House of Two Pharaohs, page 10
Hannu watched as the lean man bowed again before he strode out into the night, clutching his prize.
As Hannu observed from his place in the shadows, this interaction was repeated again and again – each waiting man summoning the courage to shuffle forward for interrogation by the guards, before taking their turn with the man in the sash.
Hannu scowled in puzzlement. The man in the sash wasn’t dispensing gold. Perhaps he was offering charms to ward off misfortune? The impoverished residents of Avaris certainly looked as if they had need of such things.
Hannu drained the last of his beer. The only way to find out more was to try his own luck. He stood and walked over to the guards.
‘What do you want?’ one of them growled.
Hannu bowed his head low, as he had seen the others do. ‘To serve again, as I once did,’ he tried in a hesitant voice.
‘What can you offer?’
‘Strong arms, a strong back –’
‘You limped over here,’ another of the guards said. ‘What good are strong arms and a strong back if they don’t have stout legs to carry them?’
‘I’m skilled with a sword,’ Hannu added.
The guards scrutinised him silently as they weighed his answers. Hannu was convinced he had failed the test, but then one of them stepped aside, allowing him to pass.
The man in the sash stood to receive Hannu at his table. He was a good two feet taller than the old soldier, and Hannu pretended to fidget nervously under the man’s gaze as he peered coldly down his hawk-like nose at him.
‘What is it that you know?’ the man in the sash asked with a faint sibilance.
Hannu was momentarily lost for words. What was the right answer? ‘Anubis walks,’ he guessed.
A slow nod of the head told him he was right, and Hannu breathed again. But the man in the sash’s unblinking eyes remained fixed on his face. ‘How did you learn where to find him?’
For a moment Hannu considered inventing a story, then decided it would be safer to stick closer to the truth. ‘A woman told me. It was information given in gratitude, after I rescued her daughter from a pair of kidnappers.’
The man in the sash wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘You did well to help this woman. Men who seek to exploit the misery of the oppressed are a blight on the soul of Egypt, and must be punished. Where are they now?’
‘They are dead. I killed them.’
The corners of the man’s mouth twitched and he nodded again, clearly pleased with the answer.
‘Good. Now . . . tell me what you offer.’
‘I have no weapon, but I have skill with a sword –’
‘Are you a soldier?’
‘I was.’
‘In the Egyptian army?’
‘I fought against the Hyksos.’
‘As any good Egyptian would. Though many here in the Lower Kingdom did not. Too many of these cowards allowed themselves to be bribed with bread and with beer, to allow the barbarians into their homes.’ The man in the sash paused, then looked at Hannu askance. ‘Then you are from the Upper Kingdom.’
‘Born in Thebes. Once the barbarians were defeated, the army had no further need of me. I was cast aside. I worked my way along the river, hoping there might be something for me –’
‘Go!’ the man in the sash said abruptly.
Hannu felt his words catch in his throat. He hadn’t expected to be dismissed when every other man he had observed had received his reward. Whatever that was.
‘Go!’ the man in the sash repeated, more darkly this time. ‘I also have no use for you.’
Before Hannu could protest, one of the burly guards grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the table, forcefully ushering him out of the tavern and casting him into the courtyard.
‘Don’t think about coming back,’ the guard warned. ‘If we see you again, we’ll slit your throat and leave you on one of the middens, as a feast for the rats.’
Hannu swallowed his natural inclination to fight back. Instead, he climbed to his feet and trudged away as the guard turned back inside.
He did not go far. Once he was sure no one was watching, Hannu ducked into a doorway on the opposite side of the courtyard from the tavern, and settled down to wait for the next man who was lucky enough to be given the prize that he had been denied.
Hannu liked problems he could solve with a sword, but what he had just experienced in the tavern had set a fire alight in his mind.
After what felt like an age, one of the other men that he had seen waiting for an audience with the man in the sash strode out into the night. He wore a frayed grey cloak and was missing an ear – Hannu had taken note of this detail earlier – but he also had a lightness to his step, which indicated that he had been successful where Hannu had failed.
