Testament, page 16
‘Honoured guests!’
The voice echoed off the white walls as a figure lumbered into the shadowed chamber. The man was fat, his belly stretching the jewelled robe he had chosen for this occasion, and his arms and legs were short. His jowls wobbled as he moved and his green malachite eyeshadow appeared to have been hastily applied, as if the new arrivals had taken him by surprise.
A gaggle of servants and scribes, and a musician plucking a lyre, swept into the entrance hall in his wake.
‘Welcome, welcome to the glory of the great capital of Lower Egypt,’ the man said, throwing his arms wide. ‘I am Zahur, the governor. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival to discuss what lies ahead for the Lower Kingdom.’
‘I am Lord Harrar, envoy from the Upper Kingdom,’ Harrar replied in a high-pitched tone that sounded even more haughty than usual. ‘The power of the Pharaoh is vested in me, and I have been sent to commence the discussions that will bring the two halves of Egypt together.’
‘Greetings! This moment has been eagerly anticipated. You bring with you hope for better days. As you have seen on your journey from the Upper Kingdom, we exist in misery. The Hyksos looted everything they could carry when they fled back to their homeland. I have, of course, done everything within my power to keep Memphis functioning, but after the siege, and the bloodshed, and the barbarians stealing everything of value they could lay their hands on . . . And trade has collapsed, and we are short of even the most common goods. We have prayed to the gods and they have sent you to save us.’
He was babbling. Piay looked the governor up and down. He liked to give every man a chance, but there was something here that left a bad taste in his mouth. He’d seen Zahur’s kind before, during the long years of occupation: weak, greedy, corrupt men who were prepared to do anything to advance their own self-interest. They were governors who had no skill in governing, merely a knack for dragging more taxes out of the poorest citizens and then skimming a little off the top for their own comforts.
The Hyksos could not have survived so long as masters without this breed. For now, the new pharaoh would need Zahur, but surely, Piay thought, Harrar would have this leech replaced as soon as he had outlived his usefulness.
‘There is much work to do,’ Harrar began, clearly as irritated by the man’s chatter as Piay.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Zahur interrupted, ‘but first you must get to know this great city and its people. You will find much magic here, my good friends, seeping from the very stones that were first placed upon this land when the world was young.’
Zahur clapped his hands and the musician began to draw a lilting song from his instrument. As if from nowhere, three female dancers appeared and swayed around the room, throwing handfuls of petals across the floor.
Trying to curry favour, Piay thought, watching anxiously as the governor’s gaze danced from face to face.
The governor was clearly unnerved by the thought that he might be removed.
How far would a man like Zahur go to keep power? Piay wondered.
‘Your slave may dance, too,’ Zahur said.
Piay flinched when he realised the governor meant Myssa.
‘Myssa is a free woman,’ Piay snapped, ‘and a wise advisor. It would be in your interest to stay on her good side.’
‘My apologies, my apologies.’ Zahur bowed again, deeper this time, so that he came up wheezing. Seeking to distract attention from the awkward moment, he clapped his hands again to stop the music and the dancing. ‘Let me show you the wonders of Memphis,’ he boomed, his voice echoing off the walls as the slave girls hurried back to wherever they had sprung from.
‘H
ave you seen the way they look at Zahur?’ Hannu whispered, as alert as ever to even the slightest hint of danger.
Piay turned his attention to the men and women who had ventured out into the street to watch the passing cavalcade. Zahur was perched on an ornate golden chair that sat on a frame carried by eight muscular slaves, his delicate skin protected by a white linen sunshade. His lyre player had been joined by musicians with a flute, a shaker and a drum, and their strident music rang off the walls of the buildings along the street. Ahead of him, his female slaves continued to throw handfuls of flowers across his path. Twenty of his well-fed guardsmen marched on either side of the slaves who carried his chair.
It was a grand display that would usually have been reserved for a king, not a governor, but Zahur revelled in this show of pomp and majesty. With his chest puffed out, he waved his hand to those he passed, as if he was the most beloved of leaders.
