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

by Paul Doherty

  ‘Ahoy there!’

  I gazed into the night. A skiff, a torch lashed to the pole on the front, was aiming straight towards us.

  ‘Ahoy there! May the God Hapi be with us! May his name—!’

  ‘What do you want?’ the old man screeched.

  ‘I am lost.’ The light concealed the speaker.

  ‘Where do you want to be?’ the assassin behind me bellowed.

  ‘In the Fields of the Blessed,’ the cheery voice rang out. The skiff turned abruptly to the left, coming up behind us. The assassin behind me dared not turn, nor could the puntsman. The old man was staring by me, trying to make out the newcomer. A sound like that of swift fluttering wings carried across the water, the music of an arrow. The man behind me holding the knife crashed into me, hands scrabbling at my back even as he coughed up life’s hot blood. Another whirr, a shriek followed by a splash as the puntsman collapsed into the water. The punt rocked dangerously but its broad flatness held it secure. The old man reacted too slowly. I lashed out with my fist as he rose. He staggered to the side, tried to regain his balance but tumbled into the water. The puppy jumped down between my feet. I pushed it away as I lurched to the side. The assassin behind me had now fallen over backwards. The arrow had taken him in the back of the neck and its barbed point jutted out under his chin. The old man was desperately trying to clamber aboard.

  ‘Please!’

  I struck his vein-streaked, bald head. The punt was rocking from side to side. I clawed his face, pushing him under the water.

  ‘Finish your poem!’ I screamed. ‘Let the river beasts hear it!’ My nails dug into his face, one finger jabbed an eye. He lashed out at my hands. The water swirled, then he was gone. I sat back catching my breath. The corpse of the assassin who had pricked my throat followed his master into the water. The puppy was mewling softly. I snatched it up and looked for my rescuer. The skiff came alongside. The young man sitting so calmly within it smiled at me: a powerful Syrian bow across his lap, a quiver of arrows beside him. And that’s where I met him! Djarka, at the dead of night with the cold freezing my skin and my heart and belly lurching with fear. He just smiled at me, his smooth, olive-skinned face unmarked even by a bead of sweat, those dark thick-lashed eyes staring curiously. He played with his black oiled hair, ringlets tumbling down each side of his face. At the time he looked more like a young woman than a man. I watched his hands. I could see no dagger.

  ‘Mahu.’ He spread his arms. ‘Mahu, come!’ His voice was tinged with an accent. ‘I am Djarka of the Sheshnu.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I am one of the Silent Ones who serve Great Queen Tiye. I am to be your servant.’

  ‘I don’t need one.’

  ‘Oh yes, you certainly do,’ he sighed. ‘Come, we can talk on the way. The Great Queen wishes to speak to you. Let’s be gone before the river guards pass.’

  I gripped the soaked puppy and jumped into the skiff. Djarka grabbed the paddle and we moved swiftly away, leaving the barge rocking in the river, its fiery cresset torch fading to a distant blur of light.

  ‘You were following me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Sobeck’s men never caught you?’

  Djarka shrugged the robe off his shoulders and passed it back to me: it was quartered in four colours, red, blue, black and bright yellow.

  ‘People always look for the same,’ Djarka declared over his shoulder. ‘I try never to be the same. Sometimes I wear a hood. Sometimes I remove my sandals. I watched you leave the Sign of the Ankh. You went down to the quayside and acted very stupidly. They were waiting for you.’

  ‘But how did they know? Sobeck must have betrayed me.’

  ‘No.’ Djarka turned back and concentrated on his paddling. We were now approaching the Karnak side of the river and I could glimpse the lights along the quayside. ‘Sobeck would have killed you and buried your body out in the Red Lands.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Someone wants you dead but, there again, someone wants me dead. We kill each other in our thoughts.’

  By now my stomach had quietened, my heart beat not so fast. ‘You are a priest, a philosopher?’

  Djarka laughed merrily like a boy and my heart warmed to him. ‘No, I am a hunter,’ he replied. ‘No, that’s wrong. I am an actor who mimes. Wrong again,’ he mused. ‘I am merely the Great Queen’s servant. I met you years ago, Mahu, out in the desert but I was a boy. You wouldn’t remember. Ah well, we are here.’

  Djarka nosed the craft along the quayside steps which served one of the smaller courts of the Malkata Palace. He picked up a rope, lashed it to the metal ring driven into the wall and helped me out onto the slippery steps.