As the one-eared man hurried across the courtyard, Hannu slipped from his hiding place and followed. The silent streets were dark and Hannu had to trail the man closely, so he would not lose sight of him, but not so closely that the sound of his leather sandals on the flagstones would raise suspicion. It didn’t take him long to realise, though, that the man was oblivious, too excited by the outcome of his evening’s work to notice the old soldier who limped behind him.
Glancing once over his shoulder to ensure he was not being watched, Hannu decided that the time had come to pounce, and he broke into an awkward lope on his damaged leg. As he closed on his target, the man with the missing ear looked back, but it was too late. Hannu rammed into the man with all his strength, launching him into an alley, where he sprawled flat on his back.
Snatching his knife from beneath his belt, Hannu pinned the fallen man beneath his good knee, thrusting the blade under his chin.
‘Call out and I’ll cut your throat,’ Hannu breathed.
The one-eared man chuckled. ‘You’re wasting your time. I have nothing,’ he sneered.
‘You have something in your hand. I saw it.’
Hannu saw the desperation in the man’s eyes, but still he resisted revealing his prize. Pressing the edge of his blade harder into the man’s flesh, Hannu grabbed his wrist with his free hand.
‘Show me.’
His captive glared at him. Again, Hannu pressed down on the blade. This time, a bead of dark blood blossomed on the man’s pale skin.
With a grunt, the man unfolded his fingers. In the moonlight, Hannu saw that the prize was some kind of token. He took it in his hand and examined it closely.
It was a clay disc, painted black with the jackal head of Anubis stamped into it.
‘You see, it is nothing. Useless to you,’ the man asserted. ‘Now let me have it back and I’ll be on my way.’
‘Tell me what this is for.’
The man narrowed his eyes at Hannu. ‘If you do not know already, it will not help you to learn.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
The man glowered at him. Finally, he croaked: ‘It buys entrance to the Hall of Anubis, where we will pledge allegiance to the true ruler of this land.’
‘Pharaoh rules all Egypt.’
The man’s lips curled into an amused smile. ‘Look around you. This is not Pharaoh’s kingdom.’
‘Tell me whose is it, then.’
‘Anubis is the only ruler here. We have been abandoned. He is our only hope.’
Hannu narrowed his eyes, his thoughts racing. Then he withdrew his knife from the man’s neck and helped him into a sitting position. ‘Tell me where I can find this Hall of Anubis, and I will leave you be.’
Hannu watched his captive’s eyes glitter as he considered the offer. ‘There are catacombs beneath the ruins of the Hyksos temple to Baal,’ he said, finally. ‘When the purple banner flies, new recruits will be admitted, to take their vows after showing the token. Without one, you will never gain entry. Now, give me what is mine and let me go.’
When Hannu hesitated, the man suddenly barrelled into him, throwing him back. In an instant, the one-eared man was on top of him, straddling Hannu as he reached into his grey cloak and withdrew his own long knife.
As the blade slashed down, Hannu twisted his body aside so the weapon snagged in his cloak instead of burying itself in his flesh.
‘Give me what is mine!’ the one-eared man roared, consumed by a wild fury, hacking and stabbing as Hannu rolled this way and that. ‘Give me what the cheriheb gave me!’
In his desperation, the other man seemed possessed – the fight would not be over until one of them was dead.
Knowing he had no choice, Hannu thrust his own knife up, driving it hard into the man’s neck. Rolling aside to avoid the gush of hot blood, Hannu thrust the man off him. ‘You fool!’ he said bitterly, lurching to his feet as the man choked and kicked out the last of his life in the gutter.
Hannu wiped the back of a trembling hand across his mouth as he steadied himself. He had killed many men on the battlefield in his time, but never an innocent. The man he had followed from the tavern had surely only wanted to improve his lot in life. And desperation had made him foolhardy. He had simply chosen the wrong moment to take a stand.
