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

by Paul Doherty

  By the spring of year ten of Akhenaten’s reign, the other children of the Kap joined me on such occasions and, the more we went out, the less we hunted. Instead we’d gather at some distant oasis, cook food, and drink wine; Horemheb and Rameses, Huy, Pentju, myself and even Maya, even though he complained how the dust stained his robes whilst the heat made his face-paint run. The only absentee was Meryre. Our High Priest was now caught up in his own holiness, lost in the vision of the Aten, Akhenaten’s dog, constantly at his feet, ever ready to serve and please. We didn’t want him there because we recognised the true reason we met. We were conspirators without a conspiracy, traitors not yet guilty of treason, grumblers who could do nothing about our grievances.

  One auspicious day in that same spring, we were all gathered at the oasis, exhausted after a short hunt. Maya had mysteriously disappeared from the City of Aten two days previously. Speculation was rife on his whereabouts, though Maya was often absent, travelling to Thebes to check the granaries and treasure-houses of the temple. We’d lit a fire. Horemheb had gutted the quails and Rameses was roasting them over the fire. We sat around sipping the wine and chatting about our early days in the Kap. On that particular occasion Djarka was with us, serving as our guard; it was he who raised the alarm. We went to the edge of the oasis and glanced out through the heat haze. A cloud of dust appeared.

  ‘Chariots,’ Horemheb declared.

  Djarka ran to collect his bow whilst we looked for our weapons. ‘No, it’s only one,’ he called out. We relaxed as the chariot became more visible and I glimpsed Maya standing, his resplendent robes fluttering in the breeze. I made out the leather helmet, baldric and kilt of his driver. The chariot came thundering on, hooves drumming the ground, the horses’ plumed heads rising and falling, the dust swirling out towards us. Sobeck, who had overcome his earlier difficulties, skilfully turned the horses round, executing those sensational zig-zag turnings which the professional charioteer loves so much before turning them back and reining them in only a few yards from our party. Maya climbed down, Sobeck followed. He grasped Maya’s hand and walked towards us, taking off his helmet. He grinned at the gasps. Horemheb was the first to recognise him. ‘I thought you were dead in the Red Lands,’ Rameses barked, glancing out of the corner of his eye at me, ‘though we had our suspicions.’

  Sobeck took the gazelle skin of water I offered. He passed it first to Maya then wetted his own face and chest, before lifting it to his lips, gulping fiercely. He hadn’t changed much; his face was a little leaner, there were a few more scars on his chest and arms. Maya stood beside him, a dazzling smile on his face.

  ‘Well?’ Sobeck squinted up at the sun. ‘Am I friend or foe? Will you keep me in the sun like Akhenaten does his envoys or invite me into the shade for that delicious-smelling quail and a cup of wine?’

  ‘I could take your head!’ Rameses taunted. ‘There is still a reward on it.’

  ‘No, Rameses.’ Sobeck pushed the stopper back into the waterskin. ‘You could try to take my head, and you’d be dead within a heartbeat of doing so.’

  ‘I was only joking,’ Rameses sneered.

  ‘I was not.’ Sobeck threw the waterskin at him. ‘Well?’ He spread his hands. ‘Friend or foe?’

  ‘Always a friend.’ Horemheb walked forward to clasp Sobeck’s hand, the rest followed. When it was my turn, Sobeck pulled me close and kissed me on either cheek.

  ‘You do keep strange company, Mahu,’ he whispered. ‘I miss you in Thebes.’

  His perfumed sweat tickled my nostrils. Then he turned to crack a joke with Djarka and examine his bow. We all settled down, squatting round the fire, sharing out the meat and wine.

  ‘I thought it best,’ Maya declared, picking like some young lady at his meat. ‘I thought it best if Sobeck – well, if we met him again. I have told him about Meryre.’

  ‘Once a holy man always a holy man,’ Sobeck commented.

  For a while, we all reminisced about the House of Residence, the different scribes, the night Horemheb lost his dwarf. Sobeck mentioned Weni and offered a silent toast in which we all joined.