  ‘Can’t you get rid of that?’ He pointed at the puppy. He plucked it from my hands as he led me up the steps. We hurried across the courtyard, then Djarka stopped at a storeroom, pulled open a door and threw in the bow and arrows, followed by the little puppy, slamming the door shut on its whining and yelping.

  ‘It will be safe and warm there and will soon go to sleep. What are you going to call it?’

  ‘Karnak.’

  Djarka gave a twisted smile. ‘The shaven heads of Amun will love that.’ He led me into the palace proper: guards in their blue and gold head-dresses, ceremonial shields displaying the ram’s head of Amun, stopped us. Djarka produced a clay tablet pass which silenced all questions and we were ushered on.

  Queen Tiye was waiting for us in a downstairs chamber overlooking a small enclosed garden. The air was sweet with fragrance and through the open window I could see braziers glowing, their light shimmering on the ornamental lakes and pools. The room itself was bright, its walls painted blue and yellow with an oakwood border along the top and bottom. Queen Tiye was sitting on a small divan, the cushions plumped about her, poring over rolls of papyrus. She was dressed in a simple white tunic with an embroidered shawl studded with precious stones about her shoulders. As we came in, she glanced up. Her eyes were tired; the furrows on either side of her mouth were deeper, more marked than before.

  ‘You are safe, Mahu?’

  I went to kneel but she waved at the cushions before the divan.

  ‘Sit down! Sit down! You too, Djarka.’

  ‘You had me followed, Excellency?’

  ‘Of course I did.’ Queen Tiye’s head went to one side. ‘Do you think you can go to Thebes, Mahu, and not be noticed? I know all about Sobeck and the jeweller. He’s dead, you know. I tried to suborn him and, poor fellow, he paid the price. You are wondering why I didn’t have Sobeck arrested?’ She shrugged. ‘Why should I? For stealing a royal concubine? He can have the lot! Moreover, what threat does he pose?’

  I remained silent.

  ‘He wasn’t safe.’ Djarka spoke up. ‘He was attacked on the river by the Jackal Heads.’

  ‘Jackal Heads?’ I recalled the amulet slung round the old man’s neck.

  ‘A family of assassins,’ Djarka cheerily replied. ‘In fact, a clan who hire themselves out for murder.’

  ‘Your Aunt Isithia knew them,’ Tiye added. She smiled at my surprise. ‘Oh yes, she knew such assassins for a long time.’

  I recalled the day going into the Temple of Anubis to view my father’s corpse: that strange beggarman at the quayside as well as the day my master was attacked.

  ‘Sometimes they guarded her,’ Queen Tiye declared, ‘and that intrigues me. Did you murder your Aunt Isithia, Mahu? At first I thought you did but you were in the palace when she died.’ She picked up a small cup from the table and sipped at it.

  ‘I didn’t kill her, Excellency, but I danced when I heard the news.’

  ‘I am sure you did.’

  ‘Who hired the Jackal Heads?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps I am not the only person who thinks you killed your aunt; it could be a blood feud. One day,’ she pursed her lips, ‘one day we’ll find the truth to all this and pull up the roots. Until then, you are my son’s protector and Djarka will be yours.’

&nbs
p; ‘I have Snefru!’

  ‘Djarka will be yours!’ she repeated flatly. ‘He is of good family and well suited.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You have very dangerous friends, Mahu. Sobeck, or whatever he calls himself now, is well-known to the police but he might be an ally.’

  ‘You wished to see me, Excellency?’ I was cold and tired.

  ‘Come!’ Tiye rose and crossed to a water clock standing in the corner. She glanced at it then picked up a cloak and swung it round her shoulders. ‘You’d best see this.’

  We left the chamber, going along a maze of glorious corridors, across courtyards, penetrating deeper into the palace. Guards stood hidden in shadowy enclaves. Servants hurried by; fine robes billowing, bare feet slapping on the shiny floor. Halfway down one corridor Tiye paused, opened a door and led us into a chamber which smelt musty. No lights glowed. She stumbled about, whispering at us to be silent. Then she moved to the far wall, fumbled, and removed a small flap: a ray of light beamed into the room. She gestured me over. Djarka stayed leaning against the door. I crouched down, peered through and caught my breath.

