House of Two Pharaohs, page 8
‘The treasure caravans . . .’ Piay muttered, thinking aloud.
‘Treasure caravans?’
Piay nodded. ‘Returning with gold and gems looted from this city by the Hyksos. They have been attacked by bandits on more than one occasion.’
‘It is a reasonable assumption that the raids you describe are connected to the Shuyet,’ Taita agreed. ‘But there is something else.’
The nomarch’s expression became more serious as Taita held out his hand to him. In his palm sat a basalt senet stone, jackal-headed, its gilded eyes and teeth glinting in the morning sunlight.
‘I found it next to the master mason’s body.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘That the Shuyet wishes to prove himself against me. It’s a challenge. This is some kind of a game to him. Hounds and jackals. And he has already taken one of his pieces off the board.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do I,’ Taita replied. ‘But nothing is as it seems.’
• • •
A
s the two men stepped into the palace, Piay clapped his hands to summon the slaves. ‘The Lord High Chancellor is hungry. Bring bread and figs.’
‘I was visited by Imhotep last night,’ Taita began as he sank to the floor in front of a low table.
Piay listened intently as the mage explained how Imhotep had spoken to him before the Great Pyramid.
‘The spells are fading?’
‘So it seems. Though I have been blessed by the gods with great wisdom and a long life, I find myself in a moment where I do not know which course of action to take.’
Piay frowned, not understanding.
‘If I am to preserve the spells, as Imhotep has instructed me, I will have to spend many moons confined within the tomb. I cannot risk leaving, only to return and find the walls bare, the medu neter reduced to dust. But we are threatened by a powerful enemy who, it would appear, would conquer the Lower Kingdom for himself. An enemy who has – with the death of Djau-Aa – summoned me here. An enemy who wishes to engage me in a battle of wits.’
The nomarch shifted his weight. ‘I have given further thought to the treasure caravans. Why not use them to lure the Shuyet from his lair?’
When Taita did not immediately respond, Piay elaborated: ‘When I was a boy, you told me stories of General Tanus. How, as Akh-Horus, he defeated the Shrikes by luring them into a trap with the false promise of Assyrian slaves.’
‘Tanus had one thousand Blue Crocodiles under his command.’
Piay nodded. ‘And I have three companies of that very same regiment at my disposal. What if we announce the arrival of a caravan with a hoard of such magnitude that it will be impossible for the Shuyet to ignore? The gold that was taken from the Temple of Ptah, stamped with the Master of Truth’s name, has yet to be discovered.’
‘What makes you certain your trap will not simply net members of the Guild of Thieves?’
Piay grunted. ‘The Guild knows these caravans travel under armed escort. They won’t risk fighting trained soldiers in broad daylight, but, for so great a prize, I suspect that the Shuyet will. And when his forces descend on the caravan, the Blue Crocodiles will burst forth, surprising and capturing them. Then we will be able to interrogate their leader and compel him to lead us to the Shuyet.’
• • •
‘K
now, O children, of an age of wonders, when the majesty of Egypt stretched from the seven mouths of the delta to beyond the furthest cataract of Mother Nile. A time of plenty. A time of peace. When great monuments were raised up to the heavens. When the peoples of the world bowed their heads in awe.’
Nimlot the priest leaned forward, his eyes burning with passion. The two children before him looked up at their father, feeling the power of his words reach deep into their hearts.
‘But then arose in the Land of the Reeds a line of weak and evil kings, the sons of Mamose. They called themselves pharaohs, but they were not divine. They let the great monuments fall into disrepair, caring only for their own tombs and the things they could take with them into the next life.’
Sitting back on his stool in the small temple annexe, Nimlot closed his eyes, imagining what had once been. A deep sadness settled into his features, emphasising the lines that hardship had carved into his brow. Yet still he has bearing, his son Qar thought.
‘The Red Pharaoh saved us. He fought the sons of Mamose and expelled them from the delta. He began work to restore the monuments and secure the Upper Kingdom against the Sea Peoples. He awoke the great houses of Memphis and reminded them that their city is the heart of Egypt. And what is a body without a heart?’
