House of Two Pharaohs, page 24
‘How is Gyasi?’ Piay asked.
‘Sleeping,’ Taita replied. ‘They didn’t harm her. She’ll soon recover her strength.’
‘Did she have anything to say about her time in the Shuyet’s camp?’
Taita shook his head, then, pushing himself to his feet, he said: ‘Come, we must return to Memphis. The Shuyet’s army is defeated. It is time for the people of Memphis to celebrate their victorious soldiers and their Nomarch.’
• • •
T
he golden light thrown by the lamps washed across the limestone, so that the entire temple hall seemed to glow. Zahra let herself be drawn back to her childhood, to when her father had first told her that the architects who had designed the building had done so in accordance with ancient instruction, so that all those who came to worship would feel the presence of the god.
The hem of Zahra’s cloak swished across the flagstones as she padded towards the statue of Seth and placed an offering at his feet. After Nimlot’s death at the hands of Assis, the Hyksos had torn down the old statues and re-dedicated the temple to the Lord of the Red Land, the god of disorder and violence.
This was the first time she had returned to the place where her father had died. Then, she had been a child. Now, she was a woman who had seen almost thirty floods, so changed by struggle that she could barely remember the child that she had been.
Zahra kneeled in front of the god and muttered a prayer. A part of her had dreaded returning to this place and the memories that would be awoken by doing so, but now that she was here, she felt a deep peace, and a connection with her father that she had not expected. She could hear his voice, see the way he moved his hands as he completed the daily rituals, the way he would share his meal, dividing what was on his plate into three equal portions, the way he would read, his finger moving alongside the script, his lips moving slightly as he savoured the knowledge contained on the scrolls preserved in the temple’s library. Even though she honoured him with everything that she did, she still missed Nimlot deeply – his wise counsel, his love.
Standing, Zahra eased down her hood so that her black hair tumbled down her back.
‘Where are you?’ she demanded.
Her words echoed into the farthest corners of the hall. She knew that there were no priests in the temple – Qar had paid the followers of Seth a princely sum to abandon the building, so that brother and sister could make their pilgrimage unmolested. It was only right, he had told her, that they visit the place where their journey had begun, on the night when everything would change. When Zahra had asked him what he meant, he had only smiled. Qar was filled with plans these days, many of which he did not see the need to reveal to his sister.
Yes, Qar had changed, and Zahra had grown to despise him. He had become exactly as Heru had warned the night that they had revenged themselves on Assis. He was petulant, arrogant, reckless, and while he claimed to be willing to go to any ends to see the Lower Kingdom liberated from the Hyksos and returned to its former glory, he sought that glory only for himself. Zahra knew that her father would not have approved, and she was also certain that she had always understood Nimlot better than Qar.
Prowling towards the annexes, Zahra heard voices. One belonged to her brother, the other to Heru, who had been more loyal to her father than either of them could ever have hoped. His entire life had been dedicated to his mentor’s children, as their lives were dedicated to their father’s vision. He offered his advice, certainly, but whatever notion Qar dreamed up – and it was usually Qar – Heru made sure that it became reality.
Not once had he questioned Qar when he had said that he wanted to build a fortress in the swamps and fill it with an army. Heru had overseen the recruitment of the men from across Lower Egypt, their numbers growing by the day. When Qar had sent raiders to rob the caravans in the Sinai, Heru had not opposed him.
Zahra sighed. If only it had been Heru who had overseen the rebuilding of the citadel – the sourcing of the stone, the timber – and the raising of the fortress walls. If only it had been Heru who had bribed and threatened the merchants and levy-takers, so that it could all be done in secret. But no – Qar had insisted that this was her work. ‘You are clever,’ he had said. ‘You will find ways without drawing the attention of the Hyksos.’
And she had, but it had been dull and tiring. Increasingly, she had suspected that Qar had made it her work to keep her away from the business of building the army and whatever other schemes he was devising.
