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

by Wilbur Smith

  Nefer turned Krus back, and they charged at Naja. He had climbed painfully to his feet and stood swaying, and clutching his damaged right arm across his chest. In his fall he had lost his grip on the hilt of the blue sword. It had spun out of his hand, and ten paces away from where he stood the point had pegged into the earth. The blade still quivered from the impact, and the wondrous blue metal threw slivers of blue light, and the jeweled hilt whipped from side to side.

  Naja staggered toward the weapon, but then he saw Krus bearing down on him, and an expression of utter terror turned his face the color of cold ashes. He turned and started to run.

  Nefer leaned from Krus’ back, plucked the sword out of the sand and turned Krus in pursuit of Naja. Naja heard the rising crescendo of hoofbeats behind him, and looked back. The mascara had run down his cheeks like black tears, and terror distorted his features. He knew then that he could not escape the terrible vengeance that was bearing down upon him. He fell to his knees and lifted both hands in supplication. With a slap across the withers and a sharp whistle Nefer brought Krus to a plunging halt before the kneeling figure, jumped down and stood over Naja.

  “Mercy!” Naja sobbed. “I yield to you the double crown and all the kingdom.” He crawled pitifully to Nefer’s feet.

  “I already have that. I lack only one thing. Vengeance!”

  “Mercy, Nefer Seti, in the name of the gods and for the sake of your sister, the goddess Heseret, and the infant she carries in her womb.” Suddenly there was a dagger in his right hand, and he stabbed up viciously at Nefer’s groin. Nefer was almost taken in, but he twisted away only just in time, and the point of the dagger snagged in the skirt of his chiton. Nefer struck the weapon out of his grasp with a flick of the blue blade.

  “I admire your constancy. To the very end you are true to your base nature.” Nefer smiled down on him coldly. “I grant you the same mercy that you showed my father, Pharaoh Tamose.” He drove the point of the blue sword into the center of Naja’s chest, and it came out between his shoulder-blades. An expression of agonized disbelief played over Naja’s face.

  “You have defiled this sacred blade. Now I will wash it in your blood,” said Nefer, jerked it free, then drove it in again deeply.

  Naja toppled face first into the dust, and drew one more ragged breath, but the air from his lungs bubbled out of the wound between his shoulder-blades and he shuddered and died.

  Nefer hitched the body by its heels to the traces that dangled from Krus’ harness, then mounted and dragged it back across the field. The cheering followed him, wave upon wave, as he rode up to the gates of the fort. He cut the rope and left Naja’s bloody corpse lying in the dust.

  “Have the usurper cut into separate parts and send them to be displayed in every nome in this land. Let every citizen of this very Egypt look upon the fruits of regicide and treachery.”

  Then he looked up to the figure who stood high upon the watch-tower of the fort, and raised the blood-smeared blue blade to him in salute. Taita lifted his right hand in acknowledgment and there was a flash of dark crimson light from the gemstone upon his finger, Naja’s ruby ring.

  He was on the tower through the whole day. What part did the Magus play in the battle? Nefer asked himself. Would we have triumphed without his influence? There was no answer, and he put the thought aside. He mounted the ladder to the top of the tower and stood beside Taita. From there he spoke to his men. He thanked them for their duty and their bravery. He promised them their rewards, a share of the plunder to all, and the honors of rank and chains of gold and titles of valor to the captains and centurions.

  By the time he had named them all, the sun was sinking through a low bank of purple thunderclouds toward the horizon. He ended his speech with a call to prayer: “I dedicate this victory to the golden Horus, the falcon of the gods,” he cried, and as he prayed there was a strange omen. A fleeting ray of the last sunlight broke through the cloud bank and lit the tower of the fort. It glinted on the blue war crown on Nefer’s head and on the blue sword in his hand.

  At that same moment there was a wild cry from above: every head lifted and every eye turned toward the sky. A great murmur and sigh went up from the multitude. A royal falcon hovered in the air above the head of Pharaoh, and as they stared in wonder it uttered that strange, haunting sound again, then circled three times and at last shot away in a straight line on rapid, incisive wingbeats into the darkling eastern sky and was gone in the gloom.

