I clutched the knuckle-bones in my hand so tightly they bit into the softness of my palm. Rameses served some wine and we moved onto other business, the deployment of troops and what would occur afterwards.
‘It shall be proclaimed,’ Ay now assumed responsibility, ‘that Akhenaten, Nefertiti and Lady Meritaten have gone into the West. The vision of the Aten was built on sand and not meant to last. We shall return to Thebes and bring with us the glory of Amun. We shall send messages to every corner of the Kingdom of the Two Lands that the might and power of Egypt has been restored. We will make the People of the Nine Bows tremble under our feet.’
‘And you will be Pharaoh, God’s Father Ay?’ I asked.
‘Prince Tutankhaten will be proclaimed as the legitimate successor to his father,’ Ay replied quickly, ‘betrothed to the Princess Ankhespaaten, but their names will proclaim the changes which will affect all Egypt. From this day forward they will be known as Tutankhamun and Ankhesenamun. However,’ he added dryly, his eyes never leaving mine, ‘both children are unversed in statecraft. Until the Prince reaches maturity, all power will be vested in a Council of State. Everyone here will be a vital member …’
In that chamber with the oil lamps guttering, the shadows dancing against the walls and the food growing cold whilst the wine-cups were refilled, all the glory of Akhenaten, all the splendour of Nefertiti crumbled to dust. Each of us took the sacred oath, hand on heart, the other stretched out to swear what we were party to. Eventually they all left. I just sat and drank while the memories poured back. I fell asleep, half-listening to the sounds of chariots and armed men moving in the streets below. Rameses kicked me awake just before dawn. He grinned down at me and pushed a small carob-seed loaf into my hand. He made me eat that and drink the cold beer he had brought. Then I washed my face, put a robe around me and followed him out into the streets.
Horemheb and Rameses had planned well. Regular troops, together with mercenaries, now controlled the roads and avenues, the entrance to every public building, temple and palace. Martial law had been declared. All citizens, on pain of death, were confined to their homes. Only the occasional scavenging dog would nose at a stiffening corpse of one of Manetho’s mercenaries or lick the drying pools of blood. The palace, too, was deserted. Horemheb and Rameses’ officers guarded the entrances and patrolled the grounds. I passed a courtyard where executions had been carried out. Manetho’s head was already impaled on a pole. Other heads lay about whilst corpses were being heaped in corners before being thrown into carts. This included not only Manetho’s mercenaries but also courtiers, scribes, officials and, from what Rameses had told me, even a few ladies-in-waiting who had tried to resist. Inside the palace corpses were also being dragged out of rooms. As we crossed a garden Ay’s mercenaries were organising prisoners, pushing and shoving them up against the wall. The line of men, naked except for their loincloths, were beaten and abused. A name would be called, one of the men dragged forward and forced to kneel. I looked away but I still heard the hiss of the axe or club, a scream of pain and the thud of the falling head or corpse.
Nefertiti was waiting for me in a small chamber. She was sitting in the centre on a pile of cushions dressed in a simple white gown. In the corner a lady-in-waiting huddled, face in hands, sobbing noisily. Just before I entered the chamber Maya handed me a gold-encrusted cup. He glanced at me sadly.
‘I know what you feel, Mahu, but the poison is quick. Meritaten has gone before her.’
I asked for the girl to be removed and knelt down before Nefertiti, clutching the goblet in my hand. Oh, they will tell you how she had aged, how her face was lined, her body fat, how she had shaven her hair to appear more like a man. I can’t remember any of that. I sat facing the Beautiful One who had knelt beside me in a fragrant orchard, whose face constantly haunted my dreams, and still does. She was at peace, her blue eyes calm, slightly red-rimmed from crying.
‘Mahu.’ My name came in a whisper. ‘Mahu, I know why you are here. The soothsayer told me, remember? How I would die at the hands of a friend?’
I couldn’t move. I grasped the cup and tried to move forward, but all I could do was stare into her eyes and feel the hideous pain in my heart. There was a brazier glowing but I felt as cold as death.
‘Mahu,’ she smiled slightly, ‘at least I am dying in the presence of a friend.’
‘Akhenaten,’ I replied, ‘my lady, where is Akhenaten?’
‘Mahu, I do not know.’ The smile widened. ‘And even if I did, I would not tell you or,’ her glance fell away, ‘or the other hyenas.’
Before I could stop her she snatched the cup from my hand, toasted me quickly and drained it. I watched some of the purple drops course down her chin along that lovely neck. She let out a long sigh and threw the cup to one side.
‘Senebti — farewell, Mahu!’
She sat for a while, head down; when she glanced up her eyes were full of tears. She began to shiver.
‘Mahu, please, don’t let me die alone.’
I grasped her outstretched hand and pulled her close. Her trembling grew, her body shaking so I clasped her in my arms and pressed her head down onto my shoulder.
‘Why?’ I whispered. ‘Why my name …?’
She pulled her head back. ‘I did not draw up any list,’ she gasped. ‘And even if I had, your name would not have been on it.’ She went to pull away, but I pulled her back. I couldn’t say anything. I just waited for the trembling to stop.
She gasped once or twice, coughed as if clearing her throat, then she fell slack. I gently disengaged. I was glad her eyes were closed, the white face more youthful in death. I carefully laid her back on the cushions, rose and knocked the cup away. I opened the door of the chamber. Ay and the children of the Kap stood in a semi-circle facing me.
‘She has gone,’ I declared.
I kicked the door shut behind me. ‘It is finished!’
Thou makest great by troops and troops, Thou, Ruler of the Aten, shall live for ever.
(Inscription from Mahu’s tomb at El-Amarna, the City of the Aten.)