Warlock: A Novel of Ancient Egypt (Novels of Ancient Egypt)

by Wilbur Smith

  “Make way for Pharaoh! Clear the road for Pharaoh Trok Uruk!”

  The boom of a war-drum enforced the order. The guards ceased their efforts to shut the gates and instead fell over each other in their haste to throw them wide open again to reveal on the roadway outside a squadron of fighting chariots. Over the leading vehicle waved the red leopard pennant. Standing tall on the footplate, his bronze helmet gleaming and his beribboned beard thrown over one shoulder, stood Pharaoh Trok Uruk, whip and reins in his gauntleted hands.

  As soon as the gates were wide open he drove his four-horse team straight into the mass of people and wagons in the roadway, lashing out indiscriminately with his whip at any who stood in his way. His men ran ahead of him, overturning any vehicle that blocked the road, and dragging it aside, spilling loads of wet slippery fish and vegetables into the gutters.

  “Make way for Pharaoh!” they roared, above the screams of those caught up in the confusion. The troopers reached Taita’s vehicle and began to tip it over to clear the path for Trok. Taita stood up and lashed at them with the whip, but his blows fell on their helmets and their bronze epaulettes. They laughed at him and heaved together. The wagon went over. The rolled carpet slid across the wagon bed and might have been crushed under the capsizing vehicle.

  “Help me!” shouted Nefer, and jumped back to hold the carpet roll and cushion its fall. Hilto caught one end and Bay the other. As the wagon crashed on its side with a crackle of breaking timber they dragged Mintaka, still cocooned in the roll, to safety against the wall of the nearest building.

  Pharaoh Trok forced his chariot through the wreckage and spilled loads, cracking his whip over the heads of his team, roaring commands at his war horses.

  “Strike! Strike!” The horses were battle-trained, and at his urging they reared and struck out at anyone in their way with their bronze-shod hoofs. Nefer saw one old woman scurry straight under the flying hoofs. One caught her full in the face. Her head split open, and her teeth flew from her mouth like a burst of white hailstones. They rattled on the cobbles and she sprawled in front of Trok’s chariot.

  The bronze wheel rims bumped over her body as he drove on, passing so close to where Nefer crouched protectively over Mintaka’s carpet roll that for an instant they looked into each other’s eyes. Trok did not recognize him in his rags with the headcloth wound around his head, but with casual cruelty he snapped the whip over Nefer’s shoulder. The metal tips of the lash cut through the cloth and raised a line of bright blood spots. “Out of my way, peasant!” Trok snarled, and Nefer gathered himself to leap onto the footplate and drag Trok out of the chariot by his beard. This was the beast who had defiled Mintaka, and Nefer’s rage was a red veil over his vision.

  Taita grabbed his arm to restrain him. “Let it pass. Get the carpet out of the gates, you fool. We will be trapped here.” Nefer strained to be free of his grip, and Taita shook him. “Do you want to lose her again so soon?”

  Nefer regained control of his temper. He stooped to seize the end of the roll and the others helped him. They ran with it to the gates, but the squadron of chariots was through and once more the guards were swinging the heavy wooden doors to. Taita ran ahead and scattered the guards with his staff. When one of the sentries raised a club over his head, Taita turned on him and stared into his face with those mesmeric eyes. The man recoiled as though confronted by a maneater.

  Carrying the rolled carpet between them, they squeezed through the narrow gap between the closing gates, then ran into the encampment below the city walls. Although angry shouts followed them, they disappeared from the guards’ view into the gathering darkness among the leather tents and shacks. Behind the walls of a goat pen they lowered their burden to the ground and unrolled it. Disheveled and hot, Mintaka sat up and smiled to see Nefer kneeling in front of her. They reached for each other and embraced as the others looked on.

  Taita brought them back to reality. “Trok has returned unexpectedly,” he told Mintaka. “It will not be long before he discovers that you are missing.” He pulled Mintaka to her feet. “We have lost the wagon. Ahead of us we have a long journey on foot. Unless we set out now it will be after daylight tomorrow before we reach the oasis where we left the chariots.”

