The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) by Paul Doherty Page B
Authors: Paul Doherty
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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,
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,
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