I recalled Akhenaten’s drunken babbling. How he longed for the old days, the seclusion and purity of his youth.
‘The people will demand to see his corpse and, if they don’t, Horemheb, Rameses and the rest will.’
‘They shall be told what you are being told,’ Ay replied. ‘Akhenaten did not believe in the Osirian rite. We will say, and it is the truth, that body and soul, Akhenaten has gone back to his Father. He is no longer with us except in spirit.’
‘And what happens if he reappears? What happens, God’s Father Ay, if our great Pharaoh re-emerges from the Red Lands, purified and more determined than ever?’
Ay shook his head. ‘He is past all that.’
‘Did he ever hint,’ I demanded, ‘ever make reference to this?’
‘He was morose and withdrawn.’ Ay shrugged. ‘My daughter, myself, Meryre and Tutu will take the most solemn oaths. We know nothing. We have searched.’
‘What do you think truly happened?’ I asked.
‘Shall I tell you, Mahu?’ Ay pushed the stool closer till his face was almost touching mine. ‘Akhenaten became tired and disillusioned. He either went out to the Red Lands to die or to be alone. He may have been killed. He may have died or he may be living in some cave like those wandering holy men who speak to no one but the spirits of the desert, the wind and the sky. Whatever, Mahu, the decision has been made: he cannot, shall not return.’
‘Shall not?’ I queried. ‘Do you have a hand in this, God’s Father Ay?’
‘No, Mahu, but I do have a hand in the saving of Egypt. In putting matters straight, in returning to the old ways. That is my concern, your concern, our concern. No more dreams! No more visions! No new cities or new gods. At the end of this year, perhaps in the spring of next, we shall move back to Thebes where Huy and Maya are preparing for the resurrection of Egypt. Horemheb and Rameses do likewise in Memphis. I ask you one question, Mahu, and one question only. Are you with us? For those who are not with us shall be considered against.’
‘How many people will learn about this?’ I asked.
‘The children of the Kap, no one else.’
‘Apart from you and your daughter?’
‘You have not answered my question, Mahu. Are you with us or are you against us?’ Ay held out his hand, I had no choice but to grasp it.
I made my way home and asked Djarka to accompany me out into the garden pavilion where Ay’s spies and informers would find it difficult to listen and pry. I told him what had happened.
‘Is he dead?’ Djarka asked the same question I had earlier.
‘He could be. He could have been murdered or taken out into the Red Lands and left to wander.’
‘I will ask my people the Sheshnu to make enquiries. It is possible, my Lord Mahu,’ Djarka often used my official title when discussing matters of state, ‘that it is all finished. I have also received visitors from the palace.’ He smiled thinly. ‘We have been instructed to deface any memorial or tomb bearing the inscription of the Lady Khiya. It is to be finished by the end of the month. Anyway, what do you really think?’ he urged. ‘Is it possible that Akhenaten became tired, exhausted?’
I closed my eyes and recalled that young man living so frugally many years ago. I was about to reply when one of our officers burst in.
‘Master, you have a visitor: a man and a young boy.’
Pentju pushed the fellow aside and came into the room. Beside him walked a young lad of about five summers. He was about medium height, his strange, long, egg-shaped head completely shaved except for the side lock falling down over his left ear. He had dark lustrous eyes in a pointed smooth face, generous but small lips. He looked slender in a white robe which covered him from neck to ankle, stout leather sandals on his feet.
‘You know who he is?’ Pentju demanded.
I told the officer to close the door and guard it. Then I took the little fellow and lifted him up. He didn’t even blink but stared solemnly, scrutinising me carefully. I kissed him on each cheek and put him down. Immediately his little hand went into mine.
‘Khiya’s son,’ Djarka whispered, ‘the Prince Tutankhaten.’ I knelt on the floor and made obeisance. Djarka did likewise.
‘You must not do that.’ The boy’s soft hand tapped my head. ‘You must not do that,’ he repeated childishly, head to one side, gazing at me. ‘He told me.’ He pointed at Pentju. ‘No one must do that for a while.’
I poured Pentju a goblet of wine and asked the boy if he wanted anything to eat or drink. The Prince shook his head.
He sat like a little old man on the stool Djarka brought, gazing at us with all the solemnity of a baby owl. He had the look of Akhenaten, certainly the eyes and lips, but his posture and gentleness reminded me of Khiya.
‘Why have you brought him here, Pentju?’
The physician handed over a small carved hippopotamus wrapped in thickened papyrus. ‘Every week,’ Pentju declared, ‘except during the plague, Akhenaten sent his son a present, a small carving, a scarab, an amulet or a ring wrapped in a piece of papyrus.’
I turned the parchment over. On the outside were the words Enk Hetep, which meant ‘I am content’. On the other side, the words to kiss, with the hieroglyphics: an arrow above a head looking downwards at rippled water. ‘Akhenaten made me promise,’ Pentju explained, ‘that I would receive such a gift on the second day of every week. On the outside the words, I am content, on the inside the words to kiss with the hieroglyphics. If I did not receive such a present for three weeks in succession, I was to conclude that he was no longer with us and that his only son was in danger. I was then to open the sealed document he had given me. It is over three weeks since I received this last present. This morning I broke the seal. The instructions were very simple. I was to bring the Prince to you and hand him over to your care.’
I stared at the little boy and felt a deep sadness, bittersweet because, despite what had happened, Akhenaten had, in the end, trusted me more than anyone else. I told Djarka and Pentju to stay while I returned to the house and retrieved the sealed document Akhenaten had given to me. I broke the three seals and unrolled it. The words scrawled under the crudely drawn hieroglyphs caught at my heart.
‘Haynekah Ahitfe: hail to you greater than his father. Mem sen-jay: do not worry. Ra mem pet: the Sun is in the sky. Heket Nebet Nefert, Mahu: all good things to Mahu. Then underneath all this, in a more common hand: Do what you have to, to protect my son. Senb ti: goodbye.’
I destroyed the manuscript and returned to the garden pavilion. I now knew the full reasons Ay had taken me to the palace that day: he not only wanted to test me but guessed that I was one of the few whom Akhenaten would trust with his baby son. Ay wanted to keep me close. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it.
‘Pentju, you know what has happened?’
‘Nothing, except what Djarka has told me.’
‘The mercenaries surrounding your house,’ I demanded. ‘Can they be trusted?’
‘They took an oath of loyalty to Pharaoh himself. They have not been released from that oath.’
‘But they can be bribed, killed or removed,’ I replied bitterly. ‘Djarka, Pentju, you must take this little boy immediately out of the City of the Aten. Take him secretly to Thebes and entrust him to the care of Sobeck. Djarka, you know how to find him. Tell Sobeck that as he loves me, if he wishes to repay his debt, he must treat this boy as his own and keep him safe until I or you, Djarka, ask for him again.’ I crouched down and embraced the boy; he smelt of perfume and honey. I kissed his cheeks. ‘Be brave, little one,’ I hissed. ‘Do whatever these men tell you.’
A short while later, armed with provisions and small bags of gold, silver and precious jewels, Pentju and Djarka left through the side streets for the quayside.