Pentju and I were brought before the Royal Throne. Ankhesenamun indulged in her usual flirtations, leaning forward allowing her gold robe to hang loose, exposing her breasts, the nipples of which were painted silver. She had that questioning, innocent look as if wondering where we had been all this time; she was most effusive, caressing my cheek or patting Pentju’s balding head. Her touch was cool, her perfume the most expensive Egypt could provide, the juice of the blue lotus. She was most solicitous, anxious about our well-being. We both could tell from her eyes that the royal bitch was laughing at us. Tutankhamun, however, was delightful, so pleased to see us he almost forgot court protocol and couldn’t sit still with excitement. He gave each of us a gold collar, and leaned closer so that he could fasten mine round my neck, then he brushed my cheeks with his lips and called me Uncle. Ankhesenamun, meanwhile, sniggered behind her hand.
Ay coughed loudly to remind Tutankhamun of court etiquette. The young Pharaoh recalled himself and tried to keep his face straight, but the effort was useless. He returned to calling me Uncle, saying how much he had missed both me and Pentju, how we must come fishing and fowling with him or, perhaps, take his war chariot out into the eastern desert. He seemed healthy enough, bright-eyed and plump-cheeked, though his body was manifesting some of his father’s characteristics: a slightly pointed chest, broad hips, long fingers and toes, legs, thighs and arms rather thin. He was also experiencing some discomfort when he moved.
Once the audience finished, some of the Royal Circle approached to congratulate us: the usual smiles and handshakes, shoulders being clasped, promises made, invitations issued. They lied to me and I lied to them, but that was the nature of the court. I recalled the old proverb: ‘Put not your trust in Pharaoh, nor your confidence in the war chariots of Egypt.’ I only hoped Pentju would not provoke a confrontation with the Lord Ay.
Later that day there was a great feast in the Silver Hawk Chamber at the other side of the palace. Only members of the Royal Circle were invited. Long tables covered with shimmering Babylonian muslin were placed before each guest, bearing jewel-encrusted goblets and platters of pure silver. Around the room stood great terracotta jars of wine for servants to keep the goblets ever brimmed, whilst others served shellfish sprinkled with spices, fried lotus in a special sauce, and a range of baked meats: antelope, hare, partridge, calf and wild ass. Pyramids of fruits were set before us: grapes, melons, lemons, figs and pomegranates. In the centre of the chamber a small orchestra with harps, drums and other instruments played soft music under the watchful eye of the eunuch who marked time with a reed. A place had been set for Pharaoh and his wife, who were expected to appear later in the proceedings, though they never arrived.
Whilst the rest got drunk, I watched Ay, who seemed distracted as a stream of servants came and went with messages. Eventually agitated, he got up from his table and left. A short while later one of his servants came and whispered to Pentju and me that we should withdraw. He led us hastily along beautiful galleries and passageways, across fragrant gardens and courtyards where fountains supplied their own music. At last we reached the heart of the palace, the Royal Apartments. Ay was waiting for us in the antechamber. Nakhtimin and some of his senior staff were also present. From the chamber beyond I could hear Ankhesenamun weeping loudly.
‘You’ve been given the reason for your return,’ Ay declared. ‘In truth there were two reasons; now you will see the second.’
He snapped his fingers, the great double doors swung open and we followed Ay into a long decorated chamber, poorly lit by oil lamps, with a great open window at the far end. In the centre of the room, dressed only in a loincloth, squatted Tutankhamun, a wooden lion in one hand, a toy antelope in the other. He placed these on the floor, pretending the lion was chasing the antelope. I brushed by Ay and, followed by Pentju, hurried across.
‘My lord.’ I squatted down. ‘What is the matter?’ I sniffed and glanced down: the loincloth was soiled; Tutankhamun had wet himself. ‘My lord,’ I repeated, ‘are you well?’
Tutankhamun lifted the wooden toys and smacked them together. Pentju cursed quietly. Tutankhamun seemed totally unaware of our presence.
‘Gaga.’ He lifted the wooden lion and sucked on it as a baby in a cot would. Pentju began whispering the words of a prayer. I stared in disbelief: the Pharaoh of Egypt, the Lord of Two Lands was not insane, but a helpless baby. I tried to touch him but he flinched, absorbed by the toys in his hands. Footsteps echoed behind me.
‘How long?’ I asked.
‘The attacks are not frequent,’ Ay replied, ‘but when they occur they are intense. High excitement or confrontation seems to cause them. Sometimes he is like this, other times argumentative and very aggressive.’
We waited for an hour before Tutankhamun began to relax and grow heavy-eyed. We let him sleep on the floor, cushions and blankets being brought to make him as comfortable as possible. Ay agreed to meet us in the antechamber. He wanted Nakhtimin to stay but Pentju insisted he leave. I had never seen the physician so cold and so implacable.
I shall never forget that night. The window behind Ay opened on to darkness as deep as that of the Underworld. Not one star, not one blossom of the night could be seen; there was no sound, as if the calls of the birds, the night prowlers and the creatures of the Nile had been silenced. Only three men, seated in a chamber, on the verge of the confrontation both Pentju and I had been praying for.
‘My son?’ Pentju began.
‘The Divine One …’ Ay intervened.
‘He must wait,’ Pentju rasped. ‘My son, the child of the Lady Khiya, you bribed the Mitanni to hand him over.’
‘I don’t …’ flustered Ay.
‘You do,’ Pentju cut in. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Why did you bring him here?’
‘I wanted to discover who he really was,’ Ay retorted.
‘You knew who he was.’
‘He looked so much like his half-brother, the Lord Pharaoh.’ Ay’s voice was kindly, but the look in his eyes was chilling. I realised what he’d intended.
‘Did you?’ I gasped. ‘Yes, you did, didn’t you? You seriously considered replacing one for the other, that’s why you brought him here. They would look so alike! Very few people see Tutankhamun, and only then from afar.’
Ay stared coolly back.
‘You said he looked?’ Pentju kept his voice steady. ‘So he is dead?’
‘He was sturdy,’ Ay replied. ‘A good man, Pentju, intelligent and charming. He died of a fever-’
Pentju lunged forward; I pulled him back.
‘He died of a fever.’ Ay remained calm. ‘You, however, think I murdered him, that I brought him here to be killed, true?’ He played with the ring on his finger. ‘I am a hyaena,’ he confessed. ‘I kill because I have to, because I don’t want to be killed myself.’
‘You hated Khiya,’ Pentju yelled.
Ay shook his head. ‘I did not hate her.’
‘She displaced your daughter.’
‘Nefertiti was a fool,’ Ay snarled. ‘She was arrogant, she really believed she was Pharaoh’s equal. We are responsible for our children, but not for their mistakes. As for you, Pentju, I shall never reveal what I really intended with your son, but I am innocent of his blood. I will take a solemn oath.’