‘No, we have not met before,’ I whispered. The man’s body jerked, his head fell to one side. I was content to drag the corpse off and leave it on the highway.
‘No,’ the Veiled One intervened. He spoke sharply to the Kushites. A rug kept in the cart was brought. The corpse was wrapped in this and we returned to the palace grounds. Once there, just before we entered the courtyard, the Veiled One ordered the cart to be stopped. He kicked the body with his foot off the tail of the cart and, grasping his cane, climbed down to examine it more carefully. The foul, dirty robes were removed. The Veiled One, unperturbed, studied the man’s corpse carefully, noticing the criss-crossed scars on the muscular torso and thighs, the welt marks now faded on his back.
‘A soldier,’ he murmured, getting to his feet and prodding the man’s belly with his cane. ‘He does not look so dangerous now.’
The wound in the man’s neck, a dark-red, jagged gash, still glistened with blood.
‘Wrap him in sheepskin,’ he ordered the Kushites. ‘Give him the shroud of an accursed one. If there is a Hell, let him wander there for all eternity with my curse on him!’
The Veiled One grasped my arm and, leaning on his cane, hurried through the gates. I later discovered that the cart and tabernacle were also burned and the oxen which pulled it slaughtered, though the Veiled One never discussed the incident.
Once inside the house he retreated to his own chamber and stayed there until the following day. Just before dawn the Great Queen Tiye swept into the Silent Pavilion and was immediately closeted with her son. Later in the morning I was summoned to meet her in the audience hall. She asked me to describe what had happened, praised me for my vigilance and took from a napkin a beautiful amulet of blue faience depicting the sun rising between the twin horns of Hathor. The hall was deserted. All the servants had been dismissed, the window shutters closed. Tiye sat on the small daïs slouched on the cushions, though now and again she rose as gracefully as any temple dancer, to walk up and down. Sometimes she’d stop beside me, other times stand on the daïs. I kept kneeling on the cushion, my head down. She walked the length of the hall and came back, her slippered footsteps light and soft. Once again she sat down on the cushions on the other side of the table and gestured that I do likewise.
The Great Queen was calm though her eyes were bright and watchful, the skin of her face paler than usual. I did not know whether it was due to anxiety or the lack of any adornment. She was dressed very simply in a gauffered linen shawl across her shoulders, part of which served as a hood over her black hair gathered tightly at the back. She wore no jewellery, earrings or necklaces, only a simple copper bracelet on her left wrist. She kept playing with this as she studied me intently. I heard a sound and was about to turn.
‘Yes, Mahu, someone is there.’
I recalled the escort, those strange visitors to the house, and knew one of them must be standing, deep in the shadows, an arrow notched to his bow.
‘Mahu? Do you have anything to say?’
Those large dark eyes never wavered. I repressed a shiver and held her gaze. The Great Queen may have thanked and rewarded me but she did not trust me.
‘Describe the incident again.’
I did so. Tiye listened intently, asking questions.
‘It was planned.’ She slid the bracelet on and off her wrist. ‘Of course he will be dismissed as some madman with addled wits and disordered heart. However, I know and you know, Mahu, that it was planned. The dagger?’
‘Burned with the rest,’ I replied.
‘But did you see it?’
‘A long blade with an ebony handle.’
‘Given to him,’ Tiye declared. ‘He carried no silver or gold? No precious objects?’
‘A former soldier, I suspect,’ I replied, ‘to judge from the scars on his body and the welts on his back. I thought I had met him before.’ I described Aunt Isithia taking me to see my father’s corpse. Tiye dismissed this.
‘A former soldier,’ she mused, ‘who was hired by someone who promises largesse and great bounty. My son was known to travel along the riverside. The guards are there but, as you say, lax. As for you, Mahu,’ Tiye leaned forward and grasped my arm, her sharp nails digging deep, ‘the assassin was taught a hymn.’ She pressed her nails deeper. ‘A hymn to the Aten which he knew would catch my son’s attention. Anyone who sang, who knew the words of that hymn would rouse his curiosity. The cart is stopped and the assassin is given his chance.’
‘Except that I killed the assassin, Excellency.’
‘Yes, yes, you did.’ She dug her nails in one last time then withdrew her hand. For a while she sat plucking on her lower lip, eyes half-closed as if about to fall asleep. She asked me if there was anything else. I said no and, fast as a pouncing cat, she leaned forward and slapped me viciously across the face.
‘Aren’t you forgetting, Mahu, you most worthless of Baboons, the attack on the camp by the Kushites?’
‘But that was war!’
‘Was it?’ she demanded. ‘When I ask you a question, answer it fully. What were those words the Kushite muttered as he died?’
I repeated them. Again the plucking of the lip. I stared round the hall. Now it did not seem so colourful or bright but a place where death lurked, where secret, silent assassination was plotted. Another sharp stinging slap made me jerk. I stared across at the Queen; her eyes were bright with fury.
‘Is there anything else, Baboon? You must tell me the truth. For all I know …’ She let her words hang in the air. I knew what she was going to say. Was I to be trusted? Was I involved in the attack on her son?
I replied honestly, describing the incident of the figs and wine: this time she did not slap me but just sat, tears filling her eyes.
‘Whom do you suspect, Excellency?’ I burst out.
She lifted her head. ‘I could ask the same question of you, Baboon. You, with your clever eyes and ugly face. My son chose well. Whom do you suspect? His father, the priests?’
I nodded. She leaned across and caressed my cheek. ‘You’ve eaten the salt and drunk the wine,’ she whispered. ‘If I suspected you, Mahu, you’d die a choking death beneath the sands of the Red Lands. So listen carefully to what I am going to say. My son was born on an inauspicious day.’ She drew back, staring at the table as if talking to herself. ‘A difficult birth. I had sat in the child chair for an eternity. Pains, like flames of fire, coursed through my body. He was born just as the sun rose, and wrapped in swaddling clothes. I was weak, covered in sweat, the blood all about me. Even as the maids insisted that I retire to bed, I knew something was wrong. They kept him away from me, cared for by a wetnurse. Eventually I demanded the truth. The Divine One came down, my loving husband.’ The words had a bitter twist to them. ‘I went with him to the Royal Nursery. The physicians and priests were there, the air filled with their scent and babbling prayers. They showed me the child, my son with his strange, long head and misshapen skull. He was fully formed and strong, for he had been in my womb at least three weeks longer than he should have been. The physicians whispered, arguing amongst themselves. They did not tell me directly but I knew what they were saying. My son was cursed and should either be allowed to die or be exposed. I took off my shawl, wrapping it around that little body and plucked him up from the cot. I left that chamber and returned to my own quarters.’
She paused, staring down the hall, eyes narrowed, lips tight. ‘My husband came.’ Her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. ‘He looked at the child and said that he was no son of his. I screamed at him — the most hideous threats, what I would do if the child was harmed. The Divine One truly loved me.’ Her face relaxed into a smile. ‘He agreed that nothing would happen, on one condition: he never saw him again. My husband, Mahu, is Amenhotep the Magnificent. He will not tolerate any imperfection or impurity, except in himself. Now I wonder, has he changed his mind? After all, the Crown Prince Tuthmosis will be his heir.’