  Mintaka sobered immediately. “I am ready,” she said.

  Taita glanced down at her flimsy gold sandals decorated with turquoise studs, and strode away among the huts. He returned in a few minutes with a slatternly old woman following close behind him. He was carrying a pair of hard-worn but sturdy peasant’s sandals. “I have exchanged these for yours,” he said.

  Mintaka did not demur but slipped off the lovely sandals and handed them to the old woman, who scuttled away before anyone could take them back from her. Then Mintaka stood up. “I am ready,” she said. “Which way, Magus?”

  Nefer took her hand and they fell in behind Taita as he strode out into the desert.

  Trok drove through the palace gates and reined in his dusty, lathered horses in the front courtyard before his own magnificent quarters. Two colonels of his cavalry, both members of the leopard clan and his particular cronies, stumped after him into the banquet hall with weapons and bucklers clattering. The house slaves had laid out a feast to welcome Pharaoh home. Trok drained a bowl of sweet red wine, and seized the boiled haunch of a wild boar.

  “There is something I need more than food or drink.” He winked at his companions, who guffawed and nudged each other. Trok was aware that his marital reverses were common gossip in the army, and that the manner in which his new wife treated him was weakening his reputation. Despite his victories over the rebels in the south, and the harsh retribution he had imposed upon them, his prestige as a man was suffering. He was determined to change that this very night.

  “There is more food than even you two oxen can eat, and enough wine in which to drown a hippopotamus.” Trok waved at the groaning board. “Do your worst, but don’t expect me to join you before morning. I have a field to plough, and an incorrigible filly to break to my will.”

  He strode from the hall gnawing at the bone in his hand, and gulping down mouthfuls of the pork fat as he went. Two slaves with burning torches ran ahead of him to light his way down the gloomy passages to the zenana. In front of the doors to Mintaka’s quarters the eunuch sentries had heard him coming. They flourished their weapons and crossed them over their fat chests in salute.

  “Open up!” Trok ordered. He tossed aside the pork bone and wiped his greasy hands on the skirts of his tunic.

  “Your Majesty,” one of the sentries saluted again nervously, “the doors are barred.”

  “By whose orders?” Trok demanded furiously.

  “By orders of Her Majesty Queen Mintaka.”

  “By Seueth, I’ll have none of that! The arrogant hussy knows I am here,” Trok stormed, drew his sword and pounded on the door with the bronze pommel. There was no reply, so he tried again. The sound of the blows echoed down the silent passages, but still there was no sign of life beyond the doors. He backed away, then charged the door with his shoulder. It shook but did not yield. He snatched the pike from the hands of the nearest sentry and hacked at the panel.

  Splinters of timber flew under the blade and with a few more blows he had chopped a hole wide enough for him to reach through and dislodge the locking bar on the far side. He kicked open the door and marched into the room beyond. The slave girls were against the far wall in a terrified huddle. “Where is your mistress?”

  They gabbled and cackled incoherently, but could not prevent their collective eyes from turning toward the door of the bedchamber. Trok went to it, and there was an immediate outcry from the girls.

  “She is sick.”

  “She cannot see you.”

  “Her moon has come.”

  Trok laughed. “She has used that excuse too often.” He hammered on the door. “If there is blood, then there had better be a river of it—more than I spilled on the field of Manashi. By Seueth, I will wade through it to reach the ha
ppy portals.”

  He kicked at the bedchamber door. “Open up, you little witch! Your husband has come to show you his duty and respect.”

  At his next kick the door flew open, torn off its leather hinges, and Trok swaggered through. The couch was carved from African ebony, and inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl. The feminine form upon it was hidden under a pile of linen bedclothes, but one small foot protruded. Trok let his sword-belt drop to the floor and called, “Have you missed me, my little lily? Have you been pining for my loving arms?”

