The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) Read online

  My lord Tutu intervened. He laid before us letters about the situation in Canaan and argued the Divine One might have gone there. Queen Nefertiti questioned why her husband should go into the hill country of the Canaanites. I suspect she knew the answer before he replied. ‘Your Majesty,’ Tutu reasoned, ‘is it not from such hill country that your people come?’

  ‘My people,’ Nefertiti snapped. ‘My people are those of Egypt!’ And would not discuss the matter again.

  Meryre, however, did not trust her or God’s Father Ay. He began to cast about to discover what had happened. An expedition was prepared. Then, one night whilst I was serving sacrifice in a small sun temple, I heard the most hideous scream, like that of a soul in anguish, caught by the hellhounds, trapped in the ketet, the darkness of the Underworld. The scream was short but full of agony, like that of a man in a death trap. At first I thought I was dreaming. I hurried to investigate, as did the Lord Ay, who had been in a chamber nearby, but the Queen’s mercenaries had sealed the corridors and would not let us pass. I made a careful enquiry the next day. I reasoned that if a man had been killed, sent to the slaughter, his corpse would be thrown into some pit or crocodile pool. Others in the palace had heard the scream, and so the story began, the suspicion that the Divine One had been murdered, possibly assassinated by his own wife. Yet there was no proof and it became one story amongst many. One thing I did learn from an acquaintance was that the chief embalmer in the House of Life at the Temple of the Aten had also disappeared. He was Queen Nefertiti’s creature, a thin-faced, one-eyed fellow who rejoiced in the name of Keket, the Stammerer. During these days of mystery Keket vanished for a while, and when he rejoined his colleagues, he kept his own counsel. Nevertheless, for a man who had served in the embalming house of Thebes, Keket now appeared to enjoy great favour and considerable wealth, the source of which remained a mystery.

  In the end, Lord Meryre had his way. An expedition was dispatched under General Rahmose into the eastern Red Lands, even as far as Canaan, to discover the whereabouts, if possible, of the Lord Akenhaten.

  Lord Meryre was insistent that Djoser and I were part of this expedition. Meryre had now openly broken with Queen Nefertiti and refused to submit to the Lord Ay. We had no choice but to undergo that harrowing experience! We crossed the burning desert, stopping at the Oasis of Sweetness before eventually entering the Sinai and on into Canaan. A strange country, with its reddish sandy soil, twisted oaks, deep woods and muddy rivers infested with crocodiles. We continued north into the meadow plains, avoiding the squalid towns, journeying slowly along roads infested by outlaws and bandits. The inhabitants treated us with suspicion. Each valley is occupied by a separate tribe, so no force was strong enough to oppose us. Eventually we reached the territories of Prince Aziru and were taken under his protection. Rahmose explained the secret purpose of our expedition. Aziru solemnly agreed to help us. He had profited and prospered because Akenhaten had ignored the affairs of Canaan. Even when we reached the court, we found Hittite envoys being entertained as guests of honour.

  Aziru made careful search for Akenhaten. At first he considered our expedition was a pretext for some other mystery but his spies also whispered strange tales about a group who had come out of Egypt, a caravan fiercely protected by sand-dwellers which had moved north into the hills around the Dead Sea. Aziru’s greed sharpened at the stories that this caravan contained not only an important person but also a fabulous treasure. It was there that the great lie was born. Armed with letters, General Rahmose was sent back into Egypt, whilst Djoser and myself remained at Aziru’s court. As the months passed, Hittite visits to the court became more frequent. At last Aziru took us into his counsel. He was now openly supported by the Hittite king, who sent nobles, military advisers and treasure south. Aziru reasoned that if the true fate of Akenhaten was unknown, then why not put forward a usurper and interfere in the affairs of Egypt? He opened secret correspondence with Meryre, who responded that such a scheme had his full support, whilst Djoser and I would act as his envoys. Meryre used the pretext of sending statues, symbols of Aten, as gifts; they secretly contained his treasonable correspondence. On the plains outside Aziru’s city, an army began to assemble: Hittite troops, mercenaries, as well as those princelings and chieftains of Canaan eager to support Aziru in mischief.

