‘What will you do about Isithia?’ Ay asked.
‘What do you advise?’
‘Wait!’ Ay got up and gestured at me to follow. ‘Wait, Mahu, as I will. So our enemies have turned to murder: do you know who the assassin could be?’ I shook my head. ‘I do.’ Ay grinned in the darkness. ‘But he, too, will have to wait.’
He looped his arm through mine. ‘I love going down to the Nile, and watching the black and white kingfishers dive and swoop. They move so fast, you have to concentrate. Sometimes I don’t see any at all and I wonder where they have gone. So, when they return, I am even more curious.’
‘Have you come,’ I asked, ‘to talk about kingfishers in the dead of night?’
‘The party is ending.’ Ay turned towards where the light could be glimpsed pouring through the windows of the palace. ‘Your friends have eaten and drunk more than they should. They are being helped out by their servants. Horemheb, however, marched off as if he was on the parade ground. We will have to watch him, Mahu, him and Rameses. Two hearts that beat as one, and cunning hearts at that.’
‘The kingfisher?’ I queried.
‘Ah, yes.’ Ay whistled under his breath. ‘The great scribe Huy brought an invitation. In a few days’ time, as you know, the Divine One celebrates the Festival of Opet where he moves from the Temple of Amun-Ra at Karnak down to Luxor. A glorious, triumphant procession as Pharaoh communes with the gods.’
‘The Kingfisher?’ I asked again, though I half-expected Ay’s reply.
‘The Divine One has moved as swiftly. He has graciously invited his second son to take part in the official festivities.’
‘And has our master accepted?’
Ay clapped me on the shoulder.
‘He has no choice, Mahu, and neither do we.’
The great sweeping avenue, lined either side by golden-headed sphinxes, marked the great processional route linking the temples of Karnak and Luxor. On that particular occasion, the last day of Opet, it was flanked by a living, thick hedge of people. Thebes had emptied itself of its inhabitants and the crowds were swollen by visitors from every city in the kingdom as well as beyond on this glorious, sunfilled day when Pharaoh showed his face to his subjects who revelled in the glory and might of Egypt.
The royal procession was led by the principal War-Chariot Squadron: the electrum silver and gold of their carriages dazzling in the light. The horses, milk-white Syrians, handpicked from the royal stables, were gorgeously apparelled: dark blue plumes nodded between their ears, their black harness embossed with glittering silver and gold medallions vied with the blue, red and silver of the javelin sheaths and arrow quivers strapped to the chariots. The horses moved slowly, almost like dancers, their drivers, the most skilled in Egypt, guiding them carefully, all moving in harmony with each other. Between the chariots marched the Standard Bearers holding the insignia of that particular squadron, the lustrous jewel-encrusted ram’s head of Amun-Ra. Behind the chariots, in solemn march, came the high officials of the army and court; garbed in white robes, they wore plaited wigs on their heads to which ostrich feathers, dyed a myriad of colours, had been attached. Each of these highranking notables carried their symbol of office: a gold-embossed fan. Ranks of infantry followed these, veterans from every part of the Empire marching in unison dressed in blue and gold head-dresses and white waistcloths. They carried spears and ceremonial shields also emblazoned with the insignia of Amun and were flanked by lines of archers, quivers on their backs, bows in their hands.
The sound of that massed march almost deafened the music of the pipes, the rattling of the long war drums, the clash of cymbals and the blast from the trumpets and conch horns of the military band. Clouds of fragrance billowed up as the shaven heads, the priests of every rank, garbed in their white robes, shoulders draped with jaguar and leopard skins, walked slowly backwards, faces toward the royal palanquins bearing Pharaoh Amenhotep the Magnificent and his Great Queen and Wife Tiye. Hundreds of these priests scented the air with gusts of pure incense as the temple girls, visions of beauty in their long, voluptuous wigs and diaphanous robes, danced to the rattle of the sistra whilst others sent thousands of scented flower petals whirling through the air.
