House of Two Pharaohs, page 15
‘What is it?’ Piay asked, staring at Taita.
A guard from the palace garrison was patrolling the walls as a slave hurried by along the path to the kitchens, but no one else was visible.
‘Do you not hear that?’ Taita asked.
Piay shook his head in confusion.
‘I will meet you in the palace,’ Taita replied, leaving Piay abruptly, stalking away across the well-watered grass, past the tamarisk trees with their fluffy clouds of pink flowers.
• • •
T
he garden had been masterfully designed, so that it hid and then revealed the majesty of nature, tantalising all those who walked through it. Taita knew that whoever was singing could escape quickly and without being exposed, but he also knew that there was only one person who would still remember the words to a peasant song from a half century ago – and she was no longer alive.
Finally, he caught sight of a figure standing before one of the sycamores, beside a blood-red bed of poppies. Taita cried out and fell to his knees. He had known all along who was singing, but he had not expected to see her in the flesh.
‘It is you,’ Taita gasped. ‘How can this be?’
I am imagining it, he thought. If his beloved was here, it had to be because of his encounter with the medu neter in Imhotep’s tomb – some manifestation caused by the spells which had wrapped themselves around his mind.
But Taita could clearly see Lostris smiling at him as she approached. She whom he had loved above all others. Lostris as she had appeared in the first flush of womanhood – her skin the colour of oiled cedar wood, the slant of her eyes enhanced by the silver-green of powdered malachite touched to the upper lids. She smiled. ‘My Taita,’ she said in greeting, her mellifluous voice ending his name with the faintest laugh of joy.
‘Mistress,’ he breathed, trembling from the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. ‘You have returned as you promised you would.’
His beloved was wearing a white silk sheath dress with a lapis lazuli figurine of Hapi, the goddess of the Nile, hanging from a gold chain around her neck. Gold bands encased her upper arms and wrists.
‘Why have you come to me now, after all this time?’ Taita whispered. ‘Is it because I set foot in Imhotep’s tomb? Because I have looked upon the spells of power? Because I have wielded one?’ His face brightened, hopefully. ‘Have you come to ask me to follow you into the afterlife?’
‘No one was ever more loyal to me than you, Taita,’ Lostris murmured, ignoring his eager questions. ‘And your loyalty to me has grown into a devotion to this land that will never be matched.’
Blinking away his tears, Taita reached out a hand as his mistress spoke, but no matter how far he extended his fingers, they felt neither fabric nor flesh.
‘You are a spectre, born of memories. You exist only in my head,’ he muttered sadly, his hand returning to his side.
Lostris smiled. ‘Dark days have returned to this land, Taita. A new threat is growing. It is because of this that the spells have been revealed to you, and why you see me now.’
After his mistress’s death, Taita had steeled his heart, had buried his grief, and slowly the pain of losing her had faded. But seeing Lostris again now was almost as much as he could bear.
‘You are not truly here,’ Taita said despondently.
‘But I am here,’ Lostris replied, pointing to his heart. ‘And here.’ She raised her finger to indicate his head. ‘And I will stay with you, for as long as you have need of me, my faithful and beloved servant.’
Taita sat back on his heels, shaking his head. ‘I will always need you.’
He had yearned to be reunited with Lostris from the very instant the light in her eyes had flickered out, longed to hear the sound of her voice once again, and to smell her skin, sweetly perfumed by the balm that her slave girls massaged into it every morning after her bath. Taita had always known that these things would only ever happen in the afterlife, but now he knew what it would feel like to join his beloved where she waited for him.
Taita closed his eyes to hold back his emotions.
‘Remember me in your time of need,’ he heard his mistress whisper. ‘And you will see me standing before you.’
When he opened his eyes again, Lostris was gone.
• • •
T
he woman slipped like a ghost through the shadowed, stinking alleys of Avaris, tracking the band of Hyksos warriors. The children who played in the narrow lanes paid her no attention. Her face was smeared with dirt and her drab dress was tattered and stained, making her look for all the world like just another desperate soul trying to survive in the cruel quarter where the poor and dispossessed clung to their miserable lives by their fingernails.