  ‘You know he was murdered, don’t you?’ Sobeck glanced at me. ‘You and I, Mahu, we know that Weni was murdered.’

  ‘I thought it was strange,’ Huy commented, ‘that an old soldier couldn’t take his drink and was drowned in a pool.’

  ‘Akhenaten killed him,’ Sobeck continued evenly, ‘probably with the blessing of his mother.’

  ‘Just as God’s Father Hotep tried to kill us all,’ I added.

  ‘What?’

  I had not told the group about my earlier suspicions or Hotep’s final confession, but now I did so: Horemheb and Rameses corroborated certain parts of my story.

  ‘Well, well, well.’ Sobeck drained his wine cup and, grabbing the wineskin, refilled it.

  ‘Why have you come here, Sobeck?’ Rameses, of course, was the first to look for another reason. ‘You haven’t come to see our pretty faces and wish us well.’

  ‘And what are you doing?’ Horemheb asked.

  Sobeck evaded the questions, loosely describing himself as a merchant with a finger in every dish: how he had come out at Maya’s insistence and wasn’t it good for the children of the Kap to be reunited? For a while he parried our questions and teased us back. When the meal was over he squatted more comfortably, sucking noisily on a slice of the melon.

  ‘Are you sure you can all be trusted?’ he asked.

  ‘If one of us was a traitor,’ Horemheb replied, ‘we’d know by now.’

  ‘There’s deep unease in Thebes,’ Sobeck continued.

  ‘We know that,’ Huy replied, ‘in Thebes, Memphis, Abydos, the Delta, not to mention war breaking out amongst our allies in Canaan. Hittites are massing troops along the border. They have realised Egypt is not as ardent as she formerly was in protecting her interests across Sinai.’

  ‘Well, there’s definitely unrest in Thebes,’ Sobeck declared, ‘and something else, too. Mahu, have you ever heard of the Sekhmets?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I replied, racking my memory. ‘They’ve committed a number of murders in Thebes and elsewhere. Professional assassins, their usual weapon is a knife or poison though they have been known to kill from afar with bow and arrow or arrange some suspicious accident. They always leave their mark.’ I lifted my hand. ‘A small amulet with the Lion-headed Sekhmet, the Devouress, the Destroyer.’

  ‘Well,’ Sobeck commented, picking up another slice of melon, ‘I have acquaintances in Thebes – how can I put it, men and women who would prefer not to meet Mahu and his police.’ He paused at the laughter. ‘They listen to the whispers and the gossip. Now, according to them, someone was looking for the Sekhmets. Apparently,’ he smiled at me, ‘and I tell the truth, somehow in Thebes a message can be left for this group of assassins.’

  ‘And someone has hired them?’ I asked. ‘But not for work in Thebes?’

  ‘Mahu, your genius always astounds me. According to the little I know, the Sekhmets, if they have been hired, are to do their bloody work in the City of the Aten.’ He sighed. ‘Which means two or possibly three things. Either they have marked down one of you, all of you – or someone else in the Royal Circle.’

  ‘Or they could just strike direct at the heart of the court,’ I declared. ‘Pharaoh himself and his Queen.’ I ignored Pentju’s muttered remarks.

  ‘But who has hired them?’ Rameses demanded. ‘Thebes, every city of Egypt, is full of assassins but they have to be hired.’

  ‘The priests of Amun,’ Sobeck replied, ‘don’t take too kindly to having their gods cast down, their treasuries plundered, their temples deserted.’

  ‘But why the Sekhmets?’ Rameses insisted.

  ‘They are successful,’ I grinned at Sobeck. ‘They are the sort of people you should take care of.’

  ‘They’re respectable.’ Sobeck sipped from his wine-cup. ‘People who, apparently, can move easily up and down the Nile, priests or merchants, envoys from some of the other ki
ngdoms; they could be anybody.’

  ‘And you care for us so much,’ Rameses taunted, ‘that you have travelled all the way from Thebes just to tell us this?’

  ‘No, Rameses. I arrived at a military outpost last night.’

  ‘Where you have further acquaintances?’

  ‘That’s right, Horemheb. A number of army officers are guests at my table. How do you think I was able to ride that chariot?’

