Year of the Hyenas (37 page)

Many of the
words on
the papers were struck through with lines, and other words had been
altered, as if Pawero had toiled to find just the right phrases to use.
“Heaven has hardened its heart against Pharaoh, and the gods have
extended their hand to another—”

Semerket
exhaled. Here
was evidence of treason indeed!

His heart beat
rapidly
as he unfolded the other pieces of paper, all drafts from some larger
document. Though the phrases came to him in a random fashion, cadged
from the pieces of papyrus, he was able to develop a sense of the
document’s entire intent:

…gods have
extended
their hands to the great Prince Pentwere, passing over those ahead of
him…

Semerket’s
breath
caught in his throat; Pawero was attempting to justify the overthrow of
Pharaoh as a directive from the gods. How convenient it must be,
Semerket thought bitterly, to so easily discern heaven’s mandate.

Now we must
flex
our arms in order to snatch Egypt from her violator. He and his minions
will flee like tits and sparrows before the falcon. We shall take back
the gold, silver, and bronze of Egypt, which he has heaped at the feet
of his Asiatic harlot…

“Asiatic
harlot.”
Semerket whispered the words aloud, sensing the wintry influence of
Queen Tiya in them. Pharaoh’s devotion to his northern wife, the
Canaanite Queen Ese, was being singled out by her southern rival as
justification for the rebellion. From this, Semerket inferred that the
letter was probably intended for the heads of the southern families. He
saw how carefully Pawero and Tiya played on old prejudices toward
Egypt’s one-time colonies. And the hypocrisy! At the same time brother
and sister accused Pharaoh of squandering the riches of Egypt on his
foreign-born wife, they themselves rifled the tombs of Egypt’s royal
dead, not even sparing their own ancestors.

All the
gods and
goddesses have manifested their oracles
(Semerket read from another
ball of
crumpled papyrus)
and have pronounced their judgment: Get the people
together! Incite hostilities in order to provoke rebellion against
their lord! Proclaim the new dawn in Egypt!

The final
pieces of
paper revealed a list of some fifty names, which Paser had methodically
annotated. Semerket had no way of knowing if they comprised a list of
conspirators, but it was likely. The names ranged from those of
well-known generals to the overseer of the treasury, from the royal
magician to the keeper of the king’s cattle. Even the names of the two
librarians in the House of Life, Messui and the crook-backed little
Maadje, appeared on the list. Apparently, from the notations next to
their titles, they were responsible for retrieving the forbidden
volumes of magic that were hidden in the House of Life. Semerket,
perhaps more than anyone, could well imagine the kind of harm the queen
intended with the spells found inside the books.

Most of the
names,
however, were minor ones—butlers and cooks and scribes who labored in
the Djamet workshops. At first glance he might have omitted them from
his consideration, but then he realized that though they were not
illustrious or powerful folk, these men were probably the most
dangerous conspirators on the list. They were the “mice,” the little
ones who possessed the attribute of invisibility, able to come and go
from the palace at any hour without being noticed. In all likelihood
they were the ones who smuggled such letters as these to their intended
recipients.

After reading
through
the list a second time, Semerket began to notice another phenomenon he
had not at first apprehended. In the annotations beside the names,
Pawero had systematically marked that such-and-such a person was the
“brother of Pharaoh’s wife of the second class, Hathor,” or that
someone else was the father or uncle of “Pharaoh’s wife of the fourth
class, Ipet,” and so forth. In fact the term “Pharaoh’s wife” occurred
so frequently on the list that Semerket suddenly comprehended that if
these were indeed the names of the conspirators, then the plot must
have been hatched in Pharaoh’s harem itself!

It was
apparent, then,
that not just Tiya but all of Pharaoh’s southern wives were behind the
conspiracy. He suddenly felt the chill lagoon waters on his skin,
remembering what Tiya had said as he lurked beneath her skiff… what was
it? “I shall await Pharaoh’s pleasure in the harem…”

The truth
smote him
like an axe: Pharaoh’s murder would be attempted in the last possible
place anyone would think to look— where not even the king’s personal
guards dared follow. It was clear to him, as well, that Tiya meant to
accomplish the deed herself. The lioness was ready to spring once
again. This time, however, an eagle was her prey.

He shook his
head in
dismay. He knew that he should not be surprised—there had been a
precedent, after all. Tiya’s grandmother Twos-re had slain her own
husband, and for the same reason.

Carefully
Semerket
folded the bits of paper and hid them in his sash. He slipped from the
chapel, silently retracing his steps to the curtained doorway that led
into the outer hall. His next task, he knew, was to find the crown
prince and remove him to safety. Above all, the proper succession in
Egypt must be guaranteed. Pentwere would never be proclaimed king as
long as the crown prince was alive. More than even the safety of
Pharaoh himself, the survival of his heir was paramount.