Instead, Piay saw scowls. Some people waved fists or spat, but there were no smiles, no hint of joy. A few brave souls shouted out their contempt, but they remained at the back of the crowds where they would not be seen. Now Piay understood why Zahur had insisted on so many soldiers accompanying this procession through the streets of Memphis. Some of these citizens looked as if they would happily drag Zahur from his chair and slit his throat.
‘This is what happens when whipped dogs see that their master has lost his whip,’ Hannu murmured.
Myssa leaned in. ‘Harrar will have to tread carefully. If the people see us as allies of Zahur, we will become their enemies, too. That will make our task even harder.’
Harrar was seated in a slightly less ostentatious version of Zahur’s palanquin, also borne on the shoulders of slaves. A dozen men of the Blue Crocodile Guards walked on either side of him. As ever, the nobleman was leaving nothing to chance when it came to his own safety.
As they progressed, the crowd thickened, the raised voices becoming a constant rumble. Hannu’s hand slipped to the hilt of his sword.
‘If this carries on, we may have a fight on our hands.’
Zahur, too, must have sensed the mounting threat, for he barked an order and the slaves turned his chair towards twin stone pillars. At the base they were painted with the crossed symbol of the mallet and chisel, and halfway up their length the all-seeing eye stared back at visitors. Beyond them was a large courtyard and beyond that, the white stone of the city’s great temple soared up against the azure sky. A doorway the height of three men led into the cool, dark interior.
‘The Temple of Ptah,’ Zahur called to his guests.
As if in response to his announcement, three priests emerged from the shadows of the entrance. They were shaven-headed and wore white robes with a single strap over one shoulder.
The slaves set Zahur’s litter down and he heaved himself to his feet. Bowing his head, he intoned, ‘Great Ptah, husband of Sekhmet and father of Nefertem. Ptah, who blesses craftsmen and architects, who has always held Memphis under his protection.’ He turned back to his guests. ‘Come! Make an offering with me! Let great Ptah bless your mission in the Lower Kingdom.’
Piay marched along with the others into the temple precinct. Then he glanced back. The crowd heaved just beyond the gateway. Though no one ventured into the sacred compound, dark eyes glared.
‘This can’t go on,’ Myssa said. ‘The people are hungry – it’s obvious just looking at them. They’ll never forgive Zahur if he doesn’t look after them now.’
They followed Zahur, Harrar and the priests into the temple. The vast, windowless hall was lit by lamps placed at intervals along the walls. As the air currents shifted, shadows swooped.
At the far end, the statue of Ptah loomed. Here he was in mummy form, with a skullcap and a short, straight beard. Zahur grabbed two flowers from one of his slaves and handed one to Harrar. He shuffled forward and placed the offering on the floor in front of the god. Harrar did the same, bowing his head and muttering some words that no one could hear.
Once they were done, Zahur turned and called in a disrespectfully loud voice, ‘Here! See here!’
He pointed to a much smaller statue of a man in robes, pressing a large scroll to his chest.
‘If you are ever to understand Memphis, you must understand this,’ he said, raising a trembling hand to the wise alabaster features. ‘This is the great sage Imhotep, the son of Ptah and the One Who Comes in Peace. Even in the Upper Kingdom you must have heard that name.’
Piay stared in silence at the face of the statue. It was serene, but with a mysterious expression that he could not quite read.
Zahur took Piay’s lack of response for ignorance and said, ‘Ah, then this day your life will be enriched. Imhotep was the wisest of the wise. Indeed, a man so wise, he could see far into days yet to come. Magic, perhaps. Some say it was. Or perhaps the gods merely blessed him with far sight.
‘I have heard much of you, too, great Lord Harrar,’ Zahur added fawningly, turning to the Pharaoh’s representative, ‘and to my mind you have all the wisdom of Imhotep. Perhaps the gods have even blessed you with his spirit. Your name will ring out across the years, as Imhotep’s has. I have no doubt of it.’
Harrar was a man easily moved by flattery. He nodded and smiled.