  ‘The House of Love,’ Tiye whispered.

  I was staring into the central chamber of the Magnificent One’s harem. The room was shadowy, though its centre was ringed with light. It was a beautiful place with water basins, lightly coloured pillars and a myriad of glowing oil lamps in pure alabaster jars. In the centre of the pool of light the Divine One sprawled naked in a thronelike chair. I could see every inch of his corpulent body, the heavy paunch and plump thighs glistening with oil, his powerful face, chin against his chest. All around him concubines fluttered, their slim naked bodies carefully shaved, lips painted, eyes lined with kohl, fingernails and toenails deeply carmined. Some anointed him with precious perfumes whilst others brought freshly plucked lotus for him to smell or sweet iced melon to quench his thirst. Beside him stood a small table bearing a game board, on which enamelled, terracotta pieces with dogs’ heads and hawks’ heads waited to be moved. The Magnificent One sniffed at the lotus or chewed a piece of melon. Now and again he’d grab the hand of one of the concubines and push it between his legs, even as he turned to throw the knuckle-bones to determine the next move upon the board. Against the far wall ranged a line of alcoves, above them the flashing gold of the Royal Vulture, its wings spread out. In one of the shadow-filled alcoves stood a divan, its cushions of many colours piled high. The Magnificent One rose and, taking two of the girls, entered the alcove and lay on the divan. The rest of the concubines patiently waited until he returned.

  I wondered why Great Queen Tiye had brought us here: I was about to ask when a eunuch appeared, resplendent in white robes and insignia of office, body glistening, his sweaty, plump face painted like a woman’s. He came into the pool of light. Two of the concubines acted as fan-bearers on either side of him. The eunuch clapped his jewelled hands and shooed the women out from the Magnificent One’s presence. Pharaoh himself had returned to his thronelike chair. He picked up the knuckle-bones and threw them on the board, became angry at what he saw and turned away, flicking one of the pieces over with his finger. The chamber was now deserted.

  ‘Watch!’ Tiye hissed.

  I heard a door open. The effect on the Magnificent One was startling. He pulled himself up in the chair, hands going between his legs. A shadowy form appeared, a young woman. She stepped into the light and I caught my breath. She was tall and slim; a thick braided perfumed wig framed her beautiful face. She was naked except for the jewellery which flashed at ear, throat, wrists and ankles. When she moved in her high-heeled sandals to stand before Pharaoh, I realised why the room had been emptied. I had only glimpsed her on a number of occasions but the young woman was Sitamun, Pharaoh’s eldest daughter. She crouched at her father’s feet, hands brushing his thighs, fingers moving towards his crotch. Then she rose and sat on his lap, legs dangling down either side as she moved further and further up, putting her hands about his neck. Pharaoh was now squirming with pleasure. I glanced at Queen Tiye: her face was like that of some ghost out of the West. Even in the poor light I glimpsed the grey pallor, the tear-rimmed eyes.

  ‘That,’ she whispered, ‘is the price I have to pay.’ She closed the flap very carefully and pressed the side of her head against the cold wall. ‘The Co-regency,’ she whispered. ‘Sitamun is playing the Great Queen, the Great Wife. Our daughter! His own flesh and blood!’

  ‘Why, Excellency?’ I whispered. ‘Why have you shown me this?’

  Tiye remained silent, a hand to her eyes as she sobbed quietly, a heartrending sight. She brushed her eyes with her fingers.

  ‘Look on the magnificence of Egypt, Mahu, and despair.’

  I thought she’d moved away but she turned and pressed both hands against the wall as if she wished to claw through the stone and plaster. My fingers searched for the flap. I felt the small handle, pulled it down and stared back at the House of Love. Sitamun had gone. Amenhotep sat crouched on his throne. I was about to lift the flap back when I saw a movement in the shadows. Someone else was in the room, a woman shrouded in a cloak.

  ‘Excellency,’ I whispered.

  Queen Tiye ignored me. I peered through again. Amenhotep had risen and, grasping a cane, he waddled out of the pool of light, a ridiculous figure with his fat, vein-streaked legs, the drooping cheeks of his bottom, the creases of fat along his back. He moved into the shadows. The woman who was there offered her cloak which he placed round his shoulders. I could hear whispering but Amenhotep’s body blocked any view – yet I was sure I knew who the woman was: the Princess Khiya. What was she doing here, watching the Magnificent One make love to his own daughter? I felt Tiye’s nails in my cheek, forcing me away. I stood back, the flap was closed and Tiye led us out into the passageway. She only talked when we returned to the chamber, Djarka and I kneeling before her as she paced up and down. She looked grief-stricken though more composed.

  ‘What have you seen tonight, Mahu? Well,’ she sighed, ‘what you have seen is the rottenness in the blood; the way dreams can slip into nightmares. The Magnificent One, the brave-eyed lion, Horus in the South, being pawed by his own daughter. If Sitamun bears a child,’ Tiye stopped pacing and glared down at me, her eyes as fierce as any cat’s, ‘you are to kill her and the child.’

  ‘Excellency,’ I protested.

  She brought her hand back and slapped me across the face. ‘There can be no more sons of Egypt!’ She crouched down before me. ‘You have seen my nightmare, Mahu. I now ask myself: is that rottenness also in my son? Will he surrender his destiny for passing pleasures? That’s why I chose Nefertiti for him.’ She stood up. ‘That’s why you are his protector.’

  I kept kneeling, head down. I didn’t know why I had been taken to see what I had. Was it Queen Tiye’s way of warning me? Or was she preparing to murder her own daughter and grandchild? Perhaps she was trying to purge her own soul for allowing her husband full rein in his decadence?

  Tiye gently touched me under the chin and forced my head back. ‘What else did you see, Mahu, when you looked again?’

  I held her gaze. ‘Nothing, Excellency. I was just intrigued.’

  ‘Good!’ She stroked my cheek. ‘Remain intrigued, Mahu, and you will remain alive.’

  ‘Enk Shweer Neb-ef—

  I am cursed by his Lord.’

  Chapter 14

  I was appointed Chief of Police over the entire city of Thebes and the surrounding area shortly after I recovered from a fever in the thirty-seventh year of the Magnificent One’s reign. I received my Gold Collar and Seals of Office at an official ceremony before the Window of Appearances from Akhenaten and Nefertiti, God’s Father Hotep looking on smugly. I was to work in the new buildings of the Palace of the Aten, my chambers standing next to Ay’s; the latter had also received further honours, including the title of the Commander of the Chariots of Min. My master never told me why I had been chosen or why there had been a delay over the publication of such a great office. Ay did that at the subsequent banquet
as we dined on a range of delicacies cooked in the Canaan fashion over herb-strewn charcoal, the dishes being served by Syrian girls dressed in the guise of Hathor, the Lady of Mirth.

  ‘You are, Mahu,’ Ay spoke over his cup, ‘a cunning soul and you accept that what our Prince wishes has force of law, and that convinced me.’

  So he had delayed my appointment! I was too drunk to respond, whilst the Gold Collar weighed heavily round my neck. The other children in the Kap were busy toasting me. Horemheb and Rameses, resplendent in their Guard Officers’ uniforms, were both looking lean and fit after a season out in the Red Lands hunting down and killing outlaws who preyed on caravans. Huy was absent, being despatched as an envoy across Sinai. As professional soldiers, Horemheb and Rameses were most interested in this. They grumbled about the creeping inaction of Egypt’s border troops to counter the unrest amongst her client states across Sinai, especially in the face of the growing power of the Hittites. Maya also attended as Hotep’s retainer. He looked plump and comely in his perfumed robes.

  ‘Ringed and bangled,’ Rameses hissed, ‘as any whore.’ Maya kept his distance as well he might: he had yet to decide which path he would tread. Pentju and Meryre lorded it over all, two wise fools full of wine and their own importance. Pentju was gabbling about the light of his life, the Lady Tenbra whom he had impressed with his wealth and status, so hoped to make a good marriage.

  Of course, there were distractions enough at the banquet. All of us had to applaud Akhenaten as he directed his Hittite Orchestra of the Sun, now trained in the lute, the oboe, the harp and cymbal. The members of this singular group had their own quarters and no longer looked so strange in their heavy wigs and female robes, faces gaudily painted. They had soon reconciled themselves to their fate as consecrated to the god whilst seeing their eccentric ruler as God’s incarnate representative. We cheered as if they had been inspired by Hathor herself. They played passably well. Nefertiti, sprawled against the cushions, her babies lying swaddled next to her, kept up a playful commentary that whatever happened, the Hittites must not sing.