  “A blessing from the god,” the soldiers chanted. “Hail, Pharaoh! Even the gods salute you.”

  But as soon as they were alone Taita spoke softly, so no one else outside the room could hear his words. “The falcon brought a warning and not a blessing.”

  “What is the warning?” Nefer demanded quietly, but with deep concern.

  “When the bird called, I heard Mintaka cry out,” Taita whispered.

  “Mintaka!” Nefer had forgotten her in the exigencies of the battle. “What did Prenn tell me about her?” He turned to the entrance of the tent and shouted to the guards, “Prenn! Where is the centurion Prenn?”

  Prenn came at once, and knelt before Pharaoh. “You have earned our deepest gratitude,” Nefer told him. “Without you we could not have prevailed. Your reward will surpass that of all my other captains.”

  “Pharaoh is gracious.”

  “At the start of the battle, you spoke of the Princess Mintaka. I thought that she was safe in the temple of Hathor in Avaris. Where did you last see her and when?”

  “Pharaoh, you are mistaken. Princess Mintaka is not in the temple. She came to me to bring your message. I could not bring her into battle with me, so I left her two days ago in my camp in the desert, on the road between here and the Khatmia.”

  A terrible foreboding seized Nefer. “Who else did you leave in the same encampment?”

  “Some of the other royal women, the Princess Merykara, who had accompanied Mintaka, and Her Majesty Queen Heseret—”

  “Heseret!” Nefer sprang to his feet. “Heseret! If Mintaka and Merykara are in her power, what will she do to them when she hears that I have slain her husband?” He strode to the door of the tent and shouted for Meren. “Mintaka and Merykara are in terrible jeopardy,” he told him.

  “How do you know this?” Meren looked distraught.

  “From Prenn. And Taita has read a warning in the cry of the falcon. We must ride at once.”

  Heseret awoke in the darkness and chill of that dread time before the dawn when all the world is at its darkest and the human spirit at its lowest ebb. At first she was uncertain of what had interrupted her sleep, but then she became aware of the faint sound of many voices, still far off but growing stronger. She sat up, letting the fur blankets drop to her waist, and tried to make sense of the distant hubbub. She was able to make out words now: “defeated” and “slain” and “flee at once.”

  She screamed for her maids and two stumbled in to her, half awake and naked, carrying small oil lamps.

  “What is going on?” Heseret demanded, and the eyes of the women were wide and dark with incomprehension.

  “We know not, mistress. We were asleep.”

  “You stupid girls! Go and find out at once,” Heseret ordered angrily. “And make certain the prisoners are still in their cage, that they have not escaped.” They fled.

  Heseret leaped from her bed. She lit all the lamps, then bound up her hair, pulled on a chiton and threw a shawl over her shoulders. All the time the din outside her stockade was growing louder, and now she could hear shouting, and carriages trundling past on the road, but still she made no sense of what was happening.

  The two maids came scampering back into the tent. The eldest was breathless and almost incoherent: “They say there has been a great battle at a place called Ismailiya, Majesty.”

  Heseret felt a great surge of joy. Naja had triumphed: in her heart she was certain of it. “What was the outcome of the battle?”

  “We don’t know, mistress. We did not ask
.”

  Heseret seized the girl nearest to her by the hair, and shook her so violently that clumps came away in her hands. “Have you not a speck of brain in your thick skull?” She slapped her across the face, and left her lying on the floor of the tent. She grabbed a lamp and hurried to the door.

  The guards were gone, and she felt the first pangs of fear. She ran to the cart and held up the lamp, peering into the pig cage. Part of her anxiety was allayed as she saw that the two bedraggled figures were still pinioned and tied to the struts at the back of the cage. They looked up at her with pale, dirt-streaked faces.

  Heseret left them and ran to the gate of the stockade. In the starlight she made out a dark cavalcade streaming past. She saw the loom of carts and wagons being drawn by teams of oxen. Some were piled high with bales and boxes, others were crowded with women clutching their children. Hundreds of soldiers hurried past on foot and Heseret saw that most had thrown away their weapons.

