An Evil Spirit Out of the West (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) (11 page)

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Authors: Paul Doherty

BOOK: An Evil Spirit Out of the West (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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I slipped back to the Residence. I knew what was about to happen. Sobeck’s lover had been caught. She would be slung in the cage in the olive grove where she had betrayed the Magnificent One. The cat would be put in with her. I crouched like a frightened boy in the dormitory even as the hideous screams began. They continued till late in the evening when the poor woman eventually died, or the executioner took pity and dealt her a killing blow. I was more frightened than I ever had been in The Cauldron. Where was Sobeck? How had Neithas been discovered? Was it Rameses who had informed on them? Horemheb? Or the spy in our midst? I recalled Sobeck regaling us with those juicy morsels of gossip about the sexual prowess, or lack of it, of the Magnificent One. If the court learned that, every one of us risked a hideous death. Is that why the Residence was deserted? Had my companions been arrested? I drank more wine than I should have done and fell asleep, only to be aroused roughly by Huy holding an oil lamp, his face riven with anxiety.
‘You’ve heard the news?’
‘And the screams,’ I replied. ‘Where is Sobeck?’
‘They were both caught returning to the palace,’ Huy replied. ‘Judged and sentenced immediately by the High Priest of the Temple of Amun-Ra.’
‘And Sobeck?’
‘In the Chains,’ – a reference to the palace prison. ‘He has been sentenced to be put to the Wood.’
‘Exposed!’ I gasped, struggling to sit up. ‘Sobeck out in the desert?’
‘The Magnificent One was furious.’
‘Do they know about us?’
Huy shook his head. ‘The others have sent me. They want you to visit Sobeck. You are his companion.’
I argued but at last agreed. Huy made to leave.
‘One other thing,’ I called. He came back. ‘If they were caught red-handed,’ I swung my legs off the bed, ‘then there must be a spy amongst us!’
Huy just stared at me and left.
I dressed in a gauffered robe, my colours and decorations clear to see. They gave me safe passage across the palace grounds. The Chain’s cellars and dungeons lay below the royal barracks. Again the guards let me through down into a stiflingly hot, sombre corridor. A man and woman, cloaked and hooded, their lined faces wet with tears, pushed by me. I guessed they were Sobeck’s parents. The masked gaolers under the command of one of the executioner’s assistants, a tattoo of the
nafdet
high on his right arm, did not question me but opened the door to Sobeck’s cell, a small stone room with a narrow vent high in the wall. On the far side, a slab of raised, rough stone served as bed, table and stool. The ground underfoot was mud-strewn and smelt like a midden-heap. Two lamps of cheap oil glowed beneath the garish curses drawn on the wall for the benefit of prisoners, about how the anger of Amun-Ra would consume them:
‘He will give you over to the King’s fire and the day of his wrath. His uraeus will shoot out flames at your face. Your flesh will be destroyed, your body consumed. You will become like a serpent of the Underworld on the morning of New Year’s Day, dead and rotting. No more will you be able to pursue the offerings of the dead. No one will pour out water for you. Your sons will not succeed to their inheritance. Your wives will be violated before your very eyes. On the day of slaughter you will be put to the sword. Your body will shrivel with waste for you shall be hungry and yet have no bread.’
Sobeck, dressed only in a loincloth, sat beneath this hideous scrawling. He was dirty, his face and body covered with cuts and bruises. He grinned and spread his hands.
‘Why Mahu, Baboon of the South. I would like to welcome you.’ He stared round. ‘I never thought I’d regret leaving The Cauldron.’
I could only stand and stare.
‘Silent as ever,’ he breathed. ‘What have you come for, Mahu? To see if I have talked?’ He pulled a face and shook his head. ‘Tell them not to worry, especially those two vipers Horemheb and Rameses. I was drunk.’ He rubbed his face. ‘I was stupid.’ He screwed up his eyes. ‘Neithas?’
‘She’s dead. I heard her die.’
Sobeck bent his head, shoulders shaking.
‘To be put to the Wood. Ah well.’ He lifted his head, tears in his eyes. ‘You’ve heard the poem, Mahu?
‘Let’s live and love.
Sun sets and sun rises,
But when our brief day has set
There’s nothing left but
Sleep and perpetual night.’
He smiled grimly. ‘But that wouldn’t affect you, would it, Mahu? You have no heart, to live and love.’
I recalled that beautiful face. ‘I might have.’
‘They wanted the statue back,’ Sobeck continued as if he wasn’t listening, ‘but I was so drunk and Neithas was so terrified she didn’t tell me so I don’t know where it is.’ He got up, walked towards me and put his hands on my shoulders. ‘I was a good companion, Mahu?’
‘You were.’
‘Look at you,’ he breathed, ‘black tight hair, a handsome face and those deepset eyes like a monkey on a branch.’ He let his hands fall away. ‘Will you help me?’
‘How can I? What influence do I have?’
‘The statue!’ Sobeck went back and lay down on his bed. ‘Find the statue, then do what you can!’