  He grabbed the bare foot and hauled the girl out from under the bedclothes. “Come my, sweet ewe lamb. I have another gift for you, so long and hard, that you will not be able to sell it or give it away—” He broke off and gawked at the terrified, sniveling girl. “Tinia, you dirty little harlot, what are you doing in your mistress’s bed?” He did not wait for her reply, but threw her on to the floor, and rampaged through the room, ripping down the curtains and wall hangings. “Where are you?” He kicked in the doors to her closet. “Come out! This childishness will serve you little.”

  It took him only a minute to make certain that Mintaka was not hiding. Then he rushed back to Tinia and seized her by the hair. He dragged her across the floor. “Where is she?” He kicked her in the belly. She screamed and tried to roll away from his metal-shod foot. “I will beat it out of you, I will flay every inch of skin from your miserable body.”

  “She is not here!” Tinia screamed. “She has gone!”

  “Where?” Trok kicked her again. His war sandals were studded with bronze nails. They cut her tender flesh like knives. “Where?”

  “I know not,” she howled. “Men came and took her away.”

  “What men?” He kicked her again, and she rolled into a ball, sobbing and shivering.

  “I don’t know.” Despite Taita’s instruction, she would not betray her beloved mistress. “Strange men. I had never seen them before. They covered her with a carpet and carried her away.” Trok gave her a last brutal kick, then strode to the door. He shouted at the eunuch sentries, “Find Soleth. Bring the fat slug here immediately.”

  Soleth came cringing and wringing his smooth, plump hands. “Divine Pharaoh! Greatest of the gods! Might of this very Egypt!” He threw himself at Trok’s feet.

  Trok kicked him with a full swing of his armored sandal. “Who were these men you allowed to enter the zenana?”

  “On your orders, gracious Pharaoh, I allowed any vendor of fine merchandise to display it before the Queen.”

  “Who was the carpet-seller? The last one to enter these quarters.”

  “Carpet-seller?” Soleth seemed to ponder the question.

  Trok kicked him again. “Yes, Soleth, carpets! What was his name?”

  “I remember now. The carpet-merchant from Ur. I forget his name.”

  “I will help your memory.” Trok called the eunuch sentries to him. “Hold him over the bed.”

  They dragged Soleth to the rumpled couch and pinned him face down. Trok picked up his discarded sword-belt and drew the weapon. “Lift his robes.” One of them hoisted Soleth’s skirts and exposed his chubby buttocks. “I know that half the palace guard have passed this way,” Trok touched his anus with the point of the sword, “but none of them were as hard or as sharp as this one will be. Now, tell me, who was the carpet-merchant?”

  “I swear on bread and Nile water that I never saw him before.”

  “For you that is a great pity,” Trok said, and ran the point of the sword the length of a forefinger up Soleth’s rectum. Soleth shrieked on a high, quavering note of agony.

  “That was only the tip,” Trok warned him. “If you are enjoying it so much, I can give you another cubit of bronze right up to your gullet.”

  “It was Taita,” Soleth screamed, with the blood spraying out of him. “Taita took her away.”

  “Taita!” Trok exclaimed with astonishment and jerked the blade free. “Taita, the Magus.” There was superstitious dread in his tone. Then he was silent for a long pause. At last he ordered the eunuchs who still held Soleth, “Release him.”

  Soleth sat up moaning. At the movement the gas from his bowels rushed out through the slack opening in a long, bubbling fart.

  “Where has he taken her?” Trok ignored the sound and the sickening fecal odor that filled the chamber.

  “He did not tell me.” Painfully Soleth bundled the linen bed-sheet and thrust it in between his legs to staunch the bleeding. Trok lifted the point of the sword and touched one of his naked pendulous breasts.

  Soleth whimpered and farted again. “He did not tell me, but we spoke of the land between the two rivers, the Tigris and the Euphrates. Maybe that is where he intends taking the Queen.”

  Trok thought about it only briefly. It was logical. By now Taita would know of the strained relationships between Egypt and the eastern kingdoms. He would know that he might find sanctuary and protection there, if he could run that far.