  ‘I thought your good friend Maya … ?’ Rameses’ words faltered at Sobeck’s cold, hard look.

  ‘I’ll tell you why I came here.’ Sobeck made himself more comfortable. ‘Maya has told me about your little trips out here to the desert. You should be more careful.’ He stared around. ‘Is this all the great warriors of the Children of the Kap can bring down, a few quail? Ay must be suspicious. An entire day out in the Red Lands to eat roasted meat – or to plot treason?’

  ‘Continue.’ I raised my hand to fend off Rameses’ retort.

  ‘You come out here to talk like all of Egypt’s talking. Some are already ahead of you, plotting what to do next. They call Akhenaten the Great Heretic, insane.’ He gestured at Horemheb. ‘You know they do! The staff officers, the military command. Hasn’t there been unrest amongst the garrison at Memphis?’

  Horemheb bit back his reply.

  ‘I know what you talk about,’ Sobeck continued. ‘Each of you must lie in your beds at night and wonder what will happen next. Have you ever wondered what will really happen next? Have you ever speculated about what will happen if Akhenaten dies? He has no male heir, no Crown Prince. Do you think the generals of Egypt, the high priests, are going to allow this nonsense of the Aten to continue for ever and a day? Can’t you see the storm coming, Rameses? One day Akhenaten will go beyond his beloved far horizon. Many of Egypt wish he was there already and ask the gods to speed him on his way. Now tell me.’ Sobeck flicked the rim of his cup with his fingernail. ‘No one dares to raise a hand against the sacred flesh of Pharaoh. Well, at least not publicly, openly. However, Akhenaten may see himself as a god but one day he is going to die! How, we don’t know! The question you must ask yourselves is how long will those who supported him, who sat at table with him, survive?’

  I watched Rameses’ face. He glanced quickly at Horemheb, a sharp furtive glance but it spoke eloquently. Both these ambitious soldiers had already discussed this. I could tell from the faces of the rest that it was also a matter close to their hearts.

  ‘Mahu?’ Horemheb prompted.

  ‘There are two problems,’ I replied slowly. ‘The first … well, the first is the immediate future: the protection of Akhenaten against the Sekhmets or anyone else.’

  ‘And the second?’ Rameses asked.

  ‘You know full well,’ I murmured, getting to my feet. I picked up my cloak and shook out the sand and dirt. ‘We must all start thinking about the future.’

  ‘The future may well take care of itself.’ Pentju smiled at me and winked.

  At the time I thought he was being cynical. Yet, on reflection, Pentju’s words contained the first powerful seeds of Akhenaten’s downfall and destruction.

  When I returned to the City of Aten, Djarka and I became busy, going through the police archives in the House of Secrets: these were all contained in sealed jars, arranged according to regnal years. None of the scribes were to be told what we were searching for or the reason for it.

  At first it was difficult. I found traces of the Sekhmets during the fourth and fifth years of Akhenaten’s reign when he was Co-regent and still in the Palace of the Aten at Thebes. These references were usually based on police accounts or the information supplied by spies. The Sekhmets were only known by the amulet they left near their victims: these were often quite powerful men – merchants, army officers and, on one occasion, even a chapel priest in the Temple of Horus. According to the evidence, the victims always had enemies but, because professional assassins were used, it was virtually impossible to link the responsibility for the victim’s death to anyone. One police officer investigated the murder of a merchant in the Street of Coppersmiths in eastern Thebes and wrote: ‘Many wanted him dead but, at the time of his murder, all could account for where they were and what they were doing.’

  The Sekhmets employed a variety of methods in their assassinations. One victim died whilst on a hunting trip along the Nile. He and his servant were found drifting in their boat. Both had been killed by arrows, shot at close range, the Sekhmet’s amulet casually tossed into the punt, nestling amongst the feathers of some of the birds. I recalled Djarka rescuing me from the jackals. How easy it had been to approach the boat and loose one shaft after another. Other victims died by poisoning. Another missed his footing and fell from a building he was inspecting. In one audacious murder a wealthy stall-holder from the Perfume Quarters of Thebes had gone back into his shop to collect something from his stores. When the customer became impatient and went searching, he found the stall-holder lying among bales of cloth, his throat cut from ear to ear, the Sekhmet amulet clutched in his hand. I made Djarka search more carefully and realised that, between the fifth and tenth year of Akhenaten’s reign, at least according to my records, the Sekhmets had either deliberately gone quiet or moved elsewhere. I continued my own research and was astonished to discover that the Sekhmets were equally busy ten years previously.