When I left the Chains and returned to the Residence, it was late afternoon. I sat in the porticoed entrance trying to recall what Sobeck and his lover would have done. Undoubtedly they were betrayed. Justice would have been fast as well as terrible. The Magnificent One would not wish to make a great show of being betrayed by a Royal Ornament.
A sycamore tree at the far side of the Residence caught my eye and I recalled Aunt Isithia’s garden, Dedi singing beneath the tree, bringing out the piece of pot-shard on which my aunt had scrawled her curse. I got to my feet and went into the olive grove. Both the cages had been removed but the reek of death remained; splashes of blood still stained the grass, rutted and marked by the carts. Where, I wondered, would I take a young woman for courting and have my pleasure?
I went deeper into the olive grove, vigilant for any soft shady grass which could be used as a couch, away from the path but not too far, not in the dead of night when the two secret lovers would not dare use an oil lamp or carry a flaring torch. A little brook ran through the grove to feed a small pool nearby. Eventually I found the place I was looking for. The grass was well-shaded from the sun by the thick branches of the olive tree. The lovers had drunk from the rivulet whilst they had left pathetic traces of their stay, small beads and a soiled linen cloth smelling of perfume. I went round the olive tree, dug at the soft, recently-turned earth and plucked out the statue.
The following morning, dressed in all my glory as I termed it, I presented myself at the gates of the Silent Pavilion. Imri allowed me through into the courtyard where servants and retainers were lounging. A chariot had been unhitched and a palanquin rested on the ground. My heart leaped. Had the Beautiful One returned?
‘My Lord is with his mother and His Excellency God’s Father, Hotep,’ Imri explained. He led me across the courtyard, around the side of the house and into a well-watered fertile paradise of a garden. The flowerbeds had been enriched with black Canaan soil in which flowers of every description blossomed to give off their fragrance. Small pools with lush reeds and water plants glittered next to shady alcoves and herb plots as well as a small lawn where a baby gazelle grazed. Behind a screen of sycamore trees stood a brilliantly coloured pavilion approached by steps, its door panels pulled aside to catch the sun. The Veiled One was sitting at a table within, his mother on his right, Hotep on his left, laughing and talking, picking at the silver dishes laid before him. Imri told me to wait and, going ahead, knelt at the foot of the steps, nose to the ground. I couldn’t catch his words. The Veiled One ignored him, staring at me, a faint smile on his face. Imri waved me forward. The Veiled One threw me a cushion on which to kneel. I caught this and made obeisance. Hotep lifted his cup so as to shield the lower part of his face. I caught the Queen staring curiously at me so again my head went down.
‘Very good, very good, Baboon of the South,’ the Veiled One laughed. ‘You may now raise your head and look on our faces.’
The first one I stared at was Queen Tiye, a woman I had glimpsed from afar. She was of middle stature, her body rather thin but very elegant. She was dressed in robes of purest white, an embroidered shawl across her shoulders, a shimmering necklace of cornelian around her throat. On each of her fingers sparkled a precious gem. Silver bangles clattered on her wrists. It was her face which held me: very feminine, with strong, laughing eyes but a firm mouth, lips slightly drooping as if in disapproval. She’d kept her own hair; this was neatly dressed and caught up under a shimmering net of mother-of-pearl. She delicately popped a piece of meat into her mouth.
‘Is this the one, my son?’
‘The Baboon of the South,’ the Veiled One agreed, ‘son of Seostris, a Colonel of the Medjay who performed great service …’ the Veiled One glanced at me sardonically, ‘in the Eastern Deserts. Why, Baboon, have you come bounding up my garden path?’ The words were harsh but the voice was soft. Again I bowed.
‘None of that,’ the Veiled One reproached me. ‘You’ll give me indigestion. One thing I can’t stand are bobbing priests.’ He paused. ‘Or baboons.’
‘Your friend has been taken up.’ Hotep lowered his cup. ‘Sobeck is to go to the Wood for daring to raise his eyes, let alone anything else,’ God’s Father sniggered, ‘against a Royal Ornament.’
The Veiled One clicked his tongue in mock disapproval though I could see both he and his mother were amused by what had happened.
‘The girl is dead,’ I declared.
‘And so she should be.’ The Great Queen’s voice was sharp and clipped. I caught the trace of a faint accent. ‘If you drink the wine and eat the salt of the Royal House you do not share it with commoners.’
‘She died brutally,’ the Veiled One remarked. ‘I went down to see what was left of her in the cage, and her body was badly mauled. They killed the cat with arrows.’
Tiye waved her fingers, a sign she had heard enough.
‘So, if you haven’t come for the girl,’ the Veiled One teased, ‘you must be here to plead for Sobeck?’
‘I had a dream last night, my lord.’
The smiled faded from the royal faces.
‘I was down by the Nile, it was dark and swollen. The sky had turned red; I realised I was going to be visited by a god.’