  I speak the truth: I was not as fervent in my support of this mischief as my companion Djoser. When I first met the usurper and his woman, I openly derided their appearance and character. They were no more the great King Akenhaten and his Queen than desert sand is the finest gold. Nevertheless, Aziru was determined. Stories came from Egypt how Nefertiti had attempted to rule as sole Pharaoh, only to be overthrown; how a regency council governed the kingdom in the name of Akenhaten’s son. The change in his name from Tutankhaten to Tutankhamun symbolised the way things were going in Egypt.

  Meryre’s rage was unbounded. In secret correspondence he informed us that the City of the Aten had been abandoned. How the Royal Circle had returned to Thebes, determined on the restoration of the old ways. Nevertheless, this Royal Circle was divided, so the decision was reached to invade the Delta and draw the power of Horemheb north. In the meantime, Aziru persisted in his search for the real Akenhaten and his treasure but was unable to discover anything new.

  In the second year of my stay in Canaan, during the third month of the harvest season, we moved from Canaan down across Sinai and into the Delta. The rest, my lord Mahu knows. I have spoken the truth, and can say no more …

  I questioned Khufu closely about everything he had written, but he was tired, he had drunk deeply and he was still frightened. His answers were often slurred and rambling, so I dismissed him to bed. I preserved his account, a manuscript I have kept close by me over the years. I pored over it that night, going through every line. Some of it I recognised. The confusion in the City of the Aten following Nefertiti’s disgrace had cloaked everything in secrecy. Akenhaten’s depression, his bizarre behaviour and lonely prowling of the palace precincts were well known. Khufu’s story did shed some light. Akenhaten had suffered some form of madness; whether this was divinely inspired or not I could not say. He claimed to have had visions of the future and left some secret wisdom in the custody of these mysterious Watchers, but who were they? Were they the same people who had helped him? Ever since he was a boy, Akenhaten had received assistance from the wandering tribes of the Apiru. Khufu had named the clan or sect directly responsible: Israar. According to Khufu, they had brought in their own priests and exorcists to purify Akenhaten’s mind. He had discovered a new serenity and peace and resolved to leave the City of the Aten.

  This might appear ridiculous to some. Why should anyone abandon wealth and power? Yet, as I have said, the child begets the man. Akenhaten’s early days had been spent in lonely obscurity. He had experienced the austerity of a poor priest. When he became Pharaoh, although he exulted in the pomp and grandeur, he saw this only as a means to the worship of his God. So had he abandoned his city? Or was he murdered? The breach between Nefertiti and himself, whatever the pretence peddled to the rest of the court, had been irrevocable and final. Apparently, according to Khufu, the main reason for Nefertiti’s restoration was that she had taken a solemn oath not to harm the Prince Tutankhamun, which meant that even during her exile she had probably tried to injure the infant. The second reason for her restoration was so that Akenhaten could conjure up the illusion of normalcy, of harmony. He ceded the affairs of state to his ambitious, arrogant wife whilst he secretly prepared to abandon his family, his court and his empire.

  Akenhaten had reached that calmness often found in a man who has experienced an agonising struggle and come through it to confront his own death. He had been determined to leave and was undoubtedly helped by Apiru, the men of Israar. They had removed treasure, gold, silver and precious stones, as preparation for Akenhaten’s secret life. Moreover, these were men who knew the desert, its secret paths, its hidden wells and oases. They would have experienced no
problem in crossing the burning sands into Sinai and then north into Canaan. And who would take notice of them there? A country riven by petty blood feuds and tribal jealousies?

  Grasping Khufu’s manuscript, I went and sat on a small balcony, staring out into the night. If Akenhaten had truly left, if he wished to remain hidden, pursuing his own vision, then what had Khufu heard? According to the evidence, someone had been murdered in the imperial apartments, but instead of a corpse being thrown into a pit or a crocodile pool, this creature of Nefertiti, the chief embalmer, had been summoned into her quarters and lavishly rewarded for some secret task. The embalming of a corpse? The tombs in the eastern cliffs of the City of the Aten were full of unmarked sarcophagi, coffins and corpses. What had Nefertiti plotted to do? Only a few months after this, she had attempted to assume supreme power in Egypt and been brought down by a pack of hyaenas, of which I was one.