Zahra strode on, following the mouldering odour of ancient papyrus into the library. Qar was pacing around the chamber, throwing his arms in the air as each new idea assailed him. Heru listened quietly, nodding.
They both turned when Zahra walked in, Heru smiling at her with a deep fondness. ‘We are bettered by your presence,’ he said.
Zahra kissed Heru on the cheek, something she would have done to her father, but as she turned back to her brother, she caught a flash of jealousy in his eyes.
‘Leave us,’ Qar said to Heru. ‘My sister and I would be alone with our memories.’
Rather than heeding Qar’s command, Heru looked to Zahra. Only when she nodded did he take his leave.
As soon as Heru had left the room, Qar turned to Zahra. ‘We have received word that the Hyksos have been defeated at Thebes. How, I cannot say, but even as we speak the barbarians are preparing for Lord Taita’s army to march north.’
Zahra raised an eyebrow at the news. ‘Then Father’s dream is possible. Lower Egypt will be free. Is that what you meant when you said that everything changes this night?’
‘No!’ Qar said coldly. ‘The Upper Kingdom is as much our enemy as the Hyksos. If they drive the barbarians out of the delta, we will have no opportunity to make our move.’
Qar spun away, but as he did so, Zahra thought she glimpsed an odd expression on his face. When he turned back, he was holding something as black and polished as onyx.
Raising the Anubis mask, Qar set it upon his head.
Zahra gasped and took a step back. ‘That was Father’s!’
‘The mask was the reason I wanted to return to the temple.’ Qar’s voice was muffled, but to Zahra it also sounded different – gruffer.
‘Take it off!’ Zahra insisted.
‘No. An army will not follow any man, but it will follow the god of the dead, immortal and all-powerful. As Qar, I was just a man. But when I put on the mask, I am Qar no more. Now, I am Anubis. The god inhabits me, just as he inhabited our father. And when we come to our final battle, it will be as Anubis that I will show our enemies the path to the afterlife.’
‘And while you are leading our army into battle, what of me?’
‘You have important work to do. The fortress –’
‘No. I will not be pushed into the shadows. Father would not have wanted that for me. I was the one he loved. He trusted me.’
Her words cut her brother deeply, just as she had intended. In the silence that followed, Zahra could feel the weight of Qar’s cold stare through the eyes of the mask. She shivered.
‘I thought you would say as much,’ he said eventually. ‘But this is how it shall be from now on.’
‘I will not allow it.’
Once again he fell silent, eyeing her askance.
‘Qar –’
‘Qar is dead. My name now is the Shuyet.’ Qar raised his arms wide, as if performing to an invisible audience. ‘A new name for one who is both man and god. The Shuyet – the unknowable, the immortal, the all-powerful.’
Zahra felt the overwhelming urge to slap her brother. She had to prevent this madness, prevent Qar from dishonouring her father’s vision. ‘You are making a fool of yourself,’ she said coldly.
‘You are a woman,’ Qar said contemptuously. ‘You are ungrateful, and deceitful. From now on, you will have no part in the fulfilment of Father’s dream.’
‘You are not the one decide that, brother.’
‘I am no longer your brother. The Shuyet is my name,’ he shouted, lunging at his sister, sending her sprawling backwards.
As the back of her skull struck the flagstones, dulling her senses, Qar approached quickly, still wearing the mask of Anubis. ‘I am the one who will fulfil Father’s vision,’ he spat bitterly. ‘I am the one who will lead the Lower Kingdom into a new age of glory.’
Qar sank to one knee, grabbing his sister roughly by the hair as the world spun around her. ‘You will obey me! I am your master, your god!’
Zahra felt her forehead crack resoundingly against the flagstones, and then again, and again, her eyes fluttering as her vision faded.
Only one thought came through the pain: My brother is going to kill me.
