Paul Doherty - An Evil Spirit Out of the West

‘The best,’ he murmured. ‘From the rich land of Canaan. They say the earth is black there, so rich you gather two crops in one year. Come, come, eat!’

He gestured at the fresh reed basket before him. I was not frightened but wary. He served me himself, delicately wiping his fingers on a napkin.

‘You are purified and cleansed.’ He leaned across the table and I became aware of the Veiled One’s true features. He wore a blue and gold head-dress, a silver pearl dangled from one earlobe and a flowered pectoral hung about his neck. On his left hand glittered a ring bearing the symbol of the Sun Disc.

‘You are too shy,’ he murmured, eyes squinting as if he was short-sighted. ‘But not shy enough not to pry.’

‘I wasn’t prying.’ I swallowed quickly.

‘Then what were you doing?’

‘I was curious.’

‘Do you know who I am?’

‘The Veiled One.’

‘And why am I veiled?’

‘Because they say you are ugly.’

‘Do you think I am ugly?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Do you know who I am?’

I shook my head.

‘My name is Amenhotep. I am the second son of the Magnificent One and his beloved wife, the Lady of the House, Queen Tiye.’

I hid my nervousness by lifting the wine cup and gulping noisily.

‘You’ve never heard of me? I was born like this,’ he continued evenly, ‘kept in the Royal Nursery away from the Kap. Do you think I am strange? I have no real name. I am simply the Veiled One — he who lurks in the shadows.’ He broke from his reverie. ‘And who are you?’

‘I am Mahu, son of Seostris, the Baboon of the South. I, too, am called the Ugly One.’

I spoke louder than I intended. I heard a sound from behind the veil; the Kushite archers were still there armed and ready. The Veiled One, however, just lifted those long fingers, palm upwards in the sign of peace. He stared at me for a while, that long, solemn face, the unblinking eyes and then he began to laugh. At first it was a sound deep in his throat, then throwing his head back, he laughed loudly, clapping his hands softly together.

‘Mahu the Ugly One, the Baboon from the South!’

He picked up a piece of duck, dipped it into the herb sauce and, leaning across, gently fed me. ‘I like you, Mahu, Baboon of the South. You are a child of the Kap. Now tell me about yourself.’

I had no choice. I chattered like a bird on a branch about Aunt Isithia, my father, my years in the Kap, Horemheb, Rameses and the rest. The Veiled One turned his head slightly as if he had difficulty hearing. He stopped eating and listened intently, now and again interrupting with a sharp question. When I had finished he leaned back against the cushions, head against the wall, cradling his wine cup.

‘I hate beer.’ He looked at me from under heavy lidded eyes. ‘How old do you say I am?’

‘About my age.’

‘Which is?’

‘About fourteen summers.’

‘Have you had a woman, Mahu?’

‘Yes,’ I confessed.

He leaned forward, his face rather vexed. ‘But not last night?’ His voice became rather petulant. ‘Not today, not last night. You have been purified.’ He stared intently through the linen curtain behind as if seeking assurances from someone beyond it. Then he relaxed and laughed noisily.

‘I cannot take a woman.’ He glanced down at the table. ‘They say I am unable to.’ He gestured towards his groin. ‘A curse from the gods. What is your favourite god, Mahu?’

I was tempted to reply the Aten, the Sun Disc.

‘Well?’ The Veiled One’s head came up, a curious look on his face.

‘I have no god.’ The words came out. Tell the truth, I thought.

‘No god?’ He reached over and caressed my cheek. ‘Are you sure, Mahu? Not Seth or Montu, Isis or Ptah? Why not? If you repeated those words in the House of Instruction …’

‘I’d be beaten,’ I replied, the wine now making its presence felt. My face felt flushed, my tongue thicker and heavier than I would want.

‘No god.’ The Veiled One blinked. He turned to his side and brought out a small beautiful coffer of sycamore wood with bands of copper, its corners inlaid with silver and gold. He moved the platters and cups, placed this gently on the table and pulled back the lid. ‘Here are the gods, Mahu.’ He lifted out small statues of all the great deities of Egypt, except their heads had been removed: Osiris, Isis, Anubis, Seth the Destroyer, Montu of War. ‘Baubles!’ The Veiled One weighed two in his hand. ‘Plaster and stone and nothing else. They laugh at me, you know?’

His face had changed, no longer beautiful with his jutting mouth and those half-closed, glinting eyes. ‘The shaven pates, the soft heads, the priests — they told my father to keep me away, to place me here so here I have sat, Mahu.’ He threw the statues back in the box.

I was tempted to ask him about what I had seen in the glade earlier that morning but decided to hold my peace. Abruptly his mood changed.

‘Come on, finish your meal.’

I did so even as he filled my wine cup. I was becoming alarmed at this strange person with his changeable moods. Sometimes he would talk to me directly, at other times he would break off and turn to his side as if there was someone I couldn’t see sitting next to him. He would eat quickly but tidily, wiping his lips with his fingers, cleaning them on a napkin. The questions came thick and fast.

Had I entered the House of War? What was it like to lie with a girl? Which of the boys were my friends? Did I ever visit my aunt? His mood turned ugly whenever he mentioned the priests. I fought against the drowsiness, a sense of oppression. At the end of the meal the Veiled One rested back against the wall.

‘Shall I share a secret with you, Mahu? My brother Tuthmosis, he is kind.’ He wagged a finger at me. ‘I am glad you respect him. You must go soon.’ He played with the ring on his finger. ‘Mother will be here shortly. I shall speak to her about you but ask her not to tell Father. The Magnificent One,’ his voice turned rich with sarcasm, ‘does not like my name to be mentioned. If he’d had his way, I would have been drowned in the Nile. Mother argued differently. She says I am touched by the gods. We have our secrets.’

‘But you do not believe in gods?’

‘True,’ the Veiled One murmured. ‘For the time being true.’ He cocked his head slightly. ‘Do you believe in magic, Mahu?’

‘I know some tricks,’ I replied.

The Veiled One giggled, fingers covering his mouth. ‘Well, you’d best go.’ His hand fell away. He stretched across and ran a finger around my lips. ‘I have met you and wish you peace Mahu, Baboon of the South. One day we shall meet again.’

‘Your son has acted for you.

The Great Ones tremble

when they see your sword.’

(Spell 174: The Book of the Dead)

My encounter with the Veiled One was brief but startling. I wondered if something might happen but no reference was made to my secret visit nor did I receive any message from the Silent Pavilion. My encounter also coincided with ‘the children of the Kap ’ (though we were young men now) being more included in the life of the Malkata Palace, as Crown Prince Tuthmosis matured. What the Veiled One had told me quickened my interest in his parents whom I’d glimpsed from afar; now I listened avidly to the gossip. Old Weni, who was growing more and more dependent on the beer jar, was an excellent source of stories, if he kept sober. Not content with the henket or barley beer, he had moved on to the sernet , rich dark beer which would soon bring you into the presence of Hathor, Lady of Drunkenness.

I would often join him in the shade of an olive grove near a rather dank pool where the leaves were thick and lush. He’d lounge back against a tree, a basket of garlic sausage or grilled chicken covered with celery sauce on his lap.