  But what was his reason for abducting Mintaka? Surely it could not be for ransom. Taita was famous for his scorn of gold and riches. It could not be for some salacious desire. As an ancient eunuch, Taita was not capable of physical lust. Was it the friendship that had grown up between the old man and the girl? Had she appealed to him to help her escape from Avaris and the marriage that was so insufferable to her? Certainly, she must have gone with him willingly and probably gladly. The manner in which her slave girls had tried to cover her escape proved that, and clearly she had made no outcry, for if she had the sentries would have heard it.

  He put aside those considerations for the moment. The main concern now was to get the pursuit in hand and to recapture her and the Warlock before they reached the shores of the Red Sea and crossed into the territories loyal to Sargon of Babylon. He smiled down at Soleth. “I hope that your paramours will find the alterations I have made to your joy passage to their liking. I will deal with you further when I return. There are hungry hyenas and vultures to be fed.”

  The two colonels were still in the banquet chamber, hogging the food and wine, although they had not been at it long enough to drink themselves stupid.

  “How many chariots can we have manned and running eastward before midnight?” Trok demanded. They looked startled, but they were warriors and responded swiftly to his angry mood.

  Colonel Tolma spat out the mouthful of wine he was about to swallow and leaped to his feet, only slightly unsteadily. “I can have fifty on the road within two hours,” he blurted.

  “I want that to be a hundred,” Trok demanded.

  “I will have a hundred under command before midnight.” Colonel Zander sprang up, eager not to be outdone. “And another hundred running east before dawn.”

  Taita led them through the night under a moon only days from full. The tip of his staff clicked on the stony path, and his shadow flitted ahead of him like a monstrous black bat. The others had to stretch their legs to keep him in sight.

  After midnight Mintaka began to fail. She was limping heavily and falling back steadily. Nefer shortened his stride to stay with her. He had not expected this from her: usually she was as strong as any boy he knew, and could outrun most of them. He murmured encouragement to her, not loud enough to reach the ears of Taita. He did not want the Magus to realize Mintaka’s weakness, and to shame her in the sight of the others.

  “It is not far now,” he told her, and took her hand to lead her faster. “Bay will have the horses ready for us. We will ride the rest of the way to Babylon in royal style.” She laughed, but it was a strained, painful sound. It was only then that he realized something was wrong with her.

  “What is it that ails you?” he demanded.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I have been locked up in the palace too long. My legs have gone soft.”

  He would not accept it. He took her arm and forced her to sit on a rock beside the path, lifted one of her small feet and unlaced the strap of the sandal. He pulled it off and gasped, “Sweet Horus, how did you manage a
single step on this?” The rough ill-fitting sandal had galled her grievously. The blood was black and shining in the moonlight. He lifted the other foot and gently eased off its sandal. Slabs of skin and flesh peeled away with it.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered, “but don’t worry, I can go on barefoot.”

  Furiously he hurled the bloodied footwear out among the rocks. “You should have warned me of this earlier.” He stood up, lifted her to her feet, turned his back to her and braced himself to receive her weight. “Put your arms around my neck and jump up.” Then he set off after the others who, by this time, were merely a dark moving shadow on the moonlit desert far ahead.

  Her mouth was close to his ear, and she whispered to him as he toiled on, trying to distract him, and to encourage him. She told him how she had missed him, and how when she had heard of his reputed death she had not wanted to live without him. “I wanted to die, so that I could be with you again.” Then she told him about the priestess of Hathor and how she had brought the serpent to her. Nefer was so appalled that he lowered her to the earth and scolded her angrily.

  “That was stupid.” In his agitation he shook her roughly. “Don’t ever think like that again, whatever happens in the future.”

  “You cannot know how much I love you, my darling. You cannot imagine the devastation I felt when I thought you were gone.”

  “We must make a pact. We must live for each other from this day onward. We must never think of death again until it comes to us uninvited. Swear it to me!”

  “I swear it to you. From now onward I will live only for you,” she said, and kissed him to seal their bargain. He lifted her onto his shoulders again and they went on.