The food was served, the goblets filled. I sipped and ate absentmindedly, almost unaware of the diced meat mixed with rice and nuts, the cauliflower and anchovies, the fish in lemon, the lamb and beef in their savoury sauces. Nefertiti was my food and drink. I studied her out of the corner of my eye. Her moods were as changeable as the moon, shy but coquettish. She flirted outrageously with Akhenaten, fluttering her eyelashes, their hands brushing, touching and teasing beneath the table. At times she broke off talking to him and turned to the servants. She ignored the disfigurement of the Rhinoceri but chattered pleasantly to them, asking for their names and how long they had served. Snefru, acting as steward, was specially singled out and complimented. Nefertiti in those first few hours captivated everyone, with her charm and tact. Eventually I had to look away. Her gaze would catch mine, the smile would fade, her eyes becoming more searching as if she was weighing me in the balance like the Goddess Ma’at, sifting for the truth. Only then did Ay sitting opposite me make his presence felt.
Ay, father of Nefertiti, handsome and dangerous as a panther. A man in his mid-thirties who had seized the cup of life and meant to drink it to the dregs. He was comely of face with a hard, muscular body, every inch the professional soldier. He wore a short, oiled and perfumed wig over his reddish, cropped hair, those sharp, ever-seeing eyes heavily lined with kohl, his handsome, highcheeked face delicately painted. I could see the likeness between father and daughter though Ay possessed an obvious sharpness, carefully hidden beneath effete movements, exquisite manners and precious speech. He had intelligent eyes, a smiling mouth, smooth cheeks and an even smoother tongue. Even then, fascinated as I was by Nefertiti, I recognised a dangerous man, who rejoiced and exulted in his own talents as well as those of his beautiful daughter.
Oh yes, Ay was a joy to behold and a terror to be with. From the very beginning it was so. A mongoose of a man, of cunning heart and keenest wits. He was dressed in embroidered robes, silver rings on his fingers, and a collar of gold around his neck. He ate and drank sparsely, more intent on studying me. When I noticed him, he grinned boyishly and extended his hand across the table. I clasped it. He then gently led me into conversation about the hunting along the river, the price of wheat, and the details of his own journey down the Nile. At the end of the meal Hotep and Queen Tiye withdrew, as did Akhenaten and Nefertiti, hands clasped together, whispering endearments. I watched them go, such a strange contrast. Akhenaten with his ungainly body and strange face, the jerky movements, the tap of his cane; Nefertiti almost gliding beside him. Yet it was not so much a contrast. They complemented each other: Akhenaten with his sharp, haunting features next to the glorious beauty of his companion. It was almost as if they were no longer man and woman but merged to become one flesh, one being.
Once they’d gone, I felt as if the sunlight had left the room. For a while I sat sadly cradling my wine cup. Ay plucked a grape and coughed. I looked up, the servants had gone. Only Snefru guarded the door.
‘You are fascinated by my daughter?’
‘Any man would be.’
Ay smiled, his eyes half-closed as if he was tired and had drunk too much. He began a desultory conversation but, as he talked, I became aware of how crafty he was. Oh, he mentioned the gossip of the court, once again the weather and the crops. He also used such items to let slip how much he knew, as well as details of his own life: his two marriages, his career as a scribe, his war service as a commander of a chariot squadron. In any other situation he would have been a bore. He kept filling my wine cup, at the same time watching me intently.
‘Life changes, Mahu.’ He put the wine jug down, his hands going beneath the table, a deliberate movement; with any other man I’d suspect he was searching for a knife. Then his right hand came up. ‘I am your friend, Mahu. I have watched you. I know all about you. I am one with you.’
This time the offer of a hand was more formal. He curled back his fingers to reveal an amber and jasper amulet depicting the Aten in the palm of his hand. ‘I am your friend, Mahu, your ally.’
‘Under the sun,’ I replied, ‘no trust will last, neither in brother nor in friend. Don’t they tell us, the Wise Ones, not even to put our trust in Pharaoh or our confidence in the war-chariots of Egypt?’
‘But a true friend is powerful protection,’ he retorted. ‘It is dangerous to walk alone under the sun.’
I clasped the hand. Ay gripped my fingers and tightly squeezed, then let me withdraw, pushing the amulet into my hand.
‘Come,’ he drained his cup. ‘We have eaten and drunk enough.’
We left the hall of audience arm-in-arm as if we were blood brothers or father and son, Ay talking, gesticulating with his fingers, saying how pleased he was to see the marvels of the Malkata Palace. How he, his family and entourage would be moving into the House of Residence. Once we were through the gate and into the olive groves he dropped such pretence. He clasped my arm, asking me sharp, short questions. Where did I come from? What about my years in the House of the Kap? My experience in war? The campaign against the Kushites? My friendship with Sobeck? He asked such questions though he already seemed to know the answers. Exasperated, I paused. I wanted to go back to the house and feast my eyes on Nefertiti.
‘You said you knew everything about me,’ I confronted him. He was the same height as me. Ay clicked his tongue and glanced away.
‘I wanted to hear you talk, Mahu. Yes, I know everything about you — and more. I knew your mother.’ He smiled at my astonishment. ‘She was beautiful. Did you know that she was distant kin?’
I shook my head in amazement.
‘Oh yes’ — he made that airy gesture again — ‘third or fourth cousin. I forget now. However, her mother came from the town of Akhmin.’ His grin widened and he punched me playfully on the shoulder. ‘So it’s good to meet you, kinsman.’
‘I never knew this.’
‘Of course you didn’t.’ He cleaned his mouth with his tongue. ‘Your father was besotted with her. A happy couple.’ He glanced over my shoulder as if studying something behind me. ‘Aunt Isithia, however,’ he smiled grimly, ‘she was different, wasn’t she? Your father’s half-sister. A sour vessel, Isithia. Crooked of speech and crooked of soul. Did you know she was married twice?’
Ay enjoyed my amazement. ‘Oh yes, a young priest in the service of Amun-Ra at Luxor. He died of a fever, or so they say. Some people whispered that he had been given a little help across the Far Horizon.’
‘Aunt Isithia?’
‘In her days she was a temple girl and more. She dabbled in the black arts, became skilled in potions and poisons. Some said she was a witch, others a necromancer who cast horoscopes.’
He walked round me, as if to ensure that no one lurked in the trees, no spy eavesdropped. He stopped beside me, his mouth only a few inches from my ear.
‘When the Prince was born, the priests of Amun-Ra went to Aunt Isithia and asked her to cast a horoscope, to draw back the veil of time and glimpse the future.’
My heart skipped a beat. Ay’s touch on my shoulder was cold, his voice hoarse yet powerful, as if speaking across the years and rousing nightmares in my adult soul.
‘So you see, Mahu’ — it was as if he could read my mind — ‘accidents do not happen. You were not included in the Kap because of your father but because of your aunt. In her younger days she was a beauty and she offered services as a widow to other priests. They say she even had a cure for impotence; a strict mistress, Isithia.’
I recalled those cries in the night, those mysterious cowled visitors.
‘Did Isithia cast the horoscope for the Prince?’