Of course the arrival of the Dazzling Aten caused consternation amongst the officers of the Sacred Band who had not been warned of its coming. Horemheb and Rameses came hurrying up to the house, half-dressed in ceremonial armour, and demanded to see the Prince. Ay met them in the entrance portico and insisted on serving cool beer and slices of rich walnut cake. Horemheb and Rameses had no choice but to observe the courtesies. They squatted on the cushions, nibbled some of the cake and sipped at the beer.
‘Is the Prince on board?’ Rameses asked.
‘No,’ Ay replied.
‘Why is it here?’
‘We are going on a journey.’
Horemheb opened his mouth to ask at whose command but Rameses nudged him.
‘We are not prisoners,’ Ay continued evenly. ‘Our master is a Prince of the Blood. He may come and go where he wishes.’
‘Where are you going?’ Rameses demanded.
‘Why, Captain, a pleasure cruise along the river. The weather is beautiful. The Nile runs thick and fast. Flowers and trees bloom. We may do some hunting amongst the papyrus groves or even out in the Eastern or Western Desert.’
‘We have to accompany you.’
‘Why?’
‘Orders,’ Horemheb retorted. ‘The Prince, of course, is not a prisoner, but he is the beloved son of the Divine One.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Ay interrupted sarcastically.
‘Our commission,’ Rameses’ voice was strident, ‘our commission is to defend and protect the Prince! Where the Dazzling Aten goes we will follow.’
‘Then, my dear soldier, you had best go back into Thebes and talk to the Chief Scribe of the Marines. You have a war-barge, you’ll need provisions. We can’t possibly feed you.’
‘Our chariots?’ Rameses complained.
‘Your chariots are your concern,’ Ay shrugged. ‘They will have to be left here.’
‘There’s another matter.’ Rameses’ voice became more measured. ‘The scribe you reported missing, Ineti? We found some bones, the flesh picked clean, down near the shallows.’
‘Poor Ineti.’ Ay shook his head. ‘I told him not to go along the river. However, some people can’t be told, can they?’ He got to his feet and brushed the crumbs from his robe. ‘And now we are busy. We are leaving tomorrow evening.’
Horemheb and Rameses hurried off. For a while all was confusion in the small military camp which lay between ourselves and the quayside. However, by the time we left, Horemheb and Rameses were organised. A powerful, black-painted war-barge, with hollowed, broad hull, slipped in behind ours: it was manned by a small squadron of marines and joined by Horemheb and Rameses and several of their company. We left just before darkness, moving out into midriver, Ay himself leading the paean of praise as the oarsmen bent and pulled back. Our craft leaped forward in a burst of speed, a well-planned taunt for Horemheb and Rameses who hastily followed in pursuit.
Akhenaten and Nefertiti occupied the central cabin, Ay the kiosk on the stern. I stayed with the crew wrapped in warm blankets, close enough to the glowing braziers to receive some warmth as well as a little protection against the night flies. We made good progress, now and again calling into some small village to fill water jars or barter for supplies. Nefertiti and her Beloved acted like a royal couple. During the day the sides of the cabin were taken down and they would sit under the awning, fan-bearers about them, enjoying the gorgeous pageant of colours on either bank: the bright green maize, the softish yellow hue of oats, the blazing gold of corn. They’d comment on the fishing smacks and other craft plying the river: boats packed full with mercenaries moving down to the forts, barges of supplies — wine, beer, cedarwood, bronze and copper as well as livestock. As the day drew on, we would comment on the shifting colours of the sands and marshlands on either bank as they turned from red-gold to deep purple.