• • •
A
s the great galley groaned around him, Piay lay with his eyes closed. He wanted to feel elation – the Shuyet’s army had been defeated, his navy all but destroyed – but he knew that with their victory, he had also hastened the end of his time as the Nomarch of Memphis. With the Shuyet humbled, Pharaoh would appoint another nomarch, and he would become Piay of Thebes once again. It was what he had wanted, what he had longed for, but now it was within reach, he was consumed with jealousy. The men he sailed with were his men, from his city – to which they now returned. A city which, because of him, remained free. Who would shepherd it into the future? Who would finish the work he had begun?
At the creak of boards, Piay reached for his sword. ‘Who’s there?’
As he peered into the shadows, he recognised his visitor.
It was Gyasi.
She stood before him, wearing only a white silk slip, her shaven head bare. In the dim lamplight, the curves of her body pressed against the fabric and her eyes sparkled.
She held a finger to her lips and approached him quietly, her bare feet padding over the deck without a sound. Then she took his face in her hands, and pulled it close to her own.
As she pressed her full lips to his, Piay felt a rush of emotion as he thought of Myssa, and how long it had been since he had known the pleasures of a woman’s body.
As she lifted his hand to cup her breast and pressed herself against him, Piay’s long dormant desire came flooding back in a way that he had thought impossible. And while it came tinged with feelings of shame, as though being with a woman again was somehow a betrayal of his beloved, he ignored those thoughts and allowed himself to run his thumb over her nipple, pebble-hard under the silk.
Stepping back, Gyasi shrugged off her slip and stood before him, naked in the torchlight.
‘I can’t,’ Piay whispered, thinking back to his conversation with Taita as the Breath of Horus rocked beneath them. She was the Shuyet’s creature, sent to deceive and mislead them.
‘I think you can,’ she countered, smiling. ‘I have seen how you look at me. And I welcome it. That the Nomarch of Memphis would come for me, that he would save me from the enemy . . . himself. I know what it is you want.’
‘No. I cannot.’ But even as he said the words, he knew that he could – he would. Taita could not be sure that Gyasi was the Shuyet’s spy. He had said that they must wait for her to make her move.
‘Would Myssa have wanted you to remain this way?’ she purred.
Piay’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know.’ His voice softened. ‘I don’t know what she wanted, in those final days.’
‘She would have wanted you to cherish your memories of her – but not to live in them, caged by them. Myssa would not have wanted you to use her death as an excuse to withdraw from life.’
‘You don’t know what she would have wanted.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Gyasi admitted. ‘But I know what you desire.’
Stepping towards him, she took his hand and placed it between her legs, pressing herself against his fingers. She was shaven, as was the Egyptian fashion, and he felt her insistent wetness, but despite his primal yearning, he resisted. She took his face between her hands again as the tears rolled down his cheeks, bringing her mouth to his and teasing him with her tongue. He realised as he opened his mouth to her that, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he felt free of his grief. And with its sudden departure, Piay felt his loins swell and stiffen.
Pulling his kilt aside, Gyasi took his manhood in her hand, guiding him between her legs and into herself, baring her teeth as she did so, a lioness taking her prize. Piay called out as she thrust her hips forward, driving him deep into the raw, liquid heat that lay inside her.
‘You will give me what is mine,’ she hissed into his ear as he lost himself in pleasure. ‘You will give me what I was promised.’
• • •
T
he white walls of Memphis wavered in the heat haze, the date palms swaying lazily in the breeze that rose from the river. This was no mirage, though there was no doubt that most of those aboard the remaining ships of the war flotilla had thought that they would never see the city again.
Across the benches, the weary oarsmen fell silent as the ancient city came into view. Then, as one, they cheered, lifting their clenched fists into the air.
As he listened to the voices raised in triumph, from where he stood in the prow, Taita felt a deep sense of satisfaction settle upon him.
The fanfare announcing the return of the army rang out from the towers that watched over Peru-nefer, as the heralds spotted the sails in the hazy distance. Taita knew that throughout the city, the sound would draw people from the forges and warehouses, from the temples and shrines. Victory had never been assured – far from it – and after the Hyksos had inflicted so much suffering, everyone in Memphis would have feared the hand of another tyrant.