Nimlot leaned forward once more, looking from his son’s face to his daughter’s. His head was freshly shaven and he wore the spotless white robes of his priestly class, a gleaming bronze amulet in the shape of a leopard’s head hanging around his neck.
‘But then the Hyksos came, cutting down all before them – the army of the Red Pharaoh and the sons of Mamose alike. A bloody harvest. But what was, can yet be again. Never forget this. Never lose hope. What is, can be changed. Perhaps, as you grow, you will be the ones to change it. Perhaps you will be the ones to finish the work that the Red Pharaoh began. To restore the heart of Egypt, to see the great monuments rebuilt, the sons of Mamose punished for their sins against us – the true descendants of the old people.’
Qar nodded and tried to look interested. Nimlot spoke on these subjects often. Sometimes, it seemed that his only interest was the past – an Egypt that few remembered. The notion that those days of glory could be reclaimed had come to consume him. And though Qar was only eight years old, and had little experience of the world, his mind was sharper than most, and he suspected that his father’s obsession had blossomed as his reputation in Avaris had been diminished.
Nimlot smiled and ruffled Qar’s dark hair, pleased that his son was reflecting on his words.
His sister never had to play these games to get their father’s attention. To her, Nimlot gave freely and deeply. Now she was frowning with intense concentration, her lips pursed.
‘You believe the Hyksos will be defeated?’ she asked.
Zahra was one year younger than Qar, and though her features were still rounded, everyone said she would grow to be a great beauty. Qar could not see anything special in her himself. She had a slender neck and long legs like a stork, and strange blue eyes, like the sky on a clear day.
‘You are clever beyond your years, my daughter,’ Nimlot said warmly. ‘You understand full well the miseries the barbarian invaders have heaped upon us. They give us our freedoms –’
‘To worship our gods.’
Nimlot nodded. ‘And other trifling joys. But it is a trap. If our people think that they can continue with their daily lives as they always have, they will not become rebellious. But those freedoms are like a desert mirage. I have the temple, I light the incense, I lead the funerary rites, but I cannot speak as my father would have done. The barbarians have turned us all into slaves, though few recognise it.’
‘How can we defeat them?’ Qar asked. ‘They ride everywhere in their chariots, and they carry swords and bows. We . . . We have nothing.’
‘We will find a way, given time. Is that not right, Father?’ Zahra said, seeking affirmation.
Qar balked at his sister’s words. Was she now trying to curry favour by agreeing with their father, even in the face of all reason? He flashed a cold glance at her, though she seemed not to notice.
‘The gods will ensure that is so, my love. The Hyksos are wicked and cruel, but Ma’at must stand. Sooner or later, their reign must come to an end.’
‘As I grow, I will do all I can to set our land free again,’ Zahra said solemnly.
Qar smirked, but hid the expression quickly so that his father would not notice. What could Zahra ever do? She was ugly and bumptious. He was the one to whom his father was truly speaking, though out of fondness for Zahra, he knew that Nimlot pretended they were equal in his eyes.
‘I will not forget these lessons you have taught us, Father,’ Qar said even more solemnly. ‘I vow this day to return Egypt to the glories you have described.’
‘I can ask no more of you, my son.’
Nimlot bowed his head, and Qar thought he saw tears on his father’s cheeks. But before he could be sure, the slapping of running feet against stone made him jolt upright.
A tall man with a hooked nose bolted into their room. Qar brightened at the arrival of his father’s temple assistant, and perhaps closest friend. But his smile faded when he saw the fear etched into his face.
‘What is it, Heru?’ Nimlot asked.
‘They are coming.’
‘Assis?’
‘Yes, and his band of butchers.’
‘Father? What is wrong?’ Zahra’s voice trembled, sensing danger.
Nimlot gave Zahra a reassuring smile, but Qar understood that something terrible was happening. He had heard the two men mention Assis in the past, a Hyksos general who ‘kept the peace’ in Avaris. His father always used those words in a tone of mockery.
