‘And what will happen now?’ Her head came up.
‘I shall journey further north,’ I replied. ‘Send messages to the usurper that we wish to negotiate. You will remain here. In a few days Generals Horemheb and Rameses will arrive, bringing more troops from Thebes and the garrisons along the river.’
‘And?’
‘There will be a battle, my lady. We shall either win or lose.’ I bit back my words. Little Tutankhamun was standing, solemn-faced and owl-eyed. ‘Of course we will be victorious,’ I added hastily and, bowing, left, cursing my own stupidity.
I sent Djarka to the Prince and asked Sobeck to join me on the flat-roofed terrace.
‘It will be cooler there.’ I smiled. ‘And no one can hear.’
I took a wine jug and two cups. Sobeck followed me up the stairs. Nebamun had already erected a canopy; cushions were piled against the protective ledge which ran round the terrace’s four sides.
‘What are we going to do?’ Sobeck demanded. ‘What if Meryre is leading us into a trap?’
‘I suspect he is. The further I travel north, the more I believe we are part of a great conspiracy. Meryre is behind this nonsense; I fear he is coming north to tell this usurper everything he knows. I am even beginning to wonder,’ I slouched down on the cushions, ‘whether the Shabtis of Akenhaten are his work.’
‘So what do you suggest?’ Sobeck dabbed at the sweat on his neck. ‘Are we to go north to put our heads on the slaughter block?’
‘What other choice do we have? I only wish I knew,’ I filled both wine cups, ‘what Meryre intends.’
Sobeck and I argued for most of the afternoon, talking too much whilst our drinking matched it. I went down to sleep and woke in the cool of the evening coated in sweat, the wine tasting bitter on my breath. I washed and changed, and went back on to the roof, watching the sun set, recalling those days I had spent with Akenhaten, when such an occasion was sacred and holy. From the courtyard below drifted the sound of sentries, the bark of a dog. Djarka came up to say the Prince was retiring. I crossly replied that I would soon be down.
‘My lord, you are frightened?’
Djarka stood at the top of the steps, peering at me through the poor light.
‘Do you remember, Djarka,’ I came over, ‘the night we killed those two assassins then hid their corpses?’
‘How can I forget?’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘One of them was a woman I loved. We killed her and her father and buried their corpses between the walls of their house.’ Tears filled his eyes. ‘At night, when I am asleep, I have nightmares. I am back in that house, sitting in the cellar, and her ghost comes out, at first all sweet and coy, but,’ he put his face in his hands, ‘she’s a ghost, Lord Mahu, a phantasm of the night. You are frightened now, aren’t you, by the terrors of the day?’
‘I am very frightened,’ I agreed. ‘As I was that night: frightened of being wrong, frightened of being hurt, wondering what is best to do.’
‘And?’
‘I don’t know why I refused to leave the Prince and his sister at the City of the Aten.’ I grasped my stomach. ‘A feeling, an unspoken fear, a suspicion …’
‘About whom?’
‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘We have witnessed the devastation along the Nile; a return to the City of the Aten is out of the question. As for going north, what seemed a good idea is, perhaps, not so clever. Sobeck and I could be going to our deaths.’
‘But you are with Meryre.’
‘I don’t trust that self-righteous, mealy-mouthed hypocrite. He seems so eager to go north, he entertains no anxieties about what might happen. He could be quietly supporting this usurper; this mission could be a pretext to meet him so they can plot together.’ I got to my feet. ‘But if we don’t go, we’ll never discover the truth, whilst Horemheb and Rameses must be given time.’
The days passed. I turned the problem over and over, one poor night’s sleep after another. Nightmares peopled by sinister images and forms crowded my dreams. My Ka seemed to spring out of my body to wander the haunted halls and fiery lakes of the underworld. One morning I woke suddenly in the ghostly light. I thought I heard my name called, yet my chamber was empty. I went to the Prince’s apartments but all was well, the guards vigilant, so I decided to go up on to the roof terrace and watch the sunrise. I turned to the east. The sky was changing; already the light was picking up the pyramid tombs in the necropolis of Sakkara. I knelt down, eyes fixed on the sun disc, a golden orb surrounded by a fiery red.
Memories poured back of other sunrises, of crouching down with Akenhaten and Nefertiti to worship the glory of the dawn. Faces of long-dead companions and enemies rose to haunt me. A gentle, lilting song wafted up from the courtyard. I looked over the parapet. A young mercenary was singing a hymn to some unknown God; he sat sprawled with his back to the wall, mending a piece of harness. He should have been on guard, standing on the parapet wall overlooking the broad stretch of grass, trees and bushes which separated the house from the river bank. I was about to shout down when the breeze caught my face. Looking back, I ask again, bearing in mind that voice which seemed to wake me, do the dead come to warn you? As I glanced up, the morning mist shifted, like linen gauze being pulled back, to reveal a truly heart-stopping scene: war barges, black and low in the water, packed with men, were streaking silently towards the quayside. I couldn’t make out their armour but caught the glint of their weapons. I counted five or six, all heavily laden.
‘Nebamun’s men?’ I whispered. ‘Marines coming to reinforce the house?’
Again the mist shifted. A black standard flew from one of the barges, inscribed with white hieroglyphs depicting ‘HATT HANT US’, the fiery furnace in the Ninth Hall of the Underworld where spirit souls of the enemies of Ra were burnt, hieroglyphs also used for the Hittites. Another standard was raised bearing the symbols of the Storm God the Hittites worshipped. I stood like a statue. Was I awake? Was I dreaming? I opened my mouth to shout, but the full enormity of what was happening kept me silent. Bargeloads of soldiers were nearing the quayside of Nebamun’s house. They had come to kill, plunder and possibly seize or murder the Prince.
Heart in my throat, I raced back into the house. Sobeck heard my clatter on the stairs and burst into my chamber. I pointed to the far window, even as I found the conch horn. I blew hard but my spittle blocked it. I cleared my mouth and blew again, a long, wailing blast. Gasping for breath, I informed Sobeck of what was happening and told him to arouse the Colonel and everyone else. I hastened to the royal quarters. Djarka was already up; something must have alarmed him, for he was already arming himself. I told him to stay where he was and guard the Prince, and if affairs warranted it, to take him and Ankhesenamun and flee. Bleary-eyed mercenaries blundered into the chamber even as another conch horn wailed somewhere in the house and from the small barracks adjoining it. I screamed at the soldiers to arm and gather in the courtyard. Ankhesenamun, a robe about her, hair falling down like a black mist round her face, came in sleepy-eyed asking what was wrong. Amedeta, sensuous and as lovely as her mistress, slipped in behind, almost concealed by Ankhesenamun. I wondered, then, did they share the same bedchamber?
‘What is the matter, Mahu?’ Ankhesenamun pouted.
‘You heard the alarm, my lady.’
‘Mahu, are we under attack? I thought you said we would be safe here?’
‘We will be,’ I snarled, ‘if you keep out of the way!’
I hurried down to the central courtyard. Nebamun and his officers were already there. The old colonel proved his worth. Sobeck had wondered if the man had been too often under the sun without his helmet, but Horemheb’s trust in him was quickly verified. He shouted and snarled for silence and coolly ordered gates to be reinforced with beams and carts. Postern doors and windows were also to be protected and defended. He turned to his staff, quietly issuing a stream of orders. Archers, ordered by their officers to remain silent, were quickly led up the steps and hid behind the battlemented walls. In the courtyard beneath, further ranks of archers lined up, bows and quivers ready. Behind them file after file of Menfyt, foot soldiers in their red and white striped head-dresses, swords and shields ready, war clubs in their sashes.