‘He’s dead, Mahu! He’s dead.’
I paused, gasping like a swimmer who had fought a fast-flowing river. The Veiled One was kneeling beside me. The Kushite whose arm I’d severed was trembling, eyes glazed, jabbering in a tongue I couldn’t understand. The Veiled One knelt beside him, nodding gently as if he understood every word. I raised my sword but the Veiled One lifted his hand. He talked quietly to the man as if unaware of the trembling, the fear-filled eyes, the blood spurting like water from a cracked jug. My battle frenzy passed. The Kushite whose skull I had sliced lay slightly to one side, his chest a mass of wounds. I squatted down, clutching my dagger. The Veiled One was still talking quietly to the other. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head, his tongue seemed thicker. He kept repeating the same words. ‘Deret nebeb Ra.’
‘Egyptian,’ the Veiled One smiled across at me. ‘He keeps saying those three words. Listen.’
The man, fighting for breath, repeated them as if lost in some nightmare, unaware of his surroundings.
‘Deret nebeb Ra.’
‘Fetch Ra’s Basket,’ I translated. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘He has the words wrong,’ the Veiled One smiled up at me. ‘He means nuber not nebeb — gold not basket. They were bribed to attack, told to look for gold, easy pickings in this tent. I wonder who told them that?’
‘Well, it doesn’t matter now.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ the Veiled One replied and, lifting his dagger, cut the Kushite’s throat.
‘The sky thunders,
The earth quakes,
Because of you.’
(Utterance 337: Pyramid Text)
Chapter 4
The eating-house of the Residence had been transformed for the occasion. Painters had skilfully drawn battle-scenes on the walls in eyecatching dark blues, deep reds and golden yellows — all depicting the glories and bravery of the Horus unit. Our battle standards, displaying the Ever Blind Yet All-Seeing Horus triumphant over a fallen Kushite, rested against the wall on either side of the door. We sat on the softest cushions before small tables on which alabaster oil jars and scented candles glowed against the darkness. On the other side of our tables sat a line of beautiful temple girls in braided, perfume-drenched wigs, sloe eyes ringed with green kohl, bracelets dangling on their wrists, jewelled rings glittering on their long sensuous fingers, gorgets of amethyst round their soft throats. They came from the Temple of Isis and were called ‘the Hands of God’: they were well named! All were draped in linen veils which only enticed rather than concealed their beauty. These soft-eyed, red-lipped girls with their tender glances and soft sighs were a constant paean of praise to the heroic Horus unit. Baskets of flowers and pots of myrrh, frankincense and cassia perfumed the air. In the far corner musicians with lyre, harp, flute and oboe provided soothing music to pluck at the heart and stir bittersweet memories.
At the top of the room in their robes of glory and scented wigs, jewellery glittering at throat, ear and finger sat God’s Father Hotep flanked by the Veiled One and Crown Prince Tuthmosis. They were our hosts, the newly proclaimed Maryannou of Pharaoh, Braves of the King. Hotep sat impassively. The Veiled One had drunk deeply. He looked bored, playing with his food, strips of tender pork, beef, chicken and duck, tapping his nails against the silver goblet. Around his neck dangled a Collar of Valour as he had killed two of the enemy in hand-to-hand combat during the expedition.
I made no mention of my role. Once the two Kushites were dead, I had rejoined the bloody struggle taking place in the rest of the camp. I blinked and glanced away. We had been well entertained as a reward for our bravery. Sinuous dancing girls with flashing eyes, clicking castanets, naked except for a loincloth had performed feats of agility, their long black hair sweeping the ground and stirring our lusts. We were all there: Maya, plump and soft-skinned, staring calf-eyed at Sobeck. I ignored the heset opposite me, her flirtatious glances and coy, soft touches across the table. I closed my eyes. A month had passed since I had returned from ‘The Cauldron’ as we now called the desert. We had arrived home, lean, dark-skinned warriors who had bloodied themselves in the heat of battle. We had been given a hero’s welcome, the Silver Bees of Bravery and the Gold Collars of Valour being bestowed on everyone in our unit. Maya had been so incensed with jealousy he had gone out and bought himself a cornelian necklace, a shimmering myriad of colours to hang round his own throat. Our deeds had been extolled by heralds and poets all over Thebes. Colonel Perra’s death was viewed as an act of gross treachery for which the Kushite princes paid a terrible price. We had only survived their brutal ambush due to Horemheb; his vigilance and ruthlessness had kept us prepared. Our assailants were driven off, scouting patrols were despatched, then we retreated, faces towards the enemy, falling back until we reached the support corps, the ‘Splendour of Isis’ near the oasis of Koroy.
Tonight’s celebration was the last of many. It not only marked the official end of the campaign but our education at the royal court. Tomorrow Horemheb, Rameses and Sobeck took up their commissions in the Sacred Band, an imperial regiment under Hotep’s direct command, which guarded the temple complexes of Thebes. Huy was to enter the House of Envoys, Pentju and Meryre the House of Life, Maya, the treasury, the House of Silver. And me? I opened my eyes and smiled at the girl opposite. Tomorrow, I reflected, would take care of itself. The room was stifling, so I rose, bowed towards the High Table and went out into cool, fragrant night air. I stared up at the stars, brilliant gems on a dark cushion and wondered what I really would do. A sound made me jump. I turned round, my fingers going for the knife which wasn’t there. Imri the one-eyed Kushite, leader of the Veiled One’s personal guard, emerged into the pool of light. He bowed sardonically, one hand on his chest. ‘I did not know,’ he said, and glanced at me from under his eyebrows. ‘I did not know you were one of the heroes.’
‘A change,’ I taunted, ‘from when you put a rope round my neck.’
‘Now you have put the rope round many a Kushite.’
‘You were not there?’
‘I would have been.’ Imri stepped forward. ‘Egypt is my home; my master has my loyalty.’
‘Then why didn’t you come with us?’
‘Orders from above.’ Imri winked his good eye and gestured towards the palace.
He walked back into the darkness. I wanted to be alone, away from Imri’s careful gaze, the raucous chanting of the eating-house. I decided to walk on. Since my return from The Cauldron, I had grown to love the cool greenery of the evening, the whispering olive trees, the sound of running water, the comfortable silence, unbroken by the prowlers of the night. I also wanted to think and plan — but about what? Where was I to go? What was I to do? I had fought as a soldier, the stench of blood was never really far from my nose and mouth. My sleep was plagued by nightmares. I could not do that again, at least not for a while.