  ‘Fifteen years in all!’ I exclaimed as we sat sharing a bowl of wine in my office. ‘These assassins have been busy for fifteen years! A gap of ten years occurred and then they began again, just before Akhenaten resumed the Co-regency. Why?’

  Djarka shook his head. ‘How do we know that they are the same people?’ he mused. ‘Anyone can take the name Sekhmet and buy a bag of cheap amulets.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ I objected. ‘These are people who seem to be able to move around the city of Thebes. They are very similar to the jackals. They are a family concern. Could they be merchants? A family which moves up and down the Nile?’

  ‘But someone must be able to contact them?’ Djarka pointed out. ‘Messages have to be left, the victims’ names, the price paid and collected.’

  I leaned forward and scratched Karnak lying sleeping at my feet.

  ‘Somebody,’ I said.

  ‘Somebody,’ Djarka continued, ‘must be able to act as the middleman.’

  Djarka had posed a problem I could not solve.

  I sent out messengers to Memphis, Thebes and Abydos. I asked the same question of the police in each city, those who acted as the ‘Ears and Eyes’ of Pharaoh. The response came swiftly. The Sekhmets had been responsible for murders in each of their cities but the different authorities were baffled as to who those assassins could be or how they were approached. None could offer even the slightest clue to their identity or present whereabouts. I became fascinated with the problem. So much so that Akhenaten became interested too, and I received a summons to attend the Royal Circle.

  This time the meeting was presided over by Akhenaten himself, Nefertiti sitting alongside. The Pharaoh had returned to his usual good humour; his face was shaved and oiled, eyes and voice sharp as he moved through different items of business. At last, he turned to me, leaning his elbows on the arms of his thronelike chair, those long fingers pressed together to hide his mouth.

  ‘Mahu, my friend. I understand you have been very busy. Would you like to inform the Royal Circle why my Chief of Police, Overseer of the House of Secrets, works well past sunset? How the oil lamps have been seen glowing even a few hours before dawn, yet here, at the Great House we have received no warning, no information for such labour?’ He clapped his hands together sharply, making Huy jump. Ay sitting on his left held his silence, fingers also to his face to conceal his own expression.

  ‘Your Majesty.’ I chose my words carefully, determined not to lie. ‘Your Majesty, I have received information that a guild, a group of assassins who call themselves the Sekhmets, have been despatched into the City of the Aten.’

  I ignored the gasps and cries of
the other members of the Royal Circle.

  ‘Why were we not informed of this?’ Nefertiti’s voice cut across the babble. ‘Who are these people? Why have they not been arrested? How were they allowed to enter the sacred city?’

  ‘Your Majesty.’ I spread my hands. ‘I received this information from my own spies in Thebes. It may be nonsense, empty gossip, idle chatter. Anyone can enter the City of the Aten provided they can prove to be of good standing with business here. The Divine One has proclaimed throughout Egypt that any worshipper of the Aten is most welcome. These Sekhmets have never been caught. We do not possess one clue about their identity. For all I know they could be sitting in this chamber, as a servant out in the corridor or one of the soldiers, even members of your own court.’

  ‘And even if they are here,’ Huy spoke up in an attempt to assist me, ‘we do not know their true business. They may be here to settle a private grudge or grievance.’ He paused and closed his eyes as he realised his mistake.

  ‘In other words,’ Ay took his hands from his mouth, ‘what you are saying, my Lord Huy, is that we have assassins in the City of Aten but they may not really pose a threat to the Divine One or his family. But if you say that,’ he continued silkily, ‘you do concede the possibility that these murderers are here as part of some heinous plot to strike at the heart of Egypt.’