‘Take the children, Heru. Take them far from here,’ Nimlot said in a bright voice. He did not want to frighten them, Qar understood, and that knowledge scared him more than anything.
Heru grabbed Nimlot’s arm. ‘We must get you away from here first . . .’
‘Take the children!’ This time Nimlot’s voice cracked and his features darkened. ‘We knew this day would come. The Hyksos tolerated my complaints as long as no one listened, but now they see me as a threat. Any place I go, they will hunt me down. They will hunt you, too, and they will hurt the children for no reason other than that I am their father.’
Nimlot gripped his friend’s shoulder. They stared gravely into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and then they embraced. Nimlot whispered something in Heru’s ear that Qar could not hear, but when he stepped back, Heru’s eyes gleamed with tears.
‘I entrust my children to you, Heru,’ Nimlot said, his voice full of emotion. ‘I see in them the seeds of something great – a wisdom that will perhaps dwarf my own, given the guidance of a good shepherd. They are my legacy, and perhaps Egypt’s, too.’
Now Qar could hear the thump of feet hurrying in their direction.
Nimlot crouched down and pulled Qar and Zahra to him. He held them tightly and then whispered: ‘I love you with all my heart. Never forget that.’
‘No, Father!’ Zahra gasped.
Nimlot pressed his finger to his lips and ushered them towards Heru. ‘You must be wily,’ he said. ‘Assis will do his best to ensure that you do not leave Avaris.’
Zahra began to sob.
‘Be silent,’ Qar hissed. ‘You will only make things worse. Did you not hear? The barbarian wants to kill us.’
To her credit, Zahra stopped her crying instantly and smeared her tears across her face with the back of her hand. Then Heru gripped their wrists and dragged them out of the annexe.
Qar craned his neck to see the approaching soldiers, but Heru pulled him on, hauling him past the entrance to the library and towards the doorway at the rear of the temple. Then Heru suddenly halted, throwing himself to the side of the entrance, before peering anxiously around the corner.
‘What is it?’ Qar whispered.
‘There are more of them out there, blocking our escape.’ Heru took a deep breath. ‘We must run, as fast as the wind, and trust that the gods will help us elude them.’
‘Wait,’ Zahra said.
‘Come!’ Heru snapped.
‘If we run, they will see us,’ Zahra said. ‘We should hide. They do not know we are here. And they are only angry at Father, not you. That is true, is it not?’
Heru hesitated, looking out across the sun-drenched courtyard. Then he nodded. ‘Hide, then, but be quick about it. I will go and prepare the incense for the evening ritual as I always do. It is almost time. Pray they do not suspect me.’
‘But where will we hide?’ Qar asked.
Zahra jerked her thumb behind her. ‘Follow me.’
While Heru hurried away, Zahra grabbed Qar’s hand and led him back the way they had come and into one of the storage chambers. Now Qar could hear raised voices echoing: the barbarians berating his father angrily and Nimlot’s calm explanations in reply.
If Zahra understood the magnitude of what was happening, she didn’t show it. The storage chamber was filled with the sweet scent of the oil that was used for the temple’s lamps, emanating from a row of large, lidded clay pots lined along one wall.
‘This is why you never find me when we play our games,’ Zahra whispered.
She went straight to where the empty pots stood, lifted the lid off one of them and clambered inside. Peeking over the lip, she stabbed a finger at the pot next to hers.
Qar hesitated, reluctant. He was scared that the barbarians would come looking for them and find them, and he was angry that Zahra did not seem to be as afraid as he was.
As the voices grew louder and harsher, Qar climbed into the pot, pulling the lid over his head. In the dark, he gagged on the smell of the oil residue, his heart thumping so loudly that he thought the barbarians must surely hear it. For a moment there was silence, the throbbing of voices dying away, then came a withering scream.
Qar knew it was his father.
Trembling, he fought the urge to rush back to the annexe. It would do no good. He could not save Nimlot, and it would only result in his own death.
