At such times I felt a pang of envy, but I settled down, interested in Djarka’s little boy and eager to turn my garden into a paradise. Pentju virtually became a recluse. I enjoyed his dry wit, but as the months passed, he became more interested in the wine flagon and sitting by himself. Sometimes he would not shave or wash. I would remonstrate with him. I could see his health was failing, his mind no longer sharp; I was determined not to follow suit. Instead I became a keen gardener, digging a well, planting vines, laying out herb patches and flowerbeds. I built extensions to the house and a small pavilion for the garden. I was allowed to go fishing on the river; a small punt was provided, but my guards always came with me.
I must have been there about two years, whiling away my time, when, during the second month of the spring season, Sobeck arrived grey-faced. I asked him for news. He mentioned one word: ‘Meryre.’ According to Sobeck, Meryre had moved back to Thebes to carry out assassinations against those he now regarded as his inveterate enemies. Sobeck pointed at the walls of my house.
‘Guard them carefully!’
‘But I’m in disgrace,’ I replied. ‘Meryre-’
‘Hold your response,’ Sobeck interrupted. ‘You, like the rest, have to be punished.’
Sobeck’s words were prophetic. Meryre’s assassins came one evening three weeks later, flowing like water over the walls of my house. Armed with daggers, they killed two gardeners and attempted to rush a side door, but were cut down. Only one survived, but the deep gash to his throat made it impossible to question him. I had the corpses stripped. They were Egyptians, men I couldn’t recognise. From the scars on their bodies I deduced they were veterans, discharged soldiers. Sobeck arrived with his police. He too inspected the corpses and pronounced they were probably professional killers hired for the task. They were tossed into the river. Sobeck arranged for more mercenaries to be hired, whilst the guards around the gates and walls were doubled. He also brought news of other assassination attempts in Thebes. Even Lord Ay had not escaped unscathed. Early one morning, whilst visiting the Temple of Ma’at, he had been attacked by a madman just as he entered the central courtyard of the Karnak complex. Of course, the cobra escaped.
After a few weeks, the assassination attempts stopped and life returned to its peaceful and humdrum pace. Occasionally, Pharaoh Tutankhamun would send me gifts and short letters in which he would always describe his own health and ask after mine. Djarka tried to seek an audience with the Divine One, taking gifts and his baby son to present to Pharaoh. He was always turned away, even before he reached the outer court, by some chamberlain or petty official. Of course, I listened to the stories. Tutankhamun was a recluse. He was glimpsed borne on a litter, surrounded by Ay’s men, being taken down to the river, or, screened by official flunkies as well as an army of priests, processing up to the temples to offer incense and make sacrifice. They talked of a young man of medium height with stooped shoulders and a slender body, with a beautiful, serene face and peculiarly shaped eyes. Ankhesenamun, always close by, became a famous beauty, known for her love of the most rare perfumes, costly clothing and exclusive jewels.
In truth, Lord Ay was the true power in the land, high priest and vizier combined. There were no more references to the Aten. I heard how that city, once the glory of Egypt, was being eaten away by the encroaching desert. Desert wanderers, sand-dwellers and Libyan raiders were stripping its fine houses, and Akenhaten’s beautiful sun temples lay open to the sky. The mansions of the wealthy lost their cedarwood beams and columns to the the owl and the jackal. This was all done quietly, as Lord Ay and the Royal Circle worked strenuously to make people forget the reign of Akenhaten. The army was strengthened, new regiments raised, fresh chariot squadrons formed, stables restocked and great stud farms built. The House of War imported wood and metals for its armoury. The troops were used not only to impress foreign envoys but also to quell the lawlessness in the cities and the Red Lands and along the river. Fortresses and border posts were reinforced. Punitive expeditions were launched to secure the Horus Road across Sinai as well as the routes to the mines, quarries and oases of the eastern and western deserts. Rebellions in Kush were crushed, whilst the military command, under Horemheb and Rameses, pressed for all-out war to secure Canaan and curb the growing power of the Hittites.
Lord Ay, together with Huy and Maya, resisted such arguments. Egypt needed strengthening before going to war. Maya in the House of Silver was busy as a beetle replenishing Egypt’s treasure. Gold, silver, precious stones, lapis lazuli, turquoise, malachite, alabaster and rare timbers poured into Egypt. The temples, too, glowed with power and strength under this great restoration. Their Schools of Life were reopened, granaries restocked, ox pens and sheepfolds filled with the best stock. It became common to see fat priests again, bellies bulging with the produce of sacrifice, their coffers full from the offerings of the faithful. The priesthood of Amun, Horus, Anubis and the rest of the Gods resumed their old arrogance, with one noticeable difference: Lord Ay, that spider at the centre of Egypt’s web, kept close watch on the high priests as he did on every official, scribe, chamberlain and standard-bearer; only in Memphis and certain cities of the north was Ay’s influence checked by that of Horemheb.
The source of all this gossip was, of course, Sobeck. If he had the measure of Ay, Lord Cobra certainly returned the compliment. My friend would laugh about how his spies spied upon Lord Ay’s, as his did on everyone else’s. Sobeck was amused by it all. A hideous mistake; he should never have underestimated such a man! Of course, I tried to warn him. One day — it must have been in the fourth month of the summer season during the third year of my exile — when I was entertaining Sobeck, I tried to tell him the story about a snake-charmer I’d arrested. ‘He was one of those men,’ I began, ‘the most charming I’ve ever caught. He could persuade a chick to come out of its shell; he was so witty I released him unscathed.’
‘I think I’ve heard the story,’ Sobeck replied. ‘But tell me again.’
‘The snake-charmer travelled the villages on the outskirts of western Thebes. He sold a sacred snake oil which, if rubbed on a man’s genitals, made the penis stronger and more vibrant. This confidence trickster amassed quite a fortune until he tried to fool a police informer placed among the villagers. The snake-charmer was arrested and brought before me. He confessed that the so-called sacred oil was nothing more than the juice of rat fat. Of course, no one ever protested, so what wrong had he done? He was right. Do you know of any man, Sobeck, who is willing to tell people that he has trouble between his legs, then tries to do something to improve his performance only to be fooled?’
‘And the moral of the story?’ Sobeck demanded.
‘That’s how Lord Ay works. He fools you, as he charms you, yet the only person you can blame is yourself.’
‘Mahu, can’t you say anything good about him?’
‘Yes,’ I laughed, ‘his brother Nakhtimin is much worse!’
Now, Sobeck was a former leader of gangs and thieves, yet he possessed some goodness, a sort of decency which his recent marriage to the plump, vivacious daughter of a high-ranking Theban merchant brought to the fore. He was contented with the world and at peace with himself. I prayed he was still alert enough to perceive the darkness in the soul of General Nahktimin, a man of hard heart and no kindness, a born killer, a ferocious fighter, devoted to his charismatic elder brother. Nakhtimin was now Chief Scribe, commander-in-chief of Egypt’s southern armies, their regiments, chariot squadrons, troops of archers and mercenaries. He used these troops to massacre the scavengers who’d come drifting in from the desert looking for easy pickings, exterminating them as he did any threat to his power. Tomb robbers no longer pillaged the Necropolis or the Valley of the Kings. Nakhtimin caught them and had them impaled along the roads and clifftops.