  “Where are you going?” she called to them. “What is happening?” No one answered her, or even seemed aware of her presence. Heseret ran out into the road and seized the arm of one of the soldiers. “I am Queen Heseret, wife of the Pharaoh of all Egypt.” She shook his arm. “Hearken to me, knave!”

  The soldier gave a strange barking laugh, and tried to shrug her off. But Heseret held onto his arm with desperate strength, until he struck her a heavy blow and left her lying in the dust of the roadway.

  She dragged herself to her feet and picked out another soldier in the passing throng, who wore the collar of a sergeant. She ran to him, with blood dribbling from her nose. “What news of the battle? Tell me. Oh, please tell me,” she begged. He peered into her face and there was just light enough for him to recognize her.

  “The most dire news, Majesty.” His voice was gruff. “There has been a terrible battle and the enemy has prevailed. Our army has been defeated, and all the chariots destroyed. The enemy comes on apace and will be upon us soon. You must flee at once.”

  “What of Pharaoh? What has happened to my husband?”

  “They say that the battle is lost and that Pharaoh is slain.”

  Heseret stared at him, unable to move or speak.

  “Will you come away, Your Majesty?” the sergeant asked. “Before it is too late. Before the victors arrive, and the plundering and the rapine begin. I will protect you.”

  But Heseret shook her head. “It cannot be true. Naja cannot be dead.” She turned away. She stood alone on the roadside as the sun came up and the routed army still poured past her. This confused and disordered rabble bore no resemblance to the proud host that had assembled before the Blue Gate of Babylon only months before.

  There were a few officers among them, and Heseret called to one, “Where is Pharaoh? What has happened?”

  The officer did not recognize her with blood on her face and in her disheveled garments covered with dust. He shouted back, “Naja Kiafan was cut down in single combat by Nefer Seti himself, and his corpse hacked into pieces and sent to be displayed publicly in all the nomes of Egypt. The enemy forces are coming on swiftly and will likely be here before noon.”

  Heseret let out a keening wail. These details were too vivid for her to doubt longer. She gathered up a double handful of dust and poured it over her head. Still wailing she clawed her face with her own fingernails until fresh blood started and dribbled down her cheeks onto her chiton.

  Her handmaidens and the captain of her own bodyguard came out of the stockade to fetch her in, but she was maddened with grief and screamed incoherent obscenities at them. She turned her face to the heavens and shouted blasphemy at the gods, blaming them for not protecting her husband, who was a far greater god than any other in the pantheon.

  Her sobs and screams grew louder, her behavior wilder and madder. She ripped her own breast with the tiny jeweled dagger she always carried, urinated down her legs and rolled in the mud she had created. Then suddenly she sprang up and rushed into the stockade. She ran to the pig cage on the cart, and screeched at Merykara through the bars: “Our husband is dead. Slain by our own monstrous brother.”

  “Praise be to Hathor and all the gods,” Merykara cried.

  “You blaspheme!” Heseret raved at her. “Naja Kiafan was a god, and you were his wife.” She was goading herself into deeper madness. “You should have been a dutiful wife, but you deserted him. You brought shame and humiliation upon him.”

  “Meren is my husband,” Merykara told her. “I despise that creature whom you call husband. He murdered our father, and he richly deserves the punishment that Nefer has given him.”

  “Meren is a common soldier, and Naja is and was a god.”

  Although Merykara’s lips were swollen with thirst and sunburn, she forced herself to smile. “Meren is more a god than Naja ever was. And I love him. He will be here very soon, and you had best set Mintaka and me free before he arrives, or he and Nefer will make you pay dearly for it.”

  “Gently, sweet friend,” Mintaka whispered. “She is mad. Look at her eyes. Do not provoke her. She is capable of any evil now.”

  Heseret was far past reason or restraint. “You love a common soldier?” she demanded. “You dare compare him to my husband, the Pharaoh of this very Egypt? Then you shall have your fill of soldiers!”