‘Did you really?’ The Veiled One moved his head slightly to the side, a look of mock astonishment on that strange face. ‘And what was your dream, Baboon?’
‘I saw the waters part. A huge crocodile emerged with the Jackal-Headed One riding on its back.’
The Veiled One’s head went down. He was laughing, though both the Queen and Hotep remained grim-faced.
‘He told me where to find the stolen statue of Ishtar,’ I continued in a rush. ‘I was to dig it up, return it to the Magnificent One and seek his pardon for the sins of Sobeck.’
‘And you dug it up, of course.’ Hotep held his cup in one hand and waved the other airily.
‘I did. In the olive grove where they met.’ I produced the statue from a sash in my robe, lifting it so it gleamed in the light.
‘You could be arrested,’ Hotep remarked lazily. ‘They might say you are an accomplice.’
‘Then I shall call witnesses, Your Excellency. They will report that I have no friends or accomplices.’
The Veiled One pointed a long spidery finger. ‘And you discovered the statue? Leave it there on the steps.’
‘Why have you come here?’ Queen Tiye demanded. ‘Why not take it immediately to the court?’
‘I am not favoured to look on the Divine One’s face, Your Majesty.’
‘So you are going to ask my son to do it for you?’
I didn’t reply but stared at the Veiled One. He looked angry.
‘My lord?’ I begged.
‘Sobeck violated my father’s honour. The power of Pharaoh is not to be mocked.’ He flicked his fingers. ‘Withdraw and await.’
I bowed my head in surprise, fighting hard to control my temper. I recalled that pavilion in The Cauldron, the two Kushites bursting into the tent, spears eager for his blood. I rose, backed away and joined the noisy throng in the courtyard. They were watching a monkey perform tricks; the little fellow reminded me of Bes. I must have been there an hour when Imri returned and grasped me by the shoulder. As I got to my feet, his grip tightened.
‘You really should have a rope round your neck,’ he whispered. Then his face broke into a smile. A patch now covered the hole where his right eye had been; the white of the good one was slightly yellow and flecked with blood.
‘You never asked,’ he rapped out, ‘where I lost my eye?’
‘I was never really interested.’
‘Out in the Red Lands.’ Imri ignored the insult. ‘A stone from a sling found its mark in me – and that’s why I am here, Mahu. Only those with disfigured faces guard my master.’
‘And?’ I asked, trying to break free from his grasp.
‘Why are you here, Mahu?’ he asked softly. ‘What is it between you and my master?’
‘Are you asking because of him or because of yourself?’
Imri relaxed his grip and patted my cheek gently as a father would a child. ‘I am just curious. But come, His Excellency wishes to talk to you.’
Hotep was sitting on a turfed seat just within the garden gate and, surprisingly, Crown Prince Tuthmosis sat beside him. I sank to my knees. Hotep did not tell me to rise. I glanced up. Tuthmosis’ face was red with anger. He glared at me as if I was an enemy and I knew my request had made him mine. He swung his foot and kicked me viciously in the side.
‘You plead for a criminal?’
‘I plead for a friend.’
‘Who happens to be a criminal. Look at me, Baboon.’
I stared up. Tuthmosis leaned forward, his face a few inches from mine. I saw the blood beat in his brow, the twist of his mouth. I was aware of the wine on his breath and the anger in his soul. I also noticed something else: just on the corner of his mouth, a fleck of his blood as if he had cut his lip or bitten his tongue.
‘My father,’ Tuthmosis swallowed hard as if fighting for breath, ‘my father’s dignity, the Magnificent One …’ He coughed, holding a small napkin to his mouth; when he took it away I glimpsed the red stains. ‘Sobeck should have been put in a cage with his whore,’ he rasped, dabbing at his mouth.
‘Sobeck is the guilty one,’ Hotep said softly, ‘not Mahu. He has simply come to plead for his friend. I have used my good offices to achieve two things.’ He leaned forward, fingers splayed, as if counting for a child. ‘Listen, Mahu. First Sobeck will not go to the Wood. He will be exiled to an oasis in the Western Desert. You know what that means?’
Oh I knew! A few palm trees, some figs, and water, but not enough to sustain a man for ever or give him the strength to try and break out across the desert. If he did, the Sand Dwellers or the Desert Wanderers, if not the Libyans, would catch him and flay him alive.
I closed my eyes and nodded in thanks. All I had achieved was to send Sobeck to a living death. Perhaps it would have been faster to have asked for a knife to the throat or sword-cut to the heart.
‘Secondly Mahu,’ Hotep’s eyes glinted in amusement, ‘you are to be given a commission in the Medjay. You are to go back to the Western Desert.’ He paused. ‘Finally,’ his hand fell away, ‘you are to leave now!’
I muttered my thanks and bowed, my face red with embarrassment. I rose and walked through the courtyard, ignoring Imri’s shout, my heart seething with anger. Yet even as I did so, I recalled the blood on that napkin. What was it Aunt Isithia used to say?
Ah yes.
‘He who coughs blood coughs life.’

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