Paul Doherty - The Season of the Hyaena

Ay gazed in surprise. Rameses was smiling behind his hand. Horemheb was looking at me strangely, as if noticing me for the first time. Huy and Maya were all attention, as were the rest. Ay’s head went down to hide his grin. I had done what he wanted: united the council and yet exposed both factions to danger. Meryre would go to prepare the way and I would follow. Tutu was nodding in agreement. Horemheb, Rameses, Huy and Maya also signified their assent.

‘Meryre will go first,’ I repeated. ‘He will simply arrive in peace and ask that this usurper, whatever title we want to give him, is acknowledged by us and that we wish to treat with him. I will be the envoy of the Royal Circle. Meryre and myself will then negotiate.’

‘About what?’ Rameses barked

‘Anything and everything.’ I smiled. ‘If he wants Thebes, then we will give him it. If he wants to be proclaimed as the God Incarnate, then we shall press our foreheads against the ground.’

‘And?’ Ay demanded.

‘You, my lord, and the rest will be busy gathering troops from every province and city. Thebes should be left under the protection of General Nakhtimin, whilst Generals Horemheb, Rameses and Rahmose collect every soldier they can, every chariot squadron, every bargeload of marines, and sweep north. We shall bring this invader to battle, defeat him and show our enemies, both at home and abroad, that we mean business. No mercy, no quarter, fire and sword, total annihilation.’

‘And you, my lord Mahu?’ Horemheb asked. ‘You will sit at the enemy camp fire with your skin safe and protected?’

‘At the appropriate time,’ I retorted, ‘both my lord Meryre and myself, as well as the small retinue which will accompany us, shall escape.’

‘Why?’ Huy demanded. ‘My lord Mahu, you put yourself in great danger, not to mention my lord Meryre, of course.’

I found it hard to answer that question, but Ay knew my heart. I was truly curious. I wanted to see if the Veiled One had returned. I wanted to plumb this mystery but, of course, I didn’t say that. I had other demands to make. Horemheb and Rameses repeated Huy’s question.

‘In return,’ I demanded, ‘every member of the Royal Circle shall take an oath, an oath of unequivocal loyalty and obedience to Prince Tutankhamun, who shall be crowned during my departure, whilst his marriage to the Princess Ankhesenamun will be published for all to know.’

Everyone agreed. It would have been treason to refuse.

‘Secondly,’ I insisted, ‘the City of the Aten is crumbling, bats and owls now shelter in the halls, termites eat the wood, the courtyards are overgrown, the sacred pools and lakes are polluted. The tombs in the eastern cliffs …’ I paused. ‘The tombs in the eastern cliffs are protected by my mercenaries; they contain the coffins of those who were our friends and colleagues. They are to be transported back to the Valley of the Kings and given honourable burial.’

Again there was a murmur of agreement. Ay quickly intervened, insisting that Meryre and his entourage of priests leave as quickly as possible, whilst I should follow within the week.

The meeting of the Royal Circle broke up. Ay kept to himself, still seated on his chair, staring down at the rings on his fingers. Horemheb and Rameses drew Maya and Huy into conversation. Meryre and his group came across. The High Priest was acting anxious, fearful of guarantees about his own safety.

‘You are a priest, my lord. The High Priest of the Aten. You will go unarmed, bearing the green boughs of peace. You will be safe.’ I grinned. ‘Well, as safe as I shall be.’

General Rahmose, face all sweat-soaked, was shaking slightly, so I picked up my striped cloak and handed it to him. I always wore that cloak; it was a gift from Djarka against the cool of the evening, the type worn by his people, the Shemsu: light enough under the heat of the midday sun but sure protection against the freezing cold of the desert night.

Horemheb and Rameses came across and took me aside. Both generals were now elated at the prospect of military action. I idly wondered if I had been too clever. What guarantee did we have, apart from a personal oath, that, once victorious, these two panthers might not turn their troops south and march on Thebes? Ay must have been thinking the same, for he interrupted our conversation, bringing the meeting back to order, proclaiming that we would all take the oath the following morning. In the end that was our best guarantee. Whilst Tutankhamun was alive, the hyaenas who surrounded him would not turn on each other. Already proclamations were reminding the people that the Prince was the grandson of the Magnificent One, Amenhotep III, of the sacred blood and the royal line. Not even Rameses, for all his treachery, would dare raise his hand against Tutankhamun and commit such blasphemy.

The council chamber doors were flung open. We drifted out along the passageway, past Nakhtimin’s guards, into the courtyard, where our various retinues were waiting. The sun was now beginning to set, and the breeze was cool. I regretted my magnanimity in giving General Rahmose my cloak. I looked around. He was following Tutu and Meryre into the shadows of the gateway leading out. I glimpsed a white-robed figure abruptly detach itself from a group of priests waiting for their master. At first I thought this man was a messenger bearing important news. He moved swiftly, silently, like a racing shadow, a blur of white. I caught the glint of steel. Rahmose was turning, fearful, still weak with the fever. He could do little to protect himself. The white-garbed figure crashed into him and both men went sprawling. Rahmose’s scream rent the air as the knife rose and fell.

The assailant sprang to his feet as if to escape through a door back into the warren of passageways of the palace. Two of Nakhtimin’s spearmen followed in pursuit. The man reached the door even as I hurried forward. The door was locked. The man turned and Nakhtimin’s spearmen, ignoring my shouts, loosed their shafts. One spear took the man straight in the belly, pinning him to the door behind, whilst the other drove deep into the man’s chest. He shook and screamed, arms flailing even as the blood gushed out of the gaping wounds. The spearmen withdrew their shafts and the corpse slid to the ground.

I hurried across with the rest. The courtyard resounded with cries and shouts, the clatter of drawn weapons. Meryre and his group clustered around Rahmose. He lay twisted, one arm going backwards and forwards like the wing of a pinioned bird, heels drumming on the ground. Pentju the physician, who had remained silent throughout the entire council meeting, was crouching beside the fallen man. He could do little. Rahmose’s eyes were already glazing over in death, mouth spluttering blood, fingers trying to stem the jagged cuts to his neck, throat and chest. He was a dead man in all but name. I glanced across. The assassin lay slumped in a bloody heap. I went and turned the body over. A young man, smooth-faced, head shaven like that of a priest, but the palms of his hands were coarse and his arms criss-crossed with scars.

‘A soldier?’ Maya asked. ‘Disguised as a priest? He was holding this.’ The Treasurer handed over a scarab displaying the throne names of Akenhaten. It was crudely done, the clumsy hieroglyphs painted white on the hardened black stone. Ay, surrounded by his guards, inspected both corpses and shrugged.

‘Mahu,’ he demanded, ‘find out what happened.’

‘I might as well try and get a stone to sing,’ I shouted back. I crouched by the corpse of the assassin. The scars on his wrists and arms were superficial, and beneath the blood-soaked robe I could detect no other mark or wound, but on the hardened soles of his feet I glimpsed what I considered to be green dye.