Piay jolted as an elbow jabbed him in the ribs. Hannu was wagging a finger towards an alcove that they had not noticed when they entered. One lamp now lit a portion of the chamber that lay beyond. Piay squinted in the gloom. A great beast seemed to be hunched there.
‘The bull,’ Hannu breathed.
Piay strode across the temple to the entrance to the alcove. Hannu was right. A statue of a bull was the only object in the space. The creature’s head was lowered and its front hooves splayed as if it was about to attack, just like the tattoos they had seen on the chests of the Sons of Apis.
‘The Bull of Apis,’ Zahur said at his shoulder. ‘I can understand how this caught your eye. Such power. You could almost think it alive.’
‘The Bull of Apis,’ Piay repeated, thoughtfully.
‘The Keeper of Mystery,’ Zahur said. ‘The living manifestation of Ptah. You should make an offering at the Temple of Apis, not far from here, where the great bull himself resides. He is an oracle, reincarnated many times, who can guide your path in uncertain times.’
Hannu folded his arms and looked at the bull.
‘I don’t like secrets,’ he muttered to no one in particular. ‘I don’t like surprises and I don’t like mysteries. They’ve all got a habit of biting you in the arse.’
A
s dusk crept over Memphis, Piay stepped to the window of his chamber in the palace and watched the lamps flickering across the city. He felt his heart slow as he heard the soothing music of mothers singing to their babes drifting on the breeze.
Looking down into the gardens, he could see Zahur’s personal guard patrolling between the sycamore trees. The Blue Crocodile Guards were on watch inside the palace, but would they be enough to keep danger at bay if the people of Memphis finally rose up against Zahur, or the Sons of Apis came looking for the Eye?
And then there was Akkan the Child-Killer. If he was anything like as dangerous as Sakir then he would be a fearsome enemy indeed. He might have vanished, but it would only be so that he could reappear all the stronger.
Piay was not afraid of Akkan or the Sons of Apis, but the state of Memphis and its people bothered him. His task was hard enough without having to worry about a city in crisis.
I need to be out there, he told himself, as he looked over the city. And I need someone to watch my back.
Soon afterwards, Piay and Hannu slipped out of the palace gates and into the darkening night. They made their way along the streets of the age-old city, past the clusters of old men moving their pawns across the narrow boards on which they played torchlit games of senet, which mimicked the path of their souls to the afterlife.
Here and there, merchants were still bartering over their wares, and the women whose trade was immune to changes of kings and dynasties leaned against the doors of their brothels, beckoning any passing man to come inside.
In one of the taverns, Piay and Hannu sipped cups of beer and cast discreet glances at the men around them. Eventually they identified the ones drunk enough to engage in conversation without too many questions being asked.
The first three men they approached were just about willing to whisper their dislike of Zahur, having first looked around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, but they didn’t give any sense of an uprising in the offing. And they certainly hadn’t heard anything about men with tattoos or a Hyksos warrior who’d sold his soul to Seth.
The fourth man was a lot more useful. He was a mason, working hard to repair the damage inflicted on the city during the siege. Already deep in his cups, he babbled easily, waving a hand still white with stone dust. After a rambling discussion about the shortage of limestone from the quarries, Piay said, ‘We’ve heard tell that there are still Hyksos men roaming near the city, preying on travellers.’
‘True, true,’ the mason slurred. He leaned in to a conspiratorial clutch and said with a blast of fruity breath, ‘And they’re led by a demon.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Piay asked, wondering which of the possible demon-men the man had in mind.
‘The travellers he robs are skinned alive and left to die in the heat of the desert sun. Men. Women. Children. This is no lie. I heard it from one who found the bodies. Life means nothing to him, only death, and he kills in honour of Seth, so they say. If you see his face, you will never survive.’
‘Do you know this demon’s name?’ Hannu asked.
The mason shook his head. ‘No one has lived to tell it.’
This description could fit either of the sons of Abisha of Uru-Salim.
‘Does he ever venture into the city?’
‘No, this demon lives in the desert waste where he can be close to his god.’
‘A fine story,’ Hannu said with a nod. ‘I will make sure never to go wandering in the desert around Memphis.’