Closing his eyes, Hannu muttered a prayer to Hathor to protect the man’s soul. Then he picked up the token from where it had fallen in the filth of the alley and lurched away into the night.
• • •
T
he line of carts rolled across the red sands, the soldiers leaning into the wind that swept down from the simmering desert wastes. As the sun rose still higher, Piay knew that it would soon feel as if Ptah himself had thrown open a great furnace door, and men and animals would bake together in the Eye of Horus.
Marching at the head of the caravan, Piay gazed out across the flat land and into the hazy distance. They might as well have been alone in all the world – the plain in front of him was desolate – but for once his thoughts did not drift to Myssa. He was focused on the task at hand. This was the third day of their trek to Memphis, hauling the wagons that were supposed to contain the gold that the Hyksos barbarians had looted from the Temple of Ptah. In fact, only one of the carts contained any gold – and that had been taken from his own city’s vault. The rest were home to a platoon of the Blue Crocodile Guard, sweating into their leather armour and cursing every bump and jolt as the caravan rumbled towards the capital of the Lower Kingdom. This was his plan, Piay reminded himself. His opportunity to show how much he had learned in the years since his long days being tutored in Taita’s classroom. With dry, calloused fingers, he tightened the azure scarf across his nose and mouth to protect himself from the pricking dust and plodded on.
Piay had barely taken two more steps when a voice rang out behind him. Though the words were quickly borne away on the wind, there was no mistaking the identity of the figure striding purposefully along the caravan.
Dragging down his scarf, Piay shouted: ‘You should stay in the carts, away from the wind.’
‘We are coming to the moment of truth,’ Taita announced when he reached the head of the caravan. ‘I need to have my feet on the ground.’
Piay looked back along the line of laden carts and took a deep breath. Taita was right – if the Shuyet was to send men to take the gold they carried, then it would be today, and before sunset. Any later and they would be too close to Memphis.
When Piay had addressed the crowd outside the Temple of Hathor, he had calculated that the Shuyet would have agents in the city, and the news would quickly work its way back to him. But as they had made the necessary preparations, Taita had persuaded Piay against wagering more of the city’s treasure than necessary in his gamble. The ruse, his teacher had advised, would play just the same with or without gold in the covered carts. Piay had protested that at least some gold would be necessary, and Taita, upon hearing his logic, had agreed and suggested a single cart.
Not long after, Piay and Taita had slipped out of Memphis with fifty members of the Blue Crocodile Guard. Two days later, they were joined by a cadre of the Memphis Guard and the carts that they were now returning to the city.
From the moment they departed, Piay had been prepared for an ambush. But now he was beginning to worry that the Shuyet was as perceptive as Taita had warned, and that he had smelled the trap.
‘It will be here or not at all,’ Piay breathed to Taita. ‘The Shuyet will not attack within sight of the city walls.’
Dust clogged the corners of Taita’s eyes, so that it appeared that he shed pale golden tears. ‘Then this would be a good time to break our journey and allow the men to slake their thirst,’ he offered. ‘Perhaps in doing so, we will lure the jackal from his hole.’
Agreeing, Piay strode along the caravan, bellowing the command. The carts ground to a halt and the weary soldiers slumped down against the wheels, tugging their dust-clogged scarves from their faces so they could pull at their sagging water-hides. Piay watched them as they counted out their ration, the three mouthfuls of water that they were allowed.
For a while the men of the Memphis Guard sat in silence in the shade thrown by the wagons, drawing strength back into their limbs. Then Taita stepped away from the carts and peered into the distance. ‘There,’ he said, pointing.
Piay looked in the direction his master was indicating and saw – or thought he saw – the faintest plume of dust rising out of the baked desert plain. He wished Hannu was by his side. His friend had better eyes for distance – he could spot danger at a thousand paces.
