of these. It would not be the first time there has been a change of dynasty in Egypt.’ I stared across the garden. ‘And if that happens, we would join our master across the Far Horizon. No one here would be allowed to survive.’

  ‘Queen Tiye would resist,’ Nefertiti declared.

  ‘Bereft of her husband and her sons? Don’t you think the priests of Amun know Queen Tiye is the true source of her second son’s waywardness?’

  ‘So, what can be done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied. ‘This is the eye of the storm. Our Prince is in the hands of his god.’

  ‘How could they explain away his death?’ Nefertiti asked.

  ‘You know full well: an unfortunate accident. Do you remember those crows flying over the Temple of Amun, the Prince’s so-called blasphemous hymn to the Aten in such sacred precincts! The shaven heads of Amun would claim that Akhenaten’s death was a just punishment from their god as well as a vindication of Amun’s supremacy. They do not intend to nip the bud, or cut the branch, but hack at the roots.’

  ‘We must have time,’ Nefertiti whispered, rubbing her stomach. ‘Mahu, I am pregnant.’

  I went to congratulate her. She held up a hand.

  ‘Pentju has confirmed it.’ Her face creased into a smile. ‘I have asked Meryre to become my chapel priest. Both are sworn to silence. Why?’ she teased, head slightly to one side. ‘Do you think, Mahu, that you are the only child of the Kap who swears loyalty to us?’

  ‘Excellency,’ I replied formally, trying to overcome my own embarrassment. ‘All men swear allegiance to you.’

  ‘Very good, Mahu.’ She tweaked the tip of my nose and lifted her shift to reveal a slightly distended stomach. I am perhaps two months gone. Pentju has even whispered that I may have twins. The divine seed has been planted, it must be allowed to grow.’

  ‘Oh, how?’ Ay plucked at his lower lip, still lost in his thoughts. ‘How can these matters be turned?’

  ‘You’ve fought in a battle, sir,’ I mocked, recalling his words. ‘There is always a moment, perhaps even only a few heartbeats, when chance or luck …’

  ‘No such thing,’ Nefertiti snapped.

  ‘The hand of God,’ Ay whispered, ‘can change things. We have our spies at Karnak.’

  Nefertiti glanced away. ‘And what will you do, Mahu?’

  I thought of Sobeck, smiled and didn’t reply.

  Later in the day I slipped into Thebes, taking a circuitous route to elude any pursuer. So strange to be in the city! The walls of the houses facing the street were dingy, windowless and silent; their doors hung open to reveal shadowy passages or the first steps of a staircase leading up into the darkness. Voices spoke, shouts, a child’s cry. Now and again I had to stand aside for a donkey, laden with burdens, trotting nimbly by under its driver’s stick. Occasionally houses would jut out, their upper storeys meeting to form dark suffocating tunnels. I walked quickly along these into some sunfilled square grateful for the light, noises and smells. The traders, as always, were busy. Sheep, geese, goats and large horned oxen were being herded and paraded for sale. Fishermen and peasants, squatting before their great reed baskets, offered vegetables, meat, dried fish, and pastries for sale. People haggled noisily, bringing their own goods, necklaces, beads, fans, sandals and fish hooks to trade. A farmer was shouting at a buyer, eager to purchase a slumbering ox.

  ‘No less! No less,’ the fellow shouted, ‘than five measures of honey, eleven measures of oil and …’

  I paused as if interested and glanced quickly around. No one was following me.

  ‘What do you think, sir?’ the buyer bellowed.

  ‘At least half an ouηou in gold,’ I replied.

  The haggling started again. I slipped away, concealing my face beneath the folds of my robe as if trying to fend off the stench of sweat, salt, spices, cooked meat and dried fish.

  The odour was too much, as was the stinking, flea-infested reek of the alleyways. I went deeper into the city, across the open markets with their stalls and shops. I stopped to admire Hittite jewellery, Phoenician perfume, Syrian cordage, gold, silver and other metals. Feeling hungry I bought a small reed basket of dried dates covered in a syrup of honey and spices, dotted with pistachio and shredded almonds. I took this across to watch a goose being roasted over an open spit. When I had finished eating, I sat under a palm tree so a barber could shave and oil me. All the time I watched for that familiar face, a fleeting glimpse of
someone trying to hide. I kept well away from processional routes, the temples and other outbuildings. I acted like a steward of some great mansion out on a day’s shopping. I paused before a jeweller’s stall; he was arguing with a customer over the alloys for electrum.

  ‘Forty measures silver and sixty gold!’ the customer declared.

  I stared down at the precious stones, emeralds, jasper, garnets and rubies.

  ‘I have others in a chest at the back,’ the jeweller broke off from his quarrel, ‘away from thieving eyes and hands. This man,’ he grinned at the customer, ‘he’s got it wrong, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘An ouηou of electrum is twenty measures silver and eighty gold.’ The customer glared at me and shuffled off. I opened my own purse and measured out half an ouηou of silver into the small dangling scales. The jeweller’s eyes widened.