But her desperation was a disguise. Zahra, daughter of Nimlot, sister of Qar, had found that she was quite good at hiding her true identity.
As she passed the children, she focused again on the five barbarians she pursued, like a lion hunting a pack of hyenas. They swaggered through the quarter with the arrogance of men who knew they would never be challenged, braying with laughter and shoving aside anyone who stood in their path.
The leader of the band was Assis, the murderer who had occupied Zahra’s thoughts every day of the twelve long years since her father’s death. During that time, she had grown into a radiant beauty, with long hair falling in coils around her shoulders, high cheekbones and full lips. But it was her eyes that were the most memorable, as dark and deep as a temple pool at midnight, so that few could stand their unrelenting scrutiny for long.
Assis, for his part, had changed little since the day he had cut Nimlot’s throat. There were a few more streaks of silver in his long black hair, and more creases in the skin around his mouth and eyes, but his sword arm was still strong, and he cut an imposing figure on the streets of Avaris.
The barbarians surrounded a young woman, carrying water back from the river. Like jackals circling a lone gazelle, the Hyksos took turns tugging at her frayed dress. Then Assis grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her face close to his, whispering something that Zahra couldn’t hear, but which caused the woman’s eyes to widen in terror.
Stay calm, Zahra thought. Do not intervene. Not yet.
Zahra sighed with relief when the barbarians finally tired of their game and allowed the woman to go on her way. If their molestation had continued, she feared she would not have been able to restrain herself. She was fast and deadly with the short blade she kept hidden in her dress. If pressed, she knew her own ability, and four of the five barbarians offered no challenge – she would kill them before they could draw their swords. But it was Assis she wanted. Her prey was strong and dangerous, and killing him would not be so easy.
When Heru had spirited Nimlot’s children out of Avaris, the night their father had been murdered, Zahra could not have imagined how they would ever revenge themselves on Assis. Heru had carried them upriver in a stolen skiff, from town to town, until they had found a place to call home in Bubastis, the city of cats. There was always work for a ka-priest, so Heru provided for them by making daily offerings at the tombs in the necropolis.
But as Qar and Zahra grew older, things became more difficult in Bubastis. The new Hyksos nomarch was determined to squeeze every last drop of gold from the city. Heru’s work began to dry up – families no longer had money to honour the dead – and their bellies were often empty. Even the great temple of Bast fell into disrepair.
At Qar’s suggestion, the siblings became thieves, stealing what they could from the wagons carrying food to the Hyksos barracks. To her shame, Zahra quickly became very good at the light-fingered work. To ease her guilt, she would give half of whatever she took to the hungry children in the city.
Despite their privations, Heru never stinted with their education. He had become a surrogate father to his mentor’s children, and he was determined to give them the tools they needed to help realise Nimlot’s dream of an Egypt reborn. Whether he thought it was destiny or folly, Heru never said. He dutifully delivered on his promise to Nimlot, and Zahra loved him for that.
Qar became restive as they left their childhood behind. Twelve years had passed since the day that had changed their lives forever. After so many years, the barbarian would not recognise them, he argued. Now was the time. They could return to Avaris, and plan their revenge.
When Assis led his men out into a sun-baked street, Zahra held back in the shadows. She had watched his movements for weeks, and had learned that he was as predictable as the inundation of the Nile. Every day that the Egyptian calendar deemed auspicious, the barbarian would make his way to the tavern, drink heavily and then wind his way home alone. That was the perfect moment.
Once she was certain Assis was strolling towards the tavern, Zahra raced back through the labyrinth of narrow lanes to the cramped house Heru had found for them. The clay-brick walls were crumbling, the roof sagged, and it was so close to a midden that the house was filled with the foul stink of human waste. But at least no one would come looking for them there.
Just as Zahra was about to enter, Heru stooped under the lintel and stepped out into the street, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips.
