‘But you do not believe in gods?’
‘True,’ the Veiled One murmured. ‘For the time being true.’ He cocked his head slightly. ‘Do you believe in magic, Mahu?’
‘I know some tricks,’ I replied.
The Veiled One giggled, fingers covering his mouth. ‘Well, you’d best go.’ His hand fell away. He stretched across and ran a finger around my lips. ‘I have met you and wish you peace Mahu, Baboon of the South. One day we shall meet again.’
‘Your son has acted for you.
The Great Ones tremble
when they see your sword.’
(Spell 174: The Book of the Dead)
Chapter 2
My encounter with the Veiled One was brief but startling. I wondered if something might happen but no reference was made to my secret visit nor did I receive any message from the Silent Pavilion. My encounter also coincided with ‘the children of the Kap’ (though we were young men now) being more included in the life of the Malkata Palace, as Crown Prince Tuthmosis matured. What the Veiled One had told me quickened my interest in his parents whom I’d glimpsed from afar; now I listened avidly to the gossip. Old Weni, who was growing more and more dependent on the beer jar, was an excellent source of stories, if he kept sober. Not content with the henket or barley beer, he had moved on to the sernet, rich dark beer which would soon bring you into the presence of Hathor, Lady of Drunkenness.
I would often join him in the shade of an olive grove near a rather dank pool where the leaves were thick and lush. He’d lounge back against a tree, a basket of garlic sausage or grilled chicken covered with celery sauce on his lap.
‘Oh yes,’ he’d slurp, tapping his fleshy nose and winking at me. ‘The Magnificent One is truly blessed by Amun. He had a harem.’ Weni stumbled over the words Per Khe Nret ‘The House of Women’. ‘Princesses from every nation under the sun.’ He smacked his lips. ‘Mitanni, Hittites, Babylonians, Nubians, Libyans, the fairest of the field to satisfy his every whim.’ He’d slump closer, eyes glazed, breath thick with the smell of beer. ‘But the real power, I’ll tell you the real power. It’s his wife, the Great Queen, Mistress of the House, the Divine One Tiye.’
‘Where’s she from?’ I asked.
‘She’s not a foreign princess.’ Weni squinted up at the sky. ‘Pharaohs have always married foreign princesses but the Magnificent One was captivated by her since the days of his youth. Tiye the Beautiful.’ He shook his head. ‘And she was exquisite, Mahu. Oh,’ he caught himself, ‘she still is, small but perfectly formed, with strange red hair and those almond-shaped eyes. If she was a cat they’d glow in the dark.’
I lifted my hand for silence. Strange, isn’t it, how the relationship between teacher and pupil can change? Weni was becoming more and more dependent on me. The rest would tease or taunt him but I would talk to him and use the gifts I had received from Aunt Isithia to buy him a jug of beer. I’d do errands for him, fetching this or fetching that. I was growing as cunning as a mongoose and intended to use him to learn more about the Malkata. Horemheb had once said a strange thing to me. I’d made some funny remark about an official at the court. Horemheb was tying up his sandal and chose to do it close to me.
‘Watch what you say, Baboon of the South,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Around here, even the trees hear.’
I had taken the warning to heart but that olive grove, as always, seemed deserted. If anyone approached, the undergrowth and leaves would betray him.
‘Lady Tiye?’ I prompted.
‘Lady Tiye.’ Weni shook his head drunkenly. ‘Generous with favours, Great King’s wife, Beloved of Nekhbet. She’s from Akhmin, hundreds of miles to the North, in the Ninth Nome of Egypt where they worship Min the God of Male Fertility. Lady Tiye was a priestess there. They say,’ his face came closer, ‘she knows more about the art of love than a legion of courtesans.’
‘And the harem?’ I insisted.
Weni waved his hand as if wafting away a fly. ‘More for show than anything else, though rumour has it that, as he gets older, the Magnificent One’s tastes have developed. He likes to watch some of his women dance whilst the others fondle him.’
‘And the Divine One’s children?’
Weni was too sly to reveal a hidden scandal.
‘Oh, there’s Prince Tuthmosis,’ he glanced out of the corner of his eye, ‘and some daughters.’ He glared blearily at me and turned the conversation to how soon I would enter the House of War.
‘My days will end and yours will begin,’ he’d add mournfully. ‘I’ll be sorry to see you go, you clever goose.’ A reference, of course, to the disappearance of his beloved pet. However, I could play Weni at his own game and I wouldn’t be drawn.
The real leader of the Kap was Crown Prince Tuthmosis, a hard-bodied, lean young man with an imperious face and manner and a grating voice. About two months after my meeting with the Veiled One, the Prince gathered us together and announced that we would stay in residence here but enter the House of War under the direct supervision of Hotep the Wise, his father’s close friend and councillor who rejoiced in the title of God’s Father, Scribe of Recruits, ‘Overseer of all Works’. Hotep was a legend: a commoner from Athribitis in the Delta, he’d been promoted high in the Royal Circle. He was the overseer of the building works of the Magnificent One, from the Great Green to beyond the Third Cataract: temples, statues, shrines, palaces and obelisks all to the glory of Amun-Ra and his son, Amenhotep the Magnificent.
A week later Hotep arrived, tall and thin-faced, with patrician features. He must have passed his sixtieth summer. He dressed like a priest, head all shaven and devoid of any ornaments. He was joined by Colonel Perra of the Maryannou (the Braves of the King), seconded from the Regiment of Seth, a burly young man with a thickset body and the harsh face of a professional wrestler. He would be our tutor in the arts of war. Weni was ignored, pushed aside to sit on his bench and drink beer. Hotep gathered us in the courtyard and, with little ceremony, stood on a bench. He carried a small fan in his right hand which he kept tapping against his thigh. For a while he just stood studying each of our faces.
‘I am,’ he began in a carrying voice, ‘a truly excellent scribe. The first to calculate everything in To-mery. I have been inducted into the gods’ books. I have studied the words of Thoth. I have penetrated the gods’ secrets and learned all their mysteries. I have been consulted on their every aspect. I have directed the King’s likeness in every hard stone, supervising the work of his statues. I never imitated what had gone before. There has never been anyone like me since the founding of the Two Lands.’
Hotep the Wise paused, a smile on his lips. ‘I have taken a vow to Ma’at. My words are true. And why do I tell you this? You are children of the Kap. Soon you will enter the service of the Divine One. You will work in the House of Rejoicing and the will of the Divine One will be your pleasure. In doing his will, if you imitate me, you will find great favour. Do you understand?’
We were kneeling before him on the hard ground and made obeisance, noses pressed into the dust.
‘Good!’ Hotep climbed down from the bench. Colonel Perra told us to stand, and we hurriedly obeyed. Hotep moved down the line, pausing to speak now and again. He stopped before me and tapped me lightly on the cheek with his fan.
‘You are Mahu, son of Seostris.’
‘Yes, Your Excellency.’
The day was hot, the sun had risen high and we had been exercising before God’s Father had arrived. I was coated in dust and aware of the trickle of sweat down my face.
‘A good soldier, your father.’
‘Yes, Your Excellency.’