  I should have felt tired, but sleep escaped me. Had Akenhaten truly fled? Was Khufu’s story about a man being slain mere distraction? Ankhesenamun had whispered how her sister Meritaten had claimed to know about the poisoning of her own father-husband. Meritaten’s heart had been disturbed, nothing more than a weak girl terrified of her sombre father. Was her boast more a result of wishful thinking than the truth? Or was it all the work of Ankhesenamun’s fertile imaginings? Had Akenhaten travelled into Canaan determined on a life of seclusion only to be forced out by the rise of the usurper and the hideous events in the Delta? Had he come south once more to see justice done? To visit his son and communicate quietly to me that he was still alive? Nebamun undoubtedly spoke the truth. He claimed to have seen a man disguised as a priest with more than a passing resemblance to Akenhaten, fingering turquoise amber beads. Khufu had mentioned the same in his confession.

  I recalled the golden emblem found in the usurper’s tent, and the map I had consulted in Nebamun’s library. I went and fetched both. I searched out the location of the City of the Aten and placed the emblem with the sun on it, noticing that its rays pointed to an area in south Canaan. Aziru, using a different map, must have done the same in his searches. I looked at the area and tried to recall the stories I had heard, of valleys and plains, thick woods, turbulent rivers and stretches of blistering desert where not even a blade of grass or the sturdiest bush could grow. I put the map away and went to the antechamber; Djarka lay asleep on a cot bed. I shook him awake. He staggered from his bed, threw water over his face and peered through the window.

  ‘My lord Mahu, it must be the third decan of the night? Can you not sleep?’

  ‘Tell me about your people,’ I demanded.

  Djarka, rubbing his eyes, sat down on the floor, his back to the wall. I lit some more oil lamps.

  ‘Could this not have waited until the morning?’ he moaned.

  ‘Tell me about your people!’

  ‘You know it,’ he protested. ‘I am of the Apiru, who come from Canaan. Some remained with their flocks, others settled in the Delta, whilst the rest colonised Akhmin, becoming more,’ he laughed abruptly, ‘more Egyptian than the Egyptians. I belong to the latter. You know that. I served Great Queen Tiye, that’s how I came into your service. The loyal archer, the manservant, the Protector of the Prince.’

  I ignored the sarcasm in his voice.

  ‘And do you know the men of the Israar?’

  I made two mistakes that night. First, I should have questioned Khufu more closely. Secondly, I allowed Djarka to remain hidden in the darkness, even though at the time I sensed something was wrong.

  ‘The men of Israar,’ I repeated. ‘What do you know of them?’

  ‘They are the heart of our people.’ He sighed. ‘They have more priests than the rest. They have not been tainted by Egypt, by its glorious splendour, its luxury, its opulence. They tend their herds, moving backwards and forwards, sometimes in Canaan, sometimes along the rich Black Lands of Egypt.’

  ‘Have you heard rumours,’ I asked, ‘that they were involved in the abduction or escape of Akenhaten?’

  ‘Master, if I had heard,’ the answer came too easily, ‘I would have told you. When the Divine One,’ he sighed again, ‘left or was killed, I, like you, was banned from his presence. You were weak due to the plague. I had still not recovered from her death …’ He let his words hang in the air, a memorial of his deep love for the woman whom I’d discovered to be an assassin. Then he clambered to his feet, ‘I know nothing of Akenhaten. I know nothing at all,’ and went back to his bed.

  I returned to my chamber. Once again I went through Khufu’s story but could learn nothing else. Nevertheless, I was convinced my old master was alive, that he had revisited Egypt and would now return to his secret place in Canaan. I also went through the documents taken from the Delta. In the main they were interesting: letters between Aziru and his allies in both Canaan and the kingdom of the Hittites. I cleared the documents away, so intent on what I was doing that I started at the soft touch on my arm. Tutankhamun was standing dressed in his night shift, his eyes filled with tears. He held a small wooden box; he silently offered this to me. I took the casket and lifted the lid. Inside were the two mummified corpses of the tortoises he had drowned.