‘That is a sight that stirs the soul,’ Piay said as he joined his master. ‘Memphis.’
‘Now perhaps we can begin our work to build this new kingdom and to usher in the golden age of which we have all dreamed,’ Taita said, but even as the words escaped his lips, he knew that there was still much to do. The Shuyet’s army might have been defeated, but the man himself was still in the shadows, moving his pieces around the board. The Shuyet had to be stopped – once and for all.
A multitude of cheering citizens thronged the edge of the wharf: children and women with infants in their arms, old men who had come straight from the fields.
Gradually, the chaotic din coalesced into one sound: ‘Nomarch! Nomarch!’
The jubilant mob was praising the man who had brought them so much hope in such a short time.
Taita glanced at Piay and watched in surprise as a tear gleamed in the corner of his eye.
‘Come,’ Taita said, ‘enjoy your moment.’
• • •
W
hen they reached the city, Piay immediately announced a feast for the heroes of Memphis – the soldiers and sailors who had fought alongside him. While the men had the grime washed from their bodies by the slaves in the barracks and put on pristine kilts, the palace kitchens became a hive of activity.
As long tables were erected in the central atrium of the palace and jars of beer hauled from the cellars, the smell of roasting lamb rose from the ovens.
To celebrate their victory, the Blue Crocodiles and the men of the Memphis Guard gorged themselves. There were pomegranates, watermelon and honeyed dates, followed by tilapia baked in vine leaves, flatbreads and a stew of lentils and fava beans flavoured delicately with garlic and cumin – the palace slaves had emptied the markets of Memphis to provide for the army – all of it washed down with endless cups of beer. When the lamb arrived, they fell upon it, the juices spraying across their chins.
Taita sat on the fringes of the feast, sharing in the moment, but barely picking at his food. He watched Gyasi carefully as she laughed with the men sitting either side of her. Asim and Sadiki were also present. The two men had been recalled to the palace as soon as the fleet had returned to Memphis, but Taita had been sure to separate the three. Asim was seated next to Hannu, and Sadiki was enduring one of Ankhu’s history lessons. They had both been told that they were to receive a reward for their service to Pharaoh, and neither man would be disappointed with the fine gifts that Taita had chosen for them from the city vault.
Eventually, Taita slipped away to his chamber, lighting a small pot of incense to calm himself and clear his head. For a while, he sat by the window, enjoying the night breeze on his face as he looked out across the flickering lights of the city, and then, when he felt his thoughts had finally settled, he retired to his bed.
• • •
W
aking before dawn, in the most silent part of the night, Taita washed himself, put on his robe and applied his makeup. Slipping out of the palace, he made his way to the river gate. The slaves were waiting for him, as he had arranged, with the nomarch’s chariot; the stallion that drew it tossing its mane and snorting at the shadows.
Soon, he was pulling away from Memphis, towards the plateau. Taita marvelled at the beauty of his beloved land as a crimson band rose on the eastern horizon. The desert foxes ran from the chariot as he entered the necropolis, ducking into the burrows they had dug into the old tombs, the flycatchers swooping under the stallion’s feet as the insects rose to greet the morning light.
When the Great Pyramid appeared, Taita felt his heart flutter in a way that he had not experienced since he was a boy.
Hobbling the stallion near the tunnel entrance, Taita hurried around the corner of the great monument as the shadows flooded away through the channels and crevices the wind had scored into desert waste. The entrance to the tomb remained closed, sealed by the power of the medu neter. Taita imagined slipping into the dank interior, lighting the oil lamps that he had left at the foot of Imhotep’s tomb. His skin tingled with excitement as he thought of looking once more on the spells that covered the walls – he could feel them resonating, even from outside the pyramid.
With a tremendous effort, he wrenched himself away, shielding his eyes against the rising sun. As the world re-formed around him, Taita’s heart thundered in his chest, and he realised what little control he had over his actions. If anything, the spells were controlling him. This was why Imhotep had sealed them in his tomb.