  She turned to the captain of her guards. “Drag the sow from her filthy cage.” The captain hesitated. Merykara’s warning haunted him: Nefer and his captains would be here soon.

  Heseret gained a semblance of control over her emotions and sanity. “I order you, captain, obey me or face the consequences.” Reluctantly he gave the order to his men and they cut the leather thongs that bound Merykara’s wrists to the strut, then reached into the door and dragged her out by her feet.

  Merykara’s hands and feet were blue and swollen where the ropes had restricted the blood-flow, and she could barely support her weight. The exposed skin of her face and limbs had been burned livid by the sun, and her hair hung down over her face in a tangle of knotted curls.

  Heseret looked about her quickly and her attention fixed on a loose wheel that had been removed from one of the other wagons for repair. It was propped against the wall of the stockade.

  “Bring that wheel here!” she ordered, and two men rolled it to where she indicated. “Tie the bitch to it. No, not that way. Spreadeagled! With her arms and legs wide open to welcome her soldier lovers.”

  They obeyed her, and strapped Merykara’s wrists and ankles to the rim of the wheel, like a starfish. Heseret stood in front of her and spat in her face. Merykara laughed at her through cracked lips. “You are mad, sister. Grief has addled your mind. I pity you, but nothing can bring Naja back to you. When his foul crimes are weighed in the scales of justice the monster at the gates of paradise will devour his black heart and he will pass into oblivion.”

  Heseret slashed her across both her cheeks with the point of the dagger, superficial shallow wounds that nevertheless bled copiously. The blood dripped down the front of Merykara’s chiton. Heseret used the dagger to split the linen cloth. Then with both hands she ripped it open from neck to hem. Merykara was naked under it.

  Her body, untouched by the sun, was white and tender. Her breasts were small and tipped with clear pink, her belly was flat and white, and the hair at the base was a silky nest.

  Heseret stood back and looked at her guards. “Which of you will be the first?”

  They gaped at the slender naked body on the wheel.

  Mintaka called from the cage, “Be careful what you do! Nefer Seti will be here very soon, and this is his sister.”

  Heseret rounded on her, “Shut your poisonous mouth. You will be next. Ten thousand men are out there, and you will pleasure most of them before this day is through.” She turned back to the men. “Come, look at this sweet flesh. Will you not have a little taste of it? I can see your prongs growing stiff under your robes.”

  “This is madness,” the captain whispered, but he could not tear his eyes from her pale bo
dy. “She is a princess of the royal House of Tamose.”

  Heseret grabbed the long spear out of the hand of the nearest soldier and struck him across the back with the shaft. “Come, corporal, have you no balls? Let us see you plunge deep into this honey-filled hole.”

  The man backed away, rubbing the welt across his back. “You are mad. What punishment would Nefer Seti heap upon my head?” He turned suddenly and bolted from the stockade to join the flood of fleeing refugees in the roadway. His companions hesitated only a moment longer, then one muttered, “She is mad! I am not waiting for Nefer Seti to arrive and find his sister like this,” and rushed to the gate with his companions hard after him.

  Heseret ran after them. “Come back! I order you!” But they mingled with the crowds and were gone. Heseret ran to a tall Nubian archer who was hurrying past, grabbed his arm and tried to lead him into the stockade. “Come with me. I know you black animals, you have prongs big as that of a bull elephant and you love to give them employment. I have something that will please you.”

  The archer shoved her away violently. “Leave me, whore! I have no time for your trade now.”

  She stared after him as he strode away up the long, congested road, and yelled after him, “Not me, beast. How dare you insult the Queen of Egypt?”

  Weeping and raving she ran back into the stockade. Mintaka called to her from the cage, “It is over now, Heseret. Calm yourself. Free Merykara, and we will protect you.” She made her voice low and soothing, for she knew that Heseret had crossed the borders of sanity and lost herself in the wilderness of dementia.

  “I am the Queen of Egypt, and my husband is an immortal god,” Heseret screamed. “Look at me and fear my beauty and my majesty.” She was covered in blood and filth, and she brandished the spear wildly.