  ‘I did not intend to do wrong, Uncle Mahu. I just thought I should punish them.’

  I closed the lid and crouched down. He put his arms round my neck and stood trembling. I took him across to the table, removed the cover cloth and gave him a sweetmeat and a sip of wine.

  ‘Forget the tortoises, my lord,’ I whispered. ‘They were good tortoises and have now travelled across the Far Horizon.’

  ‘Will there be tortoises there?’ Tutankhamun asked.

  ‘If you want, my lord, there will be tortoises, gazelles, cats and dogs.’

  ‘When will I go to the Far Horizon?’

  ‘Only when you are very old,’ I replied. ‘And the father of many children and the grandfather of countless others.’

  Tutankhamun giggled, licking his fingers and staring at me like the little owl he was.

  ‘Is it true, Uncle Mahu, that my father is still alive? I heard the servants talking. If he is alive, why doesn’t he visit me? Why did he leave me?’

  ‘Your father had to leave you, my lord, for his safety and yours.’

  ‘When I become a man,’ Tutankhamun declared, ‘I shall be a warrior. I shall sweep north like Ahmose did, carrying fire and sword against the People of the Nine Bows.’

  I prised the wine cup from his hands and placed it back on the table. ‘My lord, how old are you now?’

  ‘Uncle Mahu, you know how old I am. Since you left, my day of birth has come and gone. I am now midway between my seventh and eighth year.’

  ‘Can you remember,’ I asked crouching down, ‘your father ever visiting you?’

  The young Prince shook his head.

  ‘Did he ever send you a gift?’

  ‘Many gifts, toy soldiers, a chariot, a hippopotamus …’

  ‘Did he,’ I intervened, ‘or possibly Lord Pentju ever mention the Watchers? Think, my lord.’

  Tutankhamun squeezed his eyes shut and opened them quickly.

  ‘Never, Uncle Mahu. Who are the Watchers?’

  ‘Finally, my lord,’ I scooped him up in my arms, ‘how often have I told you never to leave your bedchamber in the dead of night?’

  Joking and laughing, I took him back, placed him in his bed and sat down to wait until he had fallen fast asleep.

  hui

  (Ancient Egyptian for ‘to shoot venom’)

  Chapter 12

  Our hunting party left Memphis early the next morning, ostensibly to enjoy a day’s relaxation, but as Maya wryly observed, our true quarry would be more elusive. We were accompanied by a host of chariots, a swarm of retainers, huntsmen and a pack of yelping hounds trained to the horn, whip and whistle. The guest of honour was Horemheb, still very much the Themum, the Hero of the Hour. Rameses and Huy were still drunk from the previous night. Maya was distraught at Sobeck’s departure. Pentju seemed the most
alert of us all, although sombre-faced and withdrawn. Lord Ay was in his usual fine form.

  ‘It’s good,’ he announced from his glorious chariot as we assembled outside Nebamun’s mansion, ‘to be free of the heretics and traitors.’

  No one dared mention how he had been foremost in that heresy, as his unfinished tomb at the City of the Aten bore witness, its walls inscribed with fulsome praise of both Akenhaten and his God. Ah well, there again, politicians have all the memory of a butterfly – when it suits them. Watching him grasp the reins, talking and joking with his companions, I wondered how much the Lord Cobra really knew about those sombre last days of Akenhaten. However, for Ay, that door was closed, bolted and sealed. He’d never tell the truth even if the Goddess Ma’at came over the Far Horizon and ordered him to do so.

  We had chosen a fine morning, a glorious dawn promising a warm day. We moved through the grass and trees heading into the west, the sun behind us, its light catching and illuminating the wild flowers. Our dogs, yapping and snarling, were eager for the hunt. Now and again a hare would start from the grass or a flock of webbed quail burst up in a flash of colour, wings beating the air, their cries of alarm carrying out to the flocks of gazelles and wild goats, who would gallop away in clouds of hazy dust. Wild grey asses kicked up their hoofs, whinnied and threatened our dogs before cantering away. We scattered a line of game before us, our chariots fanning out in the morning light, huntsmen calling in the dogs.