Semerket sped
along
the black tiles of Djamet, rushing through the many-columned halls
whose blue roofs were spangled with golden stars. Though the winds had
become calmer, Semerket glimpsed through the open courtyards the dank
gray ridge of clouds that had moved in over the Nile valley. Servants
were still at work, cleaning up the debris left from the winds.
Occasionally, they gave him a stricken glance as he sped by, shocked by
his bloodstained forehead and muddy kilt. Fortunately, none challenged
him. Semerket noticed for the first time that his vizier’s badge was
missing—probably at the bottom of the lagoon, he assumed glumly, lost
during his watery struggle with Assai. He prayed that no one would stop
him.

Where to find
the
crown prince? The acres of the temple complex were a warren of offices
and workshops, storage bins and grain silos. So huge was it that it was
boasted that the entire population of Western Thebes could crowd within
it in times of war. The prince might be anywhere in such a place.
Semerket emerged from a side door into the temple grounds, uncertain
where to turn. He had gone no more than a furlong before he heard a cry.

“Semerket!”

At the far end
of the
courtyard he saw two men furiously waving to him. Semerket goggled at
them, amazed.

“Nenry,” he
said
faintly. “Qar!”

His brother
and the
Medjay ran to him. “Semerket—thank the gods you’re alive,” Nenry said.
But then he stared aghast at his brother, at his slashed forehead and
fouled appearance. “You
are
alive, aren’t you…?”

“You knew I
was in
danger?”

Nenry nodded.
“When I
discovered that the queen planned your death today,” Nenry said, “I
rushed across the river to save you.”

“Save
me
?” Semerket looked at
his brother with an odd expression.

Nenry nodded
again.

“Well, why
not?”
Semerket said after a moment. “It’s the second time you’ve done it.”

The brothers
stood for
a moment, tongue-tied and awkward, unable to speak. Semerket glanced
over his brother’s shoulder at the Medjay.

“There are
many things
you both should know,” he said.

THEY WALKED SWIFTLYthrough Djamet
Temple’s compound. Above, the slate-colored clouds lent a frail
piquancy to the remaining sunlight. Nenry, flashing his emblem of
office, asked one of the temple guards where they might find Prince
Ramses. They were directed to a small rear building where two soldiers
stood guard. Nenry, suddenly quaking, asked if he and his associates
might be announced to the crown prince “on a matter of some urgency.” A
moment later they were ushered inside.

The prince was
making
notes upon a papyrus at a wooden table. Scrolls were piled high around
him, while models of temples and civic buildings crowded the small room
still further. The brawny Libyan bodyguard stood behind the prince,
just as he had in the House of Life, arms folded.

As before,
Prince
Ramses wore no wig or insignia, and his garments were ink-stained. He
coughed slightly, bringing a kerchief to his lips. As they entered, he
squinted shortsightedly at them and rose to his feet.

“Majesty,”
began
Semerket, kneeling, “I doubt if you remember me—”

“I do. You’re
Semerket, the one who sought to know more about Queen Twos-re. Have you
found what you needed?”

“More than I
cared
to,” said Semerket grimly.

The crown
prince did
not question the meaning of his words, looking instead at Semerket’s
companions. “Who are these friends of yours?”

His brother
and the
Medjay had also knelt. “This is Qar, a Medjay who guards the Great
Place—and this is my brother, who is… was Mayor Paser’s chief scribe.”

“They are
welcome. But
what is so urgent, Semerket, that you must see me immediately?”

Semerket crept
forward. “Highness, there is a plot against you and your father. You
are in much danger.”

The crown
prince sat
back down at the table, astonished, and began to unconsciously roll up
a scroll. The Libyan bodyguard seized his armor and without comment
began strapping it to himself.

“Queen Tiya,”
Semerket
continued, “has used black magic and treasure stolen from the tombs in
the Great Place to make your half-brother Pentwere the new pharaoh. It
is not a small plot, Majesty. I’ve come across this list made by Mayor
Pawero—there are more than fifty names on it.”

Semerket
fished the
folded papyri from his sash and handed them to the prince. Ramses
brought them close to his eyes as he read the documents, slowly, one
after another. When he was finished, his face was paler than before.

“But… but am I
still
the crown prince?” Prince Ramses asked in a small voice.

“We pledge our
lives,”
Qar said.

The prince put
a hand
to his forehead, the full import of the plot becoming clear to him. “My
father!” he said abruptly. “I must go to him! If he’s in danger—”

“No, Majesty,
you must
not,” Semerket said firmly. “It’s not safe in Djamet. We believe that
some members of the army have gone over to the traitors. You must go
into hiding until we know who’s loyal to you.”

“That is
cowardly.”

“But
sensible.” Qar
said adamantly. “Others must fight for you now, Highness. And you must
stay alive so they have something to fight
for
.”

The crown
prince rose
and paced to the doorway. “But if it’s true, all of this, where in
Thebes
will
I be safe? I’d rather
take my chances here, with my father.”

Ramses had
asked the
one question for which they had prepared no answer.

“There is one
place I
know,” Semerket said reluctantly, “and an army for us, too… if we dