by Paul Doherty
‘Oh yes, he survived.’ Sobeck tapped one of the sunken yellowing teeth. ‘I caught up with him sheltering in a village to the south of Thebes. He’s the last so there will be no blood feud.’ He threw the head like a ball onto the sand and plucked out the second, a Libyan with long hair, swarthy skin, peaked nose and full lips, a calm composed face bereft of the horror which had masked that of the old assassin. ‘My merchant friend was so intrigued I became curious. I hired some of my Sand Wanderers to search well beyond the area patrolled by the chariot squadrons. They caught three scouts. Two were killed but this one,’ he threw the head after the other, ‘was brought in. I questioned him, with the help of a little fire.’
‘Won’t they be missed?’ I asked.
Sobeck shook his head. ‘Libyans are travelling across a terrain unknown to them; it’s quite common for scouts and guides to become lost. Anyway, he spoke before he died. His war-party had been bribed to cross with gold, silver, precious stones and whatever plunder they could take.’
‘By whom?’
‘I don’t know. It would have to be someone very powerful.’ Sobeck continued, ‘Think, Mahu, five hundred warriors crossing the Nile. They would need barges, someone to look the other way.’
‘And the prisoner told you?’
‘They crossed just above the First Cataract.’
‘A deserted place,’ I declared. ‘No black lands or greenery.’
‘That’s where the scouts were found, in an area where there are no mines and very few patrols – an arid, deserted place. Someone must have provided the barges, a deserted mooring place, as well as maps of the wells and springs. Anyway, now I was truly intrigued. I took my bodyguard down the Nile and found the barges still moored there.’
‘So the Libyans have a way back?’
‘Five hundred fighters, Mahu, warriors: very well-armed, bribed with gold, and furnished with barges and maps, hiding in a place no one would think of searching. What are they going to attack?’
‘It can’t be Thebes, it’s too powerful.’
‘The Malkata lies on the east bank,’ Sobeck whispered, ‘so does the Palace of the Aten.’
‘All are well-guarded.’
‘Against a sudden assault?’
A coldness pricked the nape of my neck, sending a shiver across my shoulders. I stared at the severed head, embedded in the sand. The vultures were already circling above us.
‘It’s not the Malkata,’ I replied. ‘It’s the Valley of the Shadows out in the Eastern Red Lands.’ I explained Akhenaten’s pilgrimages to what he termed his ‘sacred shrine’.
‘Ah well.’ Sobeck pulled his dagger in and out of its embroidered leather sheath. ‘Now we come to something else.’ He gestured across the oasis. ‘Do you trust Djarka?’
‘With my life.’
‘Why, what do you know of him?’
‘He’s a member of the Sheshnu,’ I declared. ‘One of their tribe. A good hunter, faithful and loyal to Great Queen Tiye.’
‘But you trust him with your life? Why?’
‘He reminds me of you, Sobeck.’
‘As I am?’
‘As you were.’
Sobeck glanced away. ‘Good, good,’ he muttered. ‘But don’t trust Snefru.’
‘No!’ I shouted and stepped back. ‘No, not Snefru?’
Djarka, talking to the scorpion men, turned in alarm, his hand going to the quiver at his feet. I gestured all was well.
‘Yes, Snefru.’ Sobeck was enjoying himself. ‘He has been with the shaven heads of Amun.’
I glanced at the severed head of the Jackal leader. I couldn’t make out his features, as the eyes and nose were buried in the sand but, for a moment, I thought its mouth was laughing.
‘What’s the matter, Mahu?’
I recalled stepping into the assassin’s punt.
‘I’d always wondered,’ I replied, ‘how they recognised me. Of course I was wearing Snefru’s cloak, garish, like that of a Desert Wanderer.’
‘Well, now you know.’ Sobeck lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. ‘You’ll remember me, Mahu.’
I stepped closer. ‘Why did you remember me, Sobeck? Why are you doing this?’
‘Because of what I was, because of what I am.’ He smiled thinly. ‘If you go into the dark, Mahu, then so do I. Peace, friend.’ He backed away. ‘I’ll watch with interest what happens.’
Djarka and I took Snefru that same day after darkness had fallen. Fighting hard to control my fury, I asked him to come for a walk, out of the palace grounds into the trees, not far from where Ay had poisoned the scribe Ineti. I chattered about what we were going to do on the morrow, certain items to be bought in Thebes. When the opportunity presented itself I stepped back and knocked him senseless with a blow from the club I’d hidden beneath my robes. Djarka soon had the unconscious man’s hands and feet lashed to pegs driven into the ground, a filthy rag thrust into his mouth. He squatted beside him while I returned to the palace and searched Snefru’s chamber. I found what I was looking for in a wall cavity hidden by the bed: a leather bag full of the same ingots Sobeck had showed me, as well as a pass allowing Snefru into the inner precincts of the Temple of Amun.
By the time I returned, Snefru had regained consciousness and Djarka had placed a small alabaster jar of oil next to his head. I felt a twinge of pity at those fear-filled eyes, that grotesque, scarred face twisted in pain. Djarka had already been busy cutting his cheeks, arms and legs with a razor-sharp dagger. The blood seeped out. I removed the gag.
‘You can scream, Snefru, but if you do, someone may hear and I’ll have to put the gag back. Shall I tell you where we are going? Out to the Red Lands, the hole has already been dug. I will bury you alive. You’re bleeding so the lions and hyenas will come and sniff you and …’
‘Master, Master,’ Snefru gabbled.
‘Don’t Master me,’ I replied, crouching next to him. ‘I’ve found both the pass and the gold. I know about the Libyans and your meetings with the shaven heads. All you have to decide, Snefru, is whether you are to die quickly and quietly here or out in the Red Lands. You’ll scream and yell as the hot sand fills your mouth and nostrils. The prowlers will sniff your blood and dig you out, like a warthog hiding in its den.’
‘I know nothing!’ Snefru screamed, body buckling against the thongs as Djarka, squatting on the other side, sliced his arm.
‘Why, Snefru?’ I asked. ‘I trusted you.’
‘You used to.’ Snefru glared at Djarka.
‘Oh, it’s more than that,’ I retorted.
‘The shaven pates.’ Snefru gave a sigh. ‘A quick death, Master?’
‘Very quick, no more than a heartbeat.’
‘Two months ago,’ Snefru confessed, ‘one of their acolytes approached me in the marketplace at Thebes. He took me into a beer-house and told me they knew everything about Imri and how he and the others had died. One day I would be punished, he swore; they’d crucify me on the walls of Thebes. They said the Grotesque, ’ Snefru coughed, ‘was a heretic, who would soon be sent into the Underworld to meet his just deserts. They offered me a farm, gold, the protection of Amun.’
‘What – just for information?’ I scoffed. ‘Snefru, you knew so little. Tell me about the Libyans,’ I persisted.
‘All I was told is that one day soon, Akhenaten would go into the Valley of the Shadows.’
‘And you’d go with him,’ I interrupted. ‘You and the rest would seal the valley entrance.’
‘The Libyans would attack,’ Snefru went on. ‘I was to wear a blue rag round my left arm and hide.’
‘And the Libyans would sweep in, kill your companions, murder the Prince and anyone with him.’
‘There was more.’ Snefru cleared his throat and Djarka withdrew the knife. ‘If possible, they were to attack this place.’
‘The Palace of the Aten?’
‘A night raid to kill and burn as much as they could before retreating downriver.’
I struck Snefru across the
face.
‘Of course,’ I whispered. ‘And the chariot squadrons would search the Eastern Desert but the Libyans would be back across the Nile.’
‘If any chariot squadrons were sent out,’ Djarka added. ‘If our Prince were dead, and Ay and Nefertiti, not to mention ourselves, there would be a delay, caused by the confusion and chaos.’
‘Who’s behind this?’ I asked.
‘I met the same priest,’ Snefru yelped as Djarka cut his arm again. ‘He brought me messages, gold. They’ve chosen the day; it’s very soon.’
‘I know which day they’d choose,’ I snarled. ‘Our Prince is famous for deliberately ignoring the decrees of the Temple. On an inauspicious day when everyone stays at home, he insists on going out long before dawn to worship his god.’
Snefru nodded.
‘The rest?’ Djarka asked. ‘Your companions?’
‘They know nothing.’ He winced as Djarka cut again. ‘They are innocent.’ Then he began to cry, the tears coursing down his scarred cheeks.
I got to my feet, wiping the sweat from my neck.
‘And me, Snefru?’ I glared down at him. ‘You gave me your cloak – the sign for the assassins hired by Amun – me, your friend – your master.’
‘I had no choice,’ he mumbled. ‘The shaven heads wanted you out of the way, as well as to frighten the Grotesque. They knew of your secret journeys to Thebes, they told me to lend you one of my cloaks …’ He began to sob.
‘Does he know more, my lord?’ Djarka asked.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘He would only be told the time and place. Everything else was left to others.’
I walked to where Karnak sprawled obediently under a tree quietly watching what was happening. He got to his feet so I crouched down and stroked his muzzle.
‘Kill him, Djarka!’ I shouted.
My servant sang a few lines of a hymn I couldn’t understand. When he had finished, Snefru gargled and choked as his throat was slashed.
‘Get rid of the corpse.’ I got to my feet gesturing at Karnak to follow. ‘Oh, and Djarka,’ I peered through the darkness, ‘tell the others in Snefru’s company that their leader has been sent on an important errand, and that he will be away for at least a month.’
‘And?’ Djarka asked, coming forward, resheathing his dagger.
‘They can’t be trusted,’ I replied heavily. ‘Whatever happens, they too must die.’
The following afternoon, as the heat of the day faded, I met Maya at my request in a House of Delights managed by one of Sobeck’s Lieutenants. It was an exquisite place with a tinkling fountain in a white stone courtyard. Inside was a brilliantly painted hall of columns with beautiful eyecatching scenes on the wall depicting young men in a number of poses. I met Maya in one of the love chambers which led off from this hall. It had a cool tiled floor, its walls were painted a soothing green, and the ceiling was a dark blue decorated with silver stars and a golden moon. In the centre stood a great bed of state, its feet carved in the shape of lions’ heads.
‘Why, Mahu!’ Maya gazed admiringly around. ‘I didn’t think we shared such tastes.’
‘We don’t,’ I replied, gesturing at a corner where cushions were piled around a table. ‘But this is as good a place as any to talk. I think it’s best if you relaxed.’
We took our seats, to be served mouthwatering dishes of goose and quail, pots of fish grilled over charcoal fires, wine from the best vineyards. Pretty boys, with sidelocks falling down their faces, dressed in nothing but the scantiest of loincloths, pearl drops in their earlobes with matching necklaces and bangles, tended to our every wish. Maya enjoyed himself. He had grown plumper and even more astute. He ate and drank well, pawed the boys, then leaned back, patting his stomach, staring up at the ceiling.
‘If you want to know something, Mahu, the answer is I don’t know. And now I’d like to sample this House’s other delicacies but I’d prefer to do it by myself, or do you like watching?’
‘Do you know who owns this house?’ I asked.
Maya loosened the band round his waist, splaying his fingers, admiring the paint on his nails.
‘No, you tell me.’
‘Kheferu. Have you ever heard of him?’
‘Yes, he’s some thief from the Underworld, a pimp, a bully boy.’ Maya gestured. ‘Who cares?’
‘Sobeck,’ I replied.
Maya dropped his hand and stared openmouthed. ‘Kheferu?’ he replied.
‘Kheferu is Sobeck,’ I whispered. ‘He came back, Maya, and carved out his own fortune, his own career.’
‘Is he here?’ Maya would have sprung to his feet but I pressed his plump shoulder back.
‘I can arrange for Sobeck to meet you but he’s changed.’
‘In my heart, never.’
‘He’s not what you think, Maya.’
‘I don’t give a fig what you say, Mahu.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘You are lying.’ Maya pulled away. ‘This is a story you have made up to make me talk.’
‘Is it? It’s not just a question of talking, Maya. You work at the House of Secrets. You, like Sobeck, like myself, know what’s happening in Thebes. One day a bloody confrontation will take place between my master and the priests of Amun. You will have to decide which party you support.’
‘The House of Secrets,’ Maya gabbled, ‘belongs to no party.’
‘Nonsense!’ I replied. ‘And you know it. The time of blood is upon us, Maya. Sobeck is with me. I am with the Prince, the legitimate Lord of the Two Lands.’
‘Only Co-regent,’ Maya snapped.
‘Nonsense,’ I repeated. ‘The Magnificent One might as well be in the Far West. He spends his days in a drunken, drugged frenzy, obsessed with his eldest daughter.’
Maya blinked kohl-ringed eyes.
‘Moreover,’ I persisted, ‘you have already chosen. You are having dinner with me.’
‘I can explain that.’
‘Can you?’ I replied. ‘You are a child of the Kap, Maya. If the priests of Amun win, do you think they’ll allow any of us to survive?’
‘Who are they?’
‘That’s what I want to find out. Now, let me tell you a story.’
I told him about meeting Sobeck, the Valley of the Shadows, the gold, the Libyan war-party and Snefru’s confession. Maya’s face grew ashen; he was gulping at his wine, hands shaking. When I had finished, he sat staring moodily at the state bed.
‘I can’t tell you anything.’
‘When this is all over,’ I edged closer, whispering in his ear, ‘friends and allies will be promoted, enemies punished.’
Maya was hooked. I knew he was but he had to make the decision himself.
‘Such things are kept secret.’ He looked out of the corner of his eye at me. ‘You know that, Mahu.’
‘The gold,’ I asked. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘Oh, that’s easy enough,’ he replied. ‘The House of Silver at the Temple of Amun. They have their own Mint.’
‘And how would it be transported to the Libyans?’
Maya’s fat face creased into a smile. ‘Again, easy enough. A year ago the Temple of Amun sent an important delegation to the Libyans to demonstrate the favour of their god and advance their own interests.’
‘Of course,’ I agreed. ‘And the shaven heads of Amun are sacred, their pack donkeys can carry whatever they want. No guards would dream of searching their chests or panniers – but how about the barges?’
Maya clicked his tongue. ‘That’s what you want to know, is it? You want me to search amongst the files and records. It’s quite customary for orders to be issued for barges to be collected.’
‘That’s right, and I want to know who ordered those barges.’
‘You know that already,’ Maya countered.
‘Yes, but I want proof. Who gave the order?’ I gestured at the wine jug. ‘I am going to sit here and finish that while you go and find out. I’ll wait for your return.’
Maya made to
protest.
‘I’ll wait for your return!’ I snapped.
He left a short while later. I lay down on the cushions and slept for a while. I was woken by a loud knocking; one of the servant boys came in to announce that my friend had returned. Maya came bustling through the door. He had changed his robes and looked more alert. He smacked the boy’s bottom, closed the door behind him, then leaned against it.
‘May the gods help us, Mahu, but we are in this together.’
‘The barges?’ I persisted.
‘God’s Father Hotep,’ Maya replied. ‘He ordered the barges to be assembled on different quaysides and transported to a point just above the First Cataract.’
‘And the reason?’
‘Army manoeuvres.’
‘Of course, there are always army manoeuvres and the order would soon be forgotten.’
Maya nodded. I got to my feet.
‘So it’s Shishnak and Hotep. Possibly that fat fool Rahimere, Mayor of Thebes.’ I stretched out my hand. Maya grasped it and suddenly brought his other hand up, the point of the dagger only inches from my face.
‘No, don’t be troubled.’ He moved the dagger away and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘Mahu, if you’ve lied, I’ll kill you!’
‘If I have lied,’ I replied, ‘you won’t have to. If we lose this, we’ll lose everything. There’s something else, Maya. You were there in the Temple of Amun when Tuthmosis died. You must suspect something was wrong. I could tell that.’
‘I learned something but I kept it to myself.’ He spoke quickly, hoarsely. ‘My spy is a lector priest who supervises the temple’s laundry. On the night Tuthmosis died he was told to burn some expensive linen sheets. He never asked why but inspected them. They were covered in a sort of bloody vomit.’ He put the knife away. ‘You know what that means, Mahu?’
I recalled the dead Prince’s chamber.
‘The sheets were unmarked,’ I whispered. ‘And the same was true of Akhenaten’s. Tuthmosis didn’t die in his own chamber.’ My heart skipped a beat. ‘I know what happened, Maya. Tuthmosis went to his brother’s chamber to await him. Whilst there he must have drunk poisoned wine intended for Akhenaten. The alarm was raised. They moved Tuthmosis back to his own room, cleaned Akhenaten’s, replacing the sheet which had been stained. The priests of Amun made a hideous mistake. They poisoned the wrong brother.’
