‘What I need, Mahu, is a goblet of wine and a young maid. I am going to make a nuisance of myself until you tell me what those two cruel bastards came here for.’
I told Pentju how they wished me to return to court. I mentioned the House of Envoys and, only the Gods know the reason, I told him about Ay, his dealings with the Mitanni and that strange prisoner Nakhtimin had brought back from the Delta. Pentju sat, all colour draining from his face, mouth open, eyes staring, as if he’d been visited by some horror in the night. Perhaps I’d drunk too much myself, for I pressed on with the story. The goblet slipped from Pentju’s hand and he began to shake like a man in a fit. I called his name, but he stared as if he couldn’t see any more. A strange sound bubbled at the back of his throat. The shock sobered me up. I left the pavilion, shouting for help. When I returned, Pentju was convulsing on the floor, his muscles rigid. He had vomited, and for a moment I thought he was choking. A leech arrived and made sure that Pentju’s throat was clear, then placed a leather wedge between his teeth and shouted for blankets.
I sent a messenger to Sobeck to ask him to hire the best physicians of the mouth, heart, stomach and anus. They diagnosed some fit brought on by a fever of the mind. In truth, like all doctors they were useless. They grabbed my silver and informed me that Pentju should have bed rest and no wine. I could have reached the same conclusion, so I sent them packing through the gate. When Sobeck learned what had happened he just shook his head, whistled under his breath and cursed his spies for failing him. He confessed he knew nothing about what Horemheb and Rameses had told me. At the moment there was little I could do with such information. I was too busy nursing Pentju, as well as curious to discover why my words had provoked such a powerful reaction. Some of the physicians believed Pentju’s ailments were the work of a gesnu — an evil being or demon. I heartily agreed. It was a fitting description for Ay and his Akhmin gang.
The weeks passed. Pentju, deprived of his wine, grew stronger. I teased him: he was a Child of the Kap, he had been trained as a soldier, so despite his fat, he should be as strong as an ox. He was physician enough to diagnose his own condition. He likened it to the shock of a mother who has received the sudden news that her beloved son has died in battle. He cursed all physicians.
‘If you want me to stay healthy,’ he bawled at me, ‘keep those bastards away.’
I was mystified by his comparison of himself to a mother losing her favourite son; I questioned him. One evening Pentju decided to confess, to escape the Tchat, the guilt which soured his spirit. We’d finished a meaclass="underline" strips of roast antelope, tenderised and spiced. He abruptly pushed his food away and started to cry. For a while I let him sob, then he said I must be his chapel priest.
‘You do remember,’ he began, ‘the scurrilous stories that Tutankhamun was my son, not Akenhaten’s?’
‘Yes, but you assured me he was the Pharaoh’s true heir.’
‘I spoke with a true voice: he was and is.’ Pentju sighed. ‘Khiya gave birth to him.’
‘You told me that.’
‘I truly loved her, Mahu, even though I was married. I purged her beautiful body of the poisons Nefertiti kept giving her.’ He paused, sipping at the watered wine. ‘You know how it was in the City of the Aten. Nefertiti ruled like Queen Bee of the hive; her sting was nasty. I had managed to persuade Akenhaten to give Khiya her own house. We were in the city for three years before Akenhaten, tired of Nefertiti’s arrogance, began to show more than a passing interest in his second wife, the little Mitanni princess. Well.’ Pentju blinked. ‘I committed treason. I had intercourse with the Lady Khiya. She became pregnant, she was terrified, so was I. How could we explain it away? She pretended to be ill and withdrew to her own chambers. Only I, the Lady Tahana and her husband knew the truth. The child, a boy, came out of the egg prematurely, sometime between the sixth and seventh month. Nevertheless, he was strong. We hired a wet nurse whom we could trust.’ He paused. ‘Are you surprised?’
‘Yes and no,’ I confessed.
‘It was well known that Khiya and the Lady Tahana were very close. We were terrified. I knew what had happened to Sobeck when he had seduced a concubine, a Royal Ornament, of Amenhotep the Magnificent. He was lucky to be branded and sent to a prison oasis; the concubine was put into a cage and torn to pieces by a wild animal.’ Pentju wiped the spittle from the corner of his mouth. ‘Khiya was terrified for the child and ourselves. She feared Akenhaten’s anger and Nefertiti’s murderous rages even more. She made special sacrifices to Hathor the Golden One and any other God or Goddess she could think of. In the end her prayer was answered. The Lady Tahana concocted a plan: she would adopt the child as her own and return to the land of the Mitanni. They were not Egyptian subjects; they would not need Akenhaten’s permission. She and her husband left when the child was three months old. Khiya’s first pregnancy remained a secret. You know how it was in the City of the Aten. Akenhaten and Nefertiti were bound up with their own affairs. On three occasions whilst Khiya was pregnant, Akenhaten visited her. On the first, her monthly courses had just stopped; that was no problem. On the other two, she feigned sickness, a fever.’ Pentju pulled a face. ‘Being a physician, I could help with the symptoms.’
‘And after the Mitanni took the child away?’
‘Khiya and I were relieved. We took a vow it would never happen again. Her first pregnancy made her even more fertile, so when Akenhaten lay with her she conceived again. I often wondered about the first child, but it was too dangerous to enquire.’
‘So how did Ay find out?’
‘That serpent may have heard something, from a servant, a guide; someone must have talked. It would have been easy for Ay to go through the archives and find out why the Lady Tahana had left so abruptly with a child. At first he was probably too busy because of other crises, but Ay’s a mongoose. He would not rest until he knew the truth. He must have bribed the Mitanni to hand the young man over.’
‘How old must he be?’
‘Somewhere between his eighteenth and nineteenth year. The Mitanni, desperate for Egyptian money and supplies, must have been persuaded. Only the Gods know what story Ay peddled. Perhaps he insinuated that this mysterious individual was his own illegitimate child.’
‘And why would Ay want him?’
‘You know as well as I do, Mahu: the blood feud. Khiya produced an illegitimate child but also gave Pharaoh a living male heir. Nefertiti failed to do that. Worse, the birth of that male heir led to the fatal rift between Akenhaten and Nefertiti. Ay would want vengeance. Khiya had destroyed his beloved daughter; she was the cause of that great Queen’s downfall.’
I sat reflecting on what I’d learned.
‘You don’t have to tell me, Mahu.’ Pentju broke into my reverie. ‘Ay has killed him. Oh, he will give some excuse to the Mitanni about a fever, an illness. Ay knows poison as well as you and I.’ Pentju’s voice broke, and he put his face into his hands. ‘He has killed my son,’ he sobbed. ‘He has murdered the Beloved.’
As Pentju slowly recovered, I could only wonder what to do until the Gods, or the demons, intervened.
During the last few days of the final month of the year, we were summoned to the palace. A royal messenger, carrying his silver wand of office, arrived at our mansion accompanied by six armed Nesu, the bodyguard of Pharaoh. The messenger carried a scroll sealed with the imperial cartouche; he kissed it and broke the seal. The invitation was short and blunt: the Lords Mahu and Pentju were to come before the Tau-Retui, Pharaoh and his Royal Circle, on the sixteenth day of the first month in the season of the sowing. So we did, and it was good to be back in the heart of Thebes, to leave the quayside and move through the suburbs of the poor, past their shabby cottages, avoiding the infected pools and the heaps of reeking rubbish. After the loneliness of exile, even the legions of red-eyed beggars seemed welcoming.