Hot tears burned down Qar’s cheeks as he waited. Finally, he heard the barbarians leaving, their voices fading as they rejoined the street.
When Qar was certain the Hyksos had gone, he eased the lid off the pot and listened, just to be sure.
Zahra was less circumspect. The lid of her pot flew across the chamber and shattered on the flagstones. With a wail, she clambered out and ran.
Wriggling from his hiding place, Qar chased after his sister. He found her, sobbing, sprawled across Nimlot’s body. Qar tried to avert his eyes from the blood, but it was everywhere. He knew then that this was a moment that he would never forget.
Heru dashed in and let out a cry of despair. Grabbing Zahra, he pulled her from her father’s corpse. She fought and kicked, but he crouched down and held her in his arms until she stopped struggling, though her tears did not cease. Reaching for Qar, too, he pulled him close, his arm around his shoulders.
‘There will be time to mourn your father,’ he murmured. ‘Your lives are still at risk. We must get away from here. I promised your father that I would take care of you, and I will stay at your side for as long as you need me. You will not be alone.’
‘What do we do now?’ Zahra cried.
Pulling himself out of Heru’s embrace, Qar felt as if a fire was blazing inside him, a fierce heat of emotion that he had not experienced before. ‘Our innocent lives are over,’ he said, raising his chin and speaking as he thought a grown man would. ‘We can be children no more. We must dedicate ourselves to one task – to avenge our father, however long it takes. I vowed to achieve his dream, and now I make another vow: to kill Assis, who stole the light from our lives.’
• • •
T
aita and Piay had agreed that the announcement of the arrival of the great treasure caravan – carrying the lost gold of the Temple of Ptah – would be made at the height of the Tekh Festival. Known as the Feast of Drunkenness, it was joyously celebrated across all Egypt, but no city had more temples to Hathor of the Sycamore – daughter of Ptah, mother and consort of Horus and Ra – than Memphis.
The preparations were made, the breweries tasked to increase their production, and the city hummed with anticipation – songs ringing out from homes across the quarters where the poor lived, a rising chorus of melodies, the words summoning the elation of victory in battle or love found after numerous tribulations.
When the day came, women hurried to fetch water from the wells, their feet almost dancing across the stones of the street. There would be no more labour that day. The mallets would lie still, the workshops silent, the furnaces cold, the fields disturbed only by the breeze rustling the barley, and the never-ending clack of the shadoofs pumping the water for irrigation.
In the palace, Taita and Piay washed and dressed in their finest robes. The Lord High Chancellor’s was white, studded with rubies, emeralds and sapphires that picked out the wings of Horus. The nomarch’s was less rich, but still proclaimed his status – a linen robe with Khonsu’s orb of the night stitched in silver thread against the dark blue material.
As they stood at the window, listening to the birdsong and watching as the rooftops were gilded by the light of the rising sun, Taita eyed his former pupil. The palace slaves had shaved Piay’s head and applied his makeup perfectly – the emerald udju drawing attention to his large, dark eyes.
‘Hannu will be disappointed to have missed this day,’ Piay said. ‘He likes his beer.’
Taita studied Piay’s face. ‘And you? Will you be celebrating with your citizens today?’
Piay shook his head. ‘There is too much to do.’
Taita nodded. He could not disagree with Piay – today was not a time for celebration. Revellers would fill the streets of Memphis, there would be joy and gaiety, but the great city remained in danger so long as the man who called himself the Shuyet walked freely amongst them.
‘Your assistant will return from his scouting trip soon enough. There will be time enough for celebration then.’
Piay’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps.’
Descending together to the square outside the palace, they watched the Blue Crocodiles march from their barracks, led by the burly figure of General Kamose. The three companies – seven hundred and fifty of Egypt’s finest fighting men – formed up in two lines, their white kilts pristine, their bronze shields and swords shining after being scrubbed for hours with sand the previous day.
Ankhu and the other greybeards who comprised the Council of Elders bowed their heads in deference as Piay and Taita took up their positions alongside the general, at the head of the group of dignitaries.