‘Could be nothing,’ Piay said. ‘Another caravan coming this way.’ But as soon as the words had left his mouth, he felt a familiar prickle down his spine. His instincts were telling him otherwise.
‘They are coming from the south-west, not from the trade route,’ Taita said with a voice as calm as if he had noticed an interesting new bloom in the palace gardens.
Piay spun on his heel and marched along the caravan. ‘Ready yourselves, Memphis Guard,’ he commanded as he passed the carts. ‘Crocodiles, do not show your colours yet.’
Once he had alerted every man under his command, he strode back to Taita, who was gazing out at the rising dust cloud. Piay could now make out dark smudges within it, as it swept closer. ‘Now we will finally learn the true identity of the Shuyet,’ he muttered.
‘We will learn something. That much, at least, is certain.’
Piay watched as a war band – men running on foot towards the caravan, about thirty strong, enough to terrorise the guards who should have been the caravan’s only defence – slowly took shape through the heat haze. Squinting, he could make out their white breechclouts and the brown scarves they had pulled across their mouths and noses. He had expected battle-hardened mercenaries, men on horses, chariots . . . not a party of desert raiders on foot, their swords strapped across their backs. They would fight savagely, Piay was sure, but they would be no match for professional soldiers.
Piay raced back along the caravan. ‘Ready!’ he shouted, both to encourage the Memphis Guard, and to prepare the Blue Crocodiles.
With a shrieking battle cry, the raiding party swept nearer, unsheathing their swords and whirling them around their heads in a display intended to strike paralysing fear into the hearts of the Memphis Guard.
The next stage had been long planned. Feigning panic, Piay whipped the lead mules to drive them on. Braying, the beasts lurched forward as six men crouching the other side of the cart pressed their shoulders against it and tipped the wagon over, as if it had hit a boulder buried in the sand. The cart crashed on to its side, spilling a shimmering wave of gold across the dusty ground.
This was the only cart with gold inside, but it served its purpose perfectly. The sight of the riches drove the raiders into a frenzy, just as Piay had intended. Any caution they might have had would now be set aside, and the nomarch felt vindicated that the reward had been worth the risk.
‘To arms!’ he yelled to the caravan behind him.
As one, the Blue Crocodile Guard piled out from where they had been hiding. Egypt’s finest wrenching out their bronze swords and forming a wall behind their long, rectangular shields.
Piay felt a surge of pride as he watched his plan unfold. The raiders’ advance faltered, then came to a halt, as the reality of their position became apparent.
Pulling his sword from the folds of his robes, Piay thrust it towards the war band. ‘Attack!’ he bellowed to the Blue Crocodiles, who charged, immediately scattering the panicked raiders.
But they were no fools, these men – Piay could see that much. They knew they were outnumbered, knew they could not stand against the elite Egyptian force that had emerged from the wagons. Their opportunity for easy plunder had gone and they were no men of honour – they would not risk their lives for a lost cause. Instead, they turned tail and raced back the way they had come.
‘Stay with the caravan!’ Piay ordered the Memphis Guard, his voice booming over the howl of the wind. To the Blue Crocodile Guard he shouted: ‘Follow them! Find their master!’
As he watched his soldiers break into a run, pursuing the fleeing raiders, Piay flashed a smile at Taita. ‘Now we will bring the Shuyet to justice.’
Taita didn’t return his smile. ‘Punishment can only be administered after victory, and victory can only be achieved if you have the upper hand. Are you certain that you still have the upper hand here?’
‘If we wait to find out, this opportunity will be lost. Of that, I am quite certain.’
‘What of the caravan?’ Taita asked.
Piay shot a cursory glance back at the soldiers of the Memphis Guard, who waited uncertainly with the carts, the loose robes that covered their armour whipping in the wind.
Taita nodded. ‘Prudence is rarely something a leader regrets, Piay.’
Piay absorbed his teacher’s comment, then he turned and shouted to Ahmose: ‘Captain, return to Memphis! I will meet you there, once we have apprehended this criminal.’
