Paul Doherty - The Season of the Hyaena

‘Of her own choice,’ I lied.

Tutu smiled to himself and glanced away.

‘But Akenhaten is different.’ Meryre spoke up. ‘I asked a question. Where is his corpse?’

‘How soon will this news be over Thebes?’ I demanded, ignoring the High Priest.

‘Within a week,’ Ay replied.

‘Then we must issue proclamations,’ I declared, ‘depicting this Akenhaten as a usurper, a pretender financed and supported by foreign troops.’

‘But he carries seals,’ Meryre retorted. ‘He flies the standard of the Aten. What if, Mahu, the woman is an impostor but Akenhaten has truly returned?’

I was forced to face the possibility.

‘What do we know of Akenhaten’s disappearance?’ Meryre continued smoothly. ‘We know that he rode out into the Red Lands and never returned.’

‘And there’s more, isn’t there?’ Ay demanded wearily. ‘Isn’t there, my Lord Maya?’

The treasurer sat, plump shoulders hunched. He muttered something under his breath. Rameses shouted at him to speak up.

‘When Akenhaten disappeared,’ Maya said, staring up at the ceiling as if fascinated by its coating of blue paint, its silver and gold stars, ‘so did a considerable amount of his treasure.’

‘Stolen,’ Rameses declared. ‘The city of Aten fell into chaos. People were helping themselves.’ He glanced round quickly. ‘Courtiers, officials, priests.’

‘No!’ Maya shook his head. ‘This was Pharaoh’s personal treasure, gold, silver, precious stones, about six large chests full. It could be transported by …’ He calculated. ‘Seven or eight donkeys.’

‘And why has this been kept quiet?’ Huy demanded.

‘Because it takes time,’ Maya replied tartly. ‘It takes time, my Lord Huy, to go through records to find out what we have and what we don’t. I tell you now we don’t have much. If the present crisis continues, we will have to start stripping the temples of their gold and silver, melting down sacred vessels. General Rameses,’ Maya flung a hand out, ‘talks of troops, but only the Gods know how we can provision, arm and pay them.’

I ignored the shouting and yelling. I was distracted by that painting. I also wanted to avoid Ay’s gaze as I tried to control the beating of my heart. My mind tumbled like dice in a cup. How much of this was true? Had Ay had a hand in it? Was he plotting, twisting and turning, spreading out his net? And if so, who was his quarry? I recalled the Shabtis of Akenhaten. I hadn’t told my colleagues how beside the body of each victim was found a scarab bearing the crown names of Akenhaten. I often wondered if such secret assassins were Ay’s work, a guise, a pretence to remove opponents in the city. He had done it before, so why not now? When I did glance up I caught the fear in his face: a passing glance, a movement of the eyes and lips as if Ay, the great schemer, had, for once in his life, been caught out in the open, his well-laid plans brutally kicked aside. He was looking at me beseechingly, as if uncertain what to say or do next.

Horemheb and Rameses now sat heads together. What were those two panthers plotting? My spies had also brought in reports about their hushed conversations. The Tuthmosid line was protected only by that small boy Tutankhamun. Once he died, why shouldn’t some ambitious general seize the war crown of Egypt? The Hedjet of Upper Egypt and the Deshat, the red crown, of Lower Egypt? Did Horemheb nourish dreams all of his own? What was that dark soul Rameses whispering in his ear? I glanced round the Royal Circle. The Atenists were grouped together. Despite their outcries and shouts they looked rather smug, pleased with themselves. Huy and Maya were also exchanging glances. Was this when the hyaena pack broke up? Would we now turn on each other? Rahmose was repeating his request that we treat with this usurper. Meryre kept chorusing like a child repeating a chant that this was a wise move, for how did we know he was a usurper? Pharaoh might be returning to his own. I took the dagger from beneath my robes and began to beat the handle against the tiled floor. The clamour died.

‘My lords.’ I smiled round in a show of confidence. ‘Let us deal with the facts. Queen Nefertiti is dead. She took poison. I know she did. I gave her the cup. I felt her body shudder in my arms; her corpse has been mummified and lies in a tomb in the eastern cliffs above the City of the Aten. A usurper has appeared in the Delta, financed and supported by the Hittites. He has suborned some of our regiments because they are hungry, leaderless and have not been paid in months. It is easy to march across a desert, but the great cities of Egypt will not open their gates so readily. Now, let us turn to this Akenhaten, whoever he is! We know what happened in the City of the Aten. How our Pharaoh quarrelled with his wife Nefertiti and banished her to a palace in the north of the city. He then withdrew himself, taking first his elder daughter and then the Princess Ankhesenamun as his Queens. He had children by both. However, the babies died, as did his elder daughter, Meritaten. What else do we know?’

‘We too were banished from his presence,’ Huy offered.

‘Of course you were.’ I smiled. ‘And then there was the reconciliation,’ I repeated facts they all knew, ‘between Akenhaten and Nefertiti: she now reincarnated herself as her husband’s co-ruler, adopting the title Semenkhkare-Ankheperure. For a while both reigned together, then Akenhaten disappeared and Nefertiti tried to rule under her new name. She plotted our deaths and had to be removed. A regency council was set up under God’s Father, Ay. We decided that Akenhaten’s vision was nothing but sand in the wind and moved back to Thebes. We have our Pharaoh, Prince Tutankhamun, to be crowned. So, this usurper is false. He must be dealt with, captured and executed.’

‘But what happens if he is the true Pharaoh?’ Meryre demanded.

‘You go on and on about that!’ Anen, the High Priest of Amun, shouted. ‘Do you know something, my lord, we don’t?’

I stared at Meryre, eyebrows raised. ‘A good question, my lord.’

Meryre looked as if he was going to deny everything, but I held his glance.

‘Akenhaten,’ he declared slowly, ‘believed we had all deserted him. He no longer confided in me but in a gaggle of chapel priests, led by two: Khufu and Djoser. At the time of Akenhaten’s disappearance, these two and other acolyte priests also vanished. However, before you ask where, you must recall how the pestilence had swept the city. Men died and were given quick burial; others fled.’

‘So it is possible,’ I persisted, ‘that when Akenhaten disappeared, went out into the Red Lands, those precious priests, led by Khufu and Djoser, followed suit, taking his personal treasure with them?’

‘That is a possibility,’ Meryre conceded.

‘And it is also possible,’ I demanded, ‘that Akenhaten was murdered by these priests, who then took his treasure, including the Royal Seals, and fled along the Horus Road into Canaan and the power of the Hittites?’

Again Meryre agreed. I watched that sanctimonious face and the others grouped around him. Did they really believe Akenhaten had returned? Were they simply guilty of wishful thinking? Or were they part of some far-fetched plot?

‘And on your most sacred oath,’ I asked quietly, ‘you know nothing of this usurper?’

‘I object.’ Meryre curled his lip.

‘I simply asked, my lord. Now I shall give the Royal Circle my advice. We should play for time. Let us send the high priest Meryre as our official envoy. You, my lord, will soon discover if this is our true Pharaoh or some puppet.’

‘Why me?’ Meryre demanded.

‘You are the High Priest of the Aten. You will simply be our messenger. I shall join you.’