‘What is wrong?’ Zahra asked her guardian.
Heru looked back into the shadows of the house and then said in a quiet voice: ‘I am concerned about your brother.’
‘What has he done now?’
‘He has grown irrational and violent.’
Zahra nodded. Over the years, the joy she remembered in Qar as a boy had ebbed away. These days, he scowled more than he smiled. Was it his obsession with vengeance that had deadened his heart, she wondered, or was it his growing ambition to realise their father’s vision? More and more, Qar talked only of the ways that they might bring about the resurrection of Egypt.
‘Power is what we need,’ he had said once. When Zahra had asked him what he meant, Qar had dismissed her question with a furious wave of his hand. ‘Our father was taken from us because we had no power. The only way to protect ourselves is to seize it.’
‘How?’
‘The Hyksos have shown us the way.’
Zahra had stared at him incredulously, unsure what lessons the barbarians who had slaughtered their people and murdered their father could teach them, but Qar had refused to speak with her on the subject any more after that.
Heru leaned in and spoke quietly: ‘I fear where this road will lead him. I have seen it in other men – ideas that become a poison that consumes them.’ He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Please do what you can to steer him on to a more righteous path.’
With a worried nod of agreement, Zahra slipped past Heru and into the cramped house. She found Qar squatting in a corner, drawing items out of a sack. Zahra gasped when she saw the gleam of precious metal in his hands.
‘I thought we only stole food,’ she admonished him.
‘And now we steal gold.’ Qar looked up at her from under hooded brows. ‘I told you . . . I have a plan.’
Zahra shook her head in dismay.
‘Do you mock me?’ Qar snapped.
‘Of course not. I love you. You are all I have in the world. But this talk of plans, and power –’
‘Do you know how the Hyksos conquered Egypt?’ Qar twirled a gold amulet so that it caught the light.
‘They had horses . . . and chariots,’ Zahra replied.
Qar grinned and shook his head. ‘No. We Egyptians have our gods, but they do not bid us to conquer other nations, to tear down their temples and enslave their peoples. The Hyksos believe that this is what Baal wants them to do. He is a jealous god, but if they serve him, they will be granted prosperity in this life and the next. There is no limit to their devotion, to what they will give in Baal’s service, because they know they will be rewarded. If they live – Baal will smile upon them. And if they die – they will be welcomed into paradise.’
Zahra tapped the bulging sack with her toe. ‘Where did you get this?’
Qar ignored her. His eyes were gleaming with a strange light. ‘I will do as they did. Build an army –’
Zahra snorted.
Glaring at her, Qar continued: ‘Build an army from the poor, the hungry. Promise them a reward beyond their greatest imagining if they serve the will of a god . . .’
‘A reward they will gain by turning themselves into cut-throats, raiders like the Shrikes?’
‘Yes, like the Shrikes. They built an army in all but name. Why not us?’
Zahra stared at her brother with dismay. ‘No,’ she said gently. ‘This is madness. We are not warriors.’
‘Egypt needs us, Zahra. Have you forgotten our father’s vision?’
Zahra flinched at his words.
‘He put his faith in us –’
‘Are you doing this for our father?’ Zahra asked angrily. ‘Or for the power you crave? Our father served a god. He did not desire to become one.’
‘One can do both.’ Qar looked away sullenly.
‘I, too, want to honour Father’s memory,’ Zahra continued, ‘but there must be another way. We are Egyptian, Qar. I will not stand by and watch you become like the Hyksos. A monster.’
‘And I will not let you stand in my way!’ he shouted at her furiously.
Zahra looked at her brother. She knew that there was no point arguing with him when he was in this mood. ‘Assis is at the tavern now,’ she said calmly. ‘Most likely getting drunk.’
‘Good. Get ready. When Assis is dead, we can finally put the past behind us and look ahead to Egypt’s glorious future.’
