‘The thieves came after the treasure, you see,’ Sobeck explained as he sipped his wine. ‘The robber gangs know all about the treasures brought from the City of the Aten. I’m just sorry I missed my share.’ Sobeck laughed. ‘Oh, I see you still have the two statues.’
‘Ah, yes,’ I replied. ‘Pentju received them as a gift from the palace for his care of the young Pharaoh, the only present he was given. He placed them at the entrance to our Hall of Columns. By the way, what did happen to the rest of the treasure?’
‘Let me put it this way, you will find no beggars in Thebes, Mahu. Nakhtimin marched them into the Valley of the Kings to do hard labour, quarrying new caves and tombs. Men, women and children, they were all dead in a month.’
‘Why new caves and tombs?’
‘The Aten treasures were first placed in temporary storage in the tombs and burial temples of former Pharaohs. Now Ay is moving them to places known only to himself, Nakhtimin and others of their gang.’
Sobeck fell silent for a while.
‘He has his uses,’ he murmured eventually. ‘I mean General Nakhtimin. The assassinations have stopped. I hunted high and low without sight or sign of Meryre and his coven — they have disappeared like a puff of smoke on a summer’s day.’
‘Massacred, wiped out?’
‘No.’ Sobeck sighed. ‘They have fled, but I don’t know where, probably out across the Sinai, which brings me to another matter.’ Sobeck pointed across the garden: Djarka and Mert sat next to the Pool of Purity, watching their baby son Imhotep crawl like a little beetle. I leaned forward.
‘Are they in danger?’
‘Not at the moment,’ Sobeck replied. ‘But they did stay loyal to you. Djarka could have left. I would have found him a post, some office at court or temple. Moreover, let’s not forget, both know about the massacre.’ Sobeck tapped his goblet with his fingernails. ‘I do wonder why they supported you.’
‘Haven’t you heard of devotion, friendship?’
Sobeck just rubbed his earlobe; a common habit when he was suspicious.
‘I think Djarka is here to watch you, Mahu, though I don’t know the reason.’
‘Why are you concerned about him now?’
‘Oh, I’m not concerned about them. However, I’m sure General Rameses would like to question them, and I am going to show you why.’
Four days later Sobeck returned after dark. I was writing my journal, describing the coolness of the evening, the scent of the garden where the light from the coloured oil lamps glowed and danced like fireflies. From the river echoed various sounds, the bellowing of the hippopotami almost drowning the fading calls of the birds and the harsh chorus of the frogs. I was sitting on the roof of the house, staring up at the akhakha, as the poets call the stars, the ‘flowers of heaven’, blossoming brilliantly against the night. Such harmony was disturbed by the news of Sobeck’s arrival. I went down to greet him. He slipped through the gate, paused, then whistled into the night. An old man dressed in a thick robe, a tasselled shawl around his shoulders, shuffled through, his papyrus reed sandals slapping on the ground. He was small and bony, his wizened face like a dried-out nut, though he was alert and bright-eyed as any boy.
‘This is Seenu.’ Sobeck introduced my visitor as we took our seats in what I called my Blue Lotus Pavilion. We sat in silence for a while, until the servants, who, I am sure, included Lord Ay’s spies, served us sesame seed cake and chilled white wine. From across the garden, cutting through the noises of the night, came the raucous sound of Pentju bawling out a song we’d all learnt as Children of the Kap. The old man laughed.
‘A fitting lullaby,’ he whispered.
I did not reply. I just hoped Pentju would get drunk, fall asleep and not make a nuisance of himself. Once the servants had left, I closed the door.
‘Who are you?’ I asked, sitting back on the cushions.
‘Seenu was once a scribe of the execution stake where prisoners are questioned,’ Sobeck explained. ‘He is proficient in tongues. He later became Chief Scribe of the Anubis shrine.’
‘That was a thousand jubilees ago,’ Seenu chuckled, ‘when the Great House of a Million Years was ruled by the Mighty Bull, Magnificent of Forms, and I wore the jackal-headed collar. Oh yes, many, many Pharaohs ago.’ He closed his eyes and rocked backwards and forwards. ‘I should be with the sleepers.’ His voice was hardly above a whisper. ‘I should walk with death.’ He opened his eyes. ‘I have passed my eightieth year. I owe my own life to the patronage of the Great God Buto. I am old now …’
He chattered on. Sobeck warned me with his eyes to keep silent.
‘Once my loins were fresh and fertile, my seed came pouring out. I used to sleep the four quarters of the night with slave women on either side.’
Again I made to interrupt, but Sobeck gestured to keep silent.
‘I was scribe of the Execution House, the recorder of the Slaughter Yard in the House of Chains. I answered directly to Pharaoh, but even then I was growing old.’
‘Which Pharaoh?’ I asked.
‘Tuthmosis, father of Amenhotep the Magnificent. Now, as you know, Amenhotep fell in love with a beautiful young girl from the city of Akhmin. She was of the Apiru tribe. Oh, I got to know them all well,’ he sighed. ‘Tiye and her brother Ay. I learned all about the legends of her people: how they came from Canaan; how they look forward to a great leader to take them back; how they were special in the eyes of God. I read their records. I even saw the paintings out in the Valley of the Grey Dawn. I also learned about the Aten, the One God. I visited Canaan. I have studied the Apiru more carefully than any scholar in Egypt.’
‘And then what?’
‘I reported all to Tuthmosis. He was very alarmed. He tried to warn his son, who then was no more than a boy. Amenhotep met Tiye when they were both Children of the Kap.’ The old man held his hand with two fingers wrapped together. ‘They were inseparable, one of those love matches which begin even before the loins are excited. Tuthmosis was advised by his priests against the marriage.’
‘But Tuthmosis died suddenly,’ I interrupted, ‘a mysterious death. Wasn’t he in his late twenties?’ The old man agreed. He stuffed sesame cake in his mouth and slurped wine.
‘Did you keep any record?’ Sobeck asked. Seenu, his mouth full, shook his head.
Sobeck, poking me in the arm, led me out into the garden, telling our visitor to eat and drink as much as he could.
‘Why have you brought him?’ I asked. ‘I know about these legends, you know that I know.’
I heard a sound behind me and whirled round. Nothing, though I was sure someone was there.
‘Seenu tells me nothing new,’ I continued.
‘He lives in Western Thebes.’ Sobeck measured his words carefully. ‘A week ago he was overheard boasting in a beer shop how General Rameses wished to see him.’ I felt a chill, brought on more by fear than the night breeze.
‘I had him arrested,’ Sobeck continued.
‘Who, Rameses?’ I asked.
‘Don’t joke, Mahu. The old man. I gave him a comfortable chamber in one of my houses. I hired a temple girl to keep him warm at night and made sure his belly remained full. He is greedy and lecherous as an old goat. I wanted to know why Rameses was looking for him. He told me about the Apiru. It took some time to get the whole story. Ten years ago people would have dismissed it as the babblings of an old scribe, only too willing to bore you to death for a drop of ale. I also listened to other reports. Rameses has sent spies into Canaan. He has scribes searching the records. He is looking for Akenhaten. He believes he is still alive. He is also hunting for Meryre and growing more knowledgeable about the origins of Akenhaten and the legends of the Apiru. To put it bluntly …’ Sobeck paused. ‘If Rameses had his way, a savage persecution would be launched. They would not only wipe out any member of the Aten, but anyone who has anything to do with the tribe of Apiru. That includes Djarka, Mert and their child.’