‘A good decision,’ the mason said, raising his cup to his lips.
‘I’ve heard about another band,’ Piay said. ‘Men covered in black tattoos with faces like skulls.’
The mason said nothing, but his face darkened.
‘Have you heard of them?’ Piay asked.
Their new friend shook his head. When Piay pressed once more, the mason drained his cup, mumbled an excuse and walked away.
‘The Sons of Apis have made their presence known here,’ Hannu grunted.
‘So, there’s no safe place in Memphis, then.’ Piay chewed on his lip. ‘Which means that there’s no time to waste. Sooner or later they’ll come for us, however many guards we have.’
‘W
e have a lot of work to do and we need to begin immediately.’ Piay stared into the face of the governor, who seemed baffled by his display of eagerness. ‘I have strict instructions from my master, Taita, about what needs to be done here.’
Nearby, Harrar perched like a bird on a cushion, popping plump olives into his mouth. Hannu leaned against a wall, his arms folded, while Myssa waited at Piay’s elbow in case he needed to draw on her store of knowledge.
‘Yes, yes, much work to be done,’ Zahur burbled.
Piay drew in a steadying breath. ‘The great monuments are the symbols of the Egypt that was once and will be again. They must be returned to their former glory, to inspire the people and to show visitors to our land that Egypt is once more a power to be reckoned with in the world.’
Zahur wrung his hands together and bowed his head, pretending to let tears flow. There seemed little honesty in any of his emotions, Piay thought.
‘Truly, the condition of the ancient remains is parlous indeed,’ Zahur said. ‘The Sphinx, that great, wise lion, lies all but buried in the shifting sand. Even the pyramids themselves have every one been looted and left to crumble.’
‘They must be repaired,’ Piay stressed. ‘That is one of our main tasks here.’
Zahur shook his head. ‘The cost—’
‘You must have something in your vault.’
‘All looted. The barbarians and the Spartans—’ Zahur caught his tongue and bowed. ‘Our happiness overflowed at the chance to offer any small gift we could in thanks for our liberation. But now, what little tax revenue we raise goes to keep the city alive – though barely.’
Zahur’s eyes flickered furtively around the works of art that adorned the walls of the chamber.
‘We cannot tax any more than we do,’ he said, forcing what he no doubt thought was a disarming smile. ‘The people will not bear it.’
‘The monuments are not the real issue.’ Harrar’s voice cut through the sunlit chamber. ‘The first priority is to get this city back on its feet. We must restore the rule of law and clamp down on criminality. Without those things, Memphis is doomed. With them, trade can be restored, wealth will flow, and the people will enjoy a life here that has not been dreamed of in an age.’
‘My lord . . . Governor . . .’ Piay persisted. ‘I remain under orders to inspect the monuments to see what work must be carried out on them. My intention is first to examine the pyramid of the Pharaoh Djoser, which remains a testament to the greatness of Imhotep.’
Zahur had been greatly cheered by Harrar’s image of a rich, peaceful Memphis, particularly since he had not heard anything to suggest that he would not still be ruling it.
‘The Djoser pyramid, you say . . .? Yes, very good. In the Saqqara necropolis. North-west of the city. I will make the arrangements.’
Zahur waddled away and Piay followed with Hannu and Myssa before Harrar could find some way to interfere in their plans.
‘We’ll need to take the Blue Crocodile Guards along to keep watch on us,’ Piay said.
‘I’ll have a word with their officer,’ Hannu replied.
‘And Shamshi?’ Myssa asked. ‘Is this his moment of reckoning?’
Piay thought he heard a note of sadness in her voice. For all that he was a barbarian, she liked Shamshi’s good humour and his wit, he was sure of it.
‘His last chance to reveal what he knows, or he dies,’ Piay said.
Leaving the others to return to their chambers, Piay had just stepped out into the gardens when he heard a cry rising up from the direction of the gate. He raced towards it to find four men of the Blue Crocodile Guards dragging Shamshi back into the palace compound. His face was bruised and blood caked the corner of his mouth, but he was grinning.