Zahra watched her brother as he bundled the gold back into the sack, but he ignored her gaze. Concerned, she grabbed two flatbreads that she had stolen earlier, and walked out into the hot afternoon.
The children were waiting in their customary place, in the lee of the city wall. Zahra was saddened to see the feverish gleam in their eyes as she handed them the bread. Qar was right about one thing – the barbarians had turned the people of Egypt into beggars.
• • •
H
annu crawled from the river, spitting and cursing. He knew that the Shuyet’s men would pursue him, but he was now a good way downstream. He would be gone through the morning mist before the skiffs were readied and the search parties organised.
The sun was a giant ball of orange on the horizon now, pulsing through the river haar that had risen with it. As he wrung out his dripping tunic, all Hannu could think of was Piay and Taita, and the white walls of Memphis engulfed by the army of Anubis. He had to warn them. But how? He must be six days’ march from Memphis, and he was a man on his own, an old soldier with a bad leg.
Ahead of him a movement caught his eye – a shadow in the fog between the reed beds.
Pulling his dagger from his waistband, Hannu moved closer. The sounds around him were dull and muffled – tearing grass, the distant call of a heron. Then he saw it – a horse. Raising its head haughtily from where it had been grazing; its white legs splashed with mud.
Hannu cursed and looked balefully at Ra’s orb as it rose ever higher. ‘You know I hate them,’ he muttered, returning his dagger to his waistband. ‘I hate horses!’
• • •
I
t was late in the evening by the time Zahra returned to the house. Qar was waiting for her. He gave her a cheery grin to convey that their earlier confrontation had been forgotten, then slipped a knife out from the waistband of his kilt and showed it to her.
‘We have been waiting for so long, Zahra,’ Qar breathed. ‘Now, finally, we will take our revenge.’
Zahra eyed the glinting blade uncertainly.
‘Remember your role. All you need to do is lure Assis into the alley, away from any prying eyes. Leave the rest to me.’ Qar’s face was flushed with excitement, and his eyes gleamed with anticipation.
They slipped silently along the narrow streets, through the drifting woodsmoke from evening cooking fires, until they saw the lamplight shimmering through the open door of the tavern and heard the raucous, drunken laughter from within.
Qar kissed Zahra on the cheek, and then, with a light step, he disappeared into the darkness of the alley opposite the tavern’s entrance. Zahra stepped back into a doorway to wait, watching as man after man stumbled out of the tavern and meandered into the night.
Finally, Assis lurched out. He was alone, as usual, and as drunk as always. He paused to urinate against the wall of the tavern. When he had finished and turned back around, Zahra stepped out from her doorway and smiled alluringly at him.
Dumbfounded, Assis stared at her until his countenance suddenly brightened with comprehension, and a hungry grin bloomed across his face. In that moment, she knew that she had him. One thing she had learned as she had grown into a woman – men were easily captivated by a certain type of smile.
Without taking her eyes from Assis’s face, Zahra walked to the entrance to the alley where her brother waited, then turned and beckoned to her prey. Assis needed no further invitation. He stumbled after her.
Zahra’s eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom of the alley, and she saw Qar lurking behind a heap of refuse. She walked past him, then stopped, positioning herself in a pool of moonlight, knowing that, intoxicated as he was, the barbarian would be incapable of registering anything except the woman he now lusted after.
Assis’s silhouette appeared at the entrance to the alley and Zahra felt her heart begin to pound as the Hyksos stumbled towards her, reaching out to steady himself against the wall.
When Assis passed Qar’s hiding place, her brother leapt to his feet. Zahra glimpsed the glint of the knife as it flashed through the air, and she heard the thump of a blade driven to the hilt in the warm flesh of its target.
Assis screamed in pain, but he was a big man and Zahra knew that one strike would not be enough. She looked to Qar, but he had frozen at the sound of his adversary’s cry. Fear had gripped him, and his hesitation was all that Assis needed to seize back the initiative. Turning, the barbarian lunged, grabbing her brother’s neck in one huge hand even as he plucked the knife from his side.