In the most gorgeous of palanquins, its curtain pulled aside, slouched the Magnificent One on a throne of gold made more beautiful by the inlaid jewels along its arms and sides. Amenhotep was garbed in the robes of glory: these still couldn’t hide his corpulent body with its sagging breasts and paunch. He wore the Red and White Crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt, the flail and rod in his hands held against the Nenes, the precious holy tunic beneath his Robe of Glory. He sat, one elbow on the arm of the throne, glaring sternly before him as his subjects cheered, the more devout falling to their knees to press their foreheads against the ground. Pharaoh was moving in all his glory. Around his brow was coiled the Uraeus, the lunging cobra, the protector of Egypt and the defender of Pharaoh; the snake symbolised the fire and force Egypt might loose against any who troubled her. On either side of the imperial palanquin walked the highranking officers — those who were allowed into the private chambers of Pharaoh. Each carried a huge, pink-dyed ostrich plume drenched in cassia, myrrh and frankincense to keep the air sweet as well as to waft away the dust and flies, not to mention the sweat and smells of the massed cheering crowds kept in line by stern-faced foot soldiers.
Slightly behind Amenhotep came Queen Tiye in her palanquin, her perfumed body drenched with sweat between the robe of feathers which covered her from head to toe. The robe was fashioned from the glowing plumage of exotic birds. Beneath the heavy crown displaying the horns and plumes of Hathor, Tiye’s face was smiling and sweet. Unlike her husband, the Queen turned every so often to the left and right to acknowledge the cheering crowds. Next walked Crown Prince Tuthmosis, Akhenaten slightly behind him. Both wore crown-like rounded hats, jewel-studded with silver tassels hanging down the back. They were dressed alike in pleated linen robes, resplendent in glorious necklaces, pendants, bracelets and rings, their faces painted, eyes ringed with dark green kohl. Each Prince was ringed by fan-bearers, flunkies and incense-waving priests. Tuthmosis carried a staff, its gilded top carved in the shape of a falcon. Akhenaten rested on a cane inlaid with ebony and silver, a personal gift from Ay. They both walked barefoot, imperial sandal-carriers trotting behind, holding their footwear for whenever they needed it.
Tuthmosis was greeted with fresh bursts of cheering but, as I walked, well behind the legion of shaven heads, I caught the murmur of the crowds as they noticed Akhenaten, the King’s other son, paraded for the first time in front of Pharaoh’s people. Exclamations of surprise, cries of wonderment, as well as mocking laughter were audible across the avenue. Whoever had arranged the procession had been very clever. Tuthmosis walked so Akhenaten, too, had to overcome his disability and process under the blazing sun with as much dignity as he could muster. Nefertiti had not been invited — a subtle insult. She would have certainly distracted and pleased the crowds, but the invitation, carrying the personal cartouche of Amenhotep, had made no mention of her so she was compelled to stay at the Palace of the Aten. She’d disguised her anger behind smiles whilst she carefully instructed Akhenaten on how he was to walk and bear himself.
‘The sun will be hot,’ she had warned, ‘try not to wear sandals. Shift your weight to the cane Ay will give you. Neither look to the left nor the right. But be careful — do not react.’
‘To what?’ Akhenaten asked softly.
Nefertiti glanced away. ‘To whatever happens,’ she murmured.
She had taken me aside out in the gardens, walking up and down, that beautiful body tense with fury. She reminded me of the Goddess Bastet, the Cat Goddess who walks alone. Nefertiti strode backwards and forwards; now and again she would unfold her arms, fingers moving, the hennaed nails glittering like the claws of an angry cheetah. I could tell from her breathing how the anger seethed within her. At last she calmed herself and stood over me as I sat by the edge of a pool. She pressed a perfumed finger against my lips, moving it up so the nail dug into the end of my nose, blue eyes ice-cold.