On the second night out Nefertiti graciously invited Horemheb and Rameses to a supper on the imperial barge. Horemheb brought his two new dwarves; they looked like identical twins with their bald heads, bushy beards and small thickset bodies. Rameses had a baby giraffe which had followed the hunters after they had killed its mother the previous evening; it was the only time I ever saw him show affection to anything or anyone except Horemheb. A pity he was so clumsy; the next day the giraffe fell overboard and drowned. Anyway, that was a beautiful evening, the river supplying its own entertainment. A barge taking pilgrims from the shrine of Hathor, Lady of Drunkenness, came alongside ours. The men and women on board were drunk, merry and loud, unable to discern whom they were shouting at or who the women flirted with by baring their breasts or lifting their skirts.
Horemheb and Rameses were not the ideal guests; they acted in a surly manner throughout and not even the pilgrims of Hathor could raise a smile. They glowered at me and seized this opportunity to take me aside and remonstrate about what had happened.
‘I am not your spy,’ I protested.
‘I just wish you hadn’t left so quickly,’ Rameses whined.
We were standing in the stern of the ship warming our hands over a small dish of glowing charcoal, carefully protected in its copper bucket. I noticed Rameses’ hand was shaking slightly and the truth dawned on me.
‘Of course.’ I leaned over and tapped him on the face like he used to do to me in the Kap. ‘You don’t like water, do you, Rameses?’
‘I become sick,’ he confessed, not lifting his head. ‘I asked that idle bastard Pentju if he could give me something.’
‘Never mind,’ I soothed. ‘I am sure the journey won’t be long!’
We passed cities and towns but no orders were issued to put in at Abydos, the holy city of Osiris, or even Akhmin, where Tiye and Ay had family and kin. It was as if they did not wish to converse or be tainted by anything. We moved majestically up the Nile, a journey of over two hundred miles: restful days, peaceful nights. No one ever mentioned where we were going or the reason for our journey. Akhenaten and Nefertiti were at peace. On one occasion, just after sunset, they organised some of the best voices amongst the marines to sing the most beautiful haunting hymn which stirred the heart and provoked bittersweet memories. A song about a lost time, a dazzling time, free from the taint of death or sickness. Akhenaten and Nefertiti sang together, hands clasped, voices ringing out across the water. Fishermen on their boats plying their nets before darkness fell, stopped to listen. The chorus was taken up by the deep-throated marines, a rhythmic chant. Even now, many years later, at dusk, as the sun sets, I close my eyes and recall that singing.
One afternoon about eight days after we’d left Thebes, Akhenaten fell strangely quiet, and flanked by Nefertiti and Ay, stood by the taffrail staring out at the eastern bank of the Nile. I stood behind him and watched as the lush vegetation and palm trees gave way to a stretch of desert land. Ay shouted an order. The sails were furled, the rowers were told to tread water. Slightly behind us the war-galley also slowed. Akhenaten and Nefertiti never moved. They stood, fascinated by a sunbaked cove of desert, about eight miles broad which stretched from the Nile to towering limestone cliffs dominated by two soaring crags with a half-moon-shaped cleft between. This was the Holy Ground! It was the first time I saw it: lonely, washed by the Nile and dominated by those brooding cliffs which changed in colour as they caught and reflected the setting sun. An empty place with its own aura: the more I stared, the more it seemed to drift across the water towards me, drawing me into its haunting empty loneliness.
Late in the afternoon we prepared to go ashore, our barge threading its way through the sandbanks where water melons grew. Ay had a quiet word with the Captain. Only he, Akhenaten, Nefertiti and myself were to disembark. Once we had, the Prince knelt and nosed the ground as if adoring the two distant peaks. Nefertiti and Ay followed suit whilst I stood staring around, trying to shake off my wariness. I wanted some sound to break the stillness. Akhenaten whispered a prayer, rose and walked across that sacred soil with the sun slipping behind us sending shadows racing along the cove and up those limestone cliffs. The evening breeze whipped our faces like some muffled voice trying to communicate a secret. My sandals crunched on the hard ground. I knelt down and sifted amongst the stones, picking up the sea shells like pieces of fine glass or alabaster. These lay strewn amongst the pebbles and glinted in the light of the setting sun.