All pleasure faded from Akhenaten’s face. ‘The vigil,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘We are to spend four days before the tabernacle of that hideous demon and pledge our loyalty to the God of Thebes.’ He sat, head back against the wall, eyes glaring, his strange chest rising and falling as if he had been running fast.
Ay ordered the herald to withdraw. Akhenaten’s face grew ghastly, liverish, eyes starting in his head, lips moving but no sound, not a word. Nefertiti tried to calm him but he brushed her hand away. He made to rise but slumped back. He grasped his cane and with one sweep sent the platters and plates, cups and goblets, alabaster oil jars flying from the tables. He rose to a half-crouch, the cane rising and falling, smashing into the acacia wood, cutting deep as if it was a sword, whilst the anger raged in his face; his lips white-flecked, eyes popping, chest heaving. The oiled, perfumed wig he wore became dislodged. Akhenaten threw it at me and, with both hands, smashed the cane up and down, curses tumbling from his lips. Ay stood and watched. Nefertiti flattened herself against the wall, fearful and watchful. At last Akhenaten let go of the cane and, turning sideways, placed his head in his wife’s lap, drawing his knees up like a child, fingers going to his mouth. Nefertiti stroked the side of his face, talking in a language I could not understand, soft gentle words to match the rhythmic movement of her hands. She glanced at Ay and gestured with her head. Ay left the hall and returned, a small goblet of wine in his hands. Snefru still stood by the doorway, transfixed by what he had seen. Ay handed the wine over to Nefertiti who coaxed her husband to drink, making him sit up, holding the cup for him until he grasped it with two hands, drinking greedily, face now slack, a terrifying look in his eyes.
‘Leave,’ Ay whispered to me. ‘Leave and never repeat what you have seen. Take Snefru with you.’
I did so at once, pushing Snefru out into the cold night air, closing the doors behind me.
‘What was that?’ Snefru asked.
‘The rage of a god,’ I replied.
Snefru was about to walk away when he came back. ‘Master, I apologise, but on the night you returned, a message came for you.’
‘A message?’ I asked. ‘No one sends messages to Mahu. It cannot be Aunt Isithia.’ I spread my hands. ‘Snefru, where is this message?’
‘It was brought by one of those amulet-sellers. Only a few lines: “Let’s live and love”.’ Snefru rubbed the scar where his nose had been. ‘Yes, that’s it. “Let’s live and love. Suns set and suns rise”.’ He shrugged and spread his hands.
My heart quickened. ‘Anything else?’
‘The amulet-seller said he came from the small-wine booth which stands at the mouth of the Street of Jars. Do you understand what it means, Master?’
I shook my head and walked away. Of course I did! Sobeck had returned. He was in Thebes and wished to see me.
The hieroglyph for ‘enemy’ — hfty/hefty — is a placenta, a horned snake, a bread loaf and plural strokes.
Chapter 11
Pale-faced and anxious-eyed, Akhenaten left the palace the following afternoon. He was surrounded by shaven heads from the Temple of Amun and escorted by guards displaying the golden ram’s head of their god. My master had quietened down. Nefertiti had attended to him and Pentju had also been summoned in the dead of night to give him a soothing draught and check that all was well. Nobody was allowed to accompany him; even Horemheb and Rameses were ordered to stand aside as my master was taken down to the waiting barge: a black-painted, sombre craft with the ram’s head on the prow and an ugly carved jackal face on the stern. Once Akhenaten was gone, our house seemed to lose its soul. A chilling silence drove Ay, Nefertiti and myself out into the garden to sit under the shade of date palm trees. Snefru, sword drawn, circled us like a hunting dog, alert for any eavesdropper, brusque in dismissing servants who came our way. Ay’s confidence had been shaken. He conceded the priests of Amun had acted more quickly and ruthlessly than he had ever imagined.
‘An imperial summons,’ he shook his head, ‘cannot be ignored.’
‘He could have feigned sickness.’
‘Daughter, they would still have taken him.’
‘Why?’
‘Ostensibly,’ Ay sighed, ‘to acquaint himself with the God.’
‘And the truth?’
Ay glanced at me. ‘Mahu, you are so quiet. Can the pupil inform the master?’
‘Yes.’ Nefertiti moved closer, her breath on my face, her perfume tickling my nostrils, hands against mine.
‘For one or two reasons,’ I replied.
‘Yes?’ Ay demanded.
‘To break his will.’
‘Never.’ Nefertiti’s eyes widened.
‘Or to kill him.’
Nefertiti’s head went down; she gave a low moan, a heartwrenching sound. When she glanced up, her eyes were mad with anger. Her hand lunged out, nails ready to rake my cheeks, but her father seized her wrist.
‘You are sure, Mahu?’ he asked.
‘I am certain. The Prince will not be cowed. He asserts himself. He worships a new god.’
‘Whom his father also worships,’ Ay declared.
‘Only as a ploy,’ I replied. ‘A political balance against the host of Amun and only then at the insistence of Queen Tiye. Egypt has many gods,’ I continued. ‘Amun does not object as long as its supremacy, its monopoly of wealth and power is not challenged.’
‘But our Prince is not the heir.’
‘He could be,’ I replied. ‘He might be.’
The garden fell silent except for the call of a dove to its mate. ‘What makes you say that?’ Ay plucked at a blade of grass.
‘Tuthmosis is a blood-cougher.’
‘Not necessarily the mark of death.’
‘In one so young?’ I challenged. ‘Even if he lives and enjoys a million jubilees — may the gods so grant,’ I added mockingly, ‘so might our Prince.’
‘And?’
‘Our journey to the North is now well-known. What if, in the future, during the reign of an ailing Pharaoh, Akhenaten withdraws from Thebes, journeys to his holy site and sets up a rival court, a new temple of religion?’
‘Very good,’ Ay whispered. ‘A master pupil. You do think, Mahu.’
‘He just doesn’t talk, do you, Mahu?’ Nefertiti’s anger had cooled. She was staring curiously at me. ‘Go on,’ she urged.
‘If our Prince dies there’s no threat of schism, no challenge …’
‘But if Tuthmosis dies as well?’ Ay asked.
‘The Magnificent One has daughters,’ I smiled. ‘Shishnak or someone else might marry one of these. It would not be the first time there has been a change of dynasty in Egypt.’ I stared across the garden. ‘And if that happens, we would join our master across the Far Horizon. No one here would be allowed to survive.’
‘Queen Tiye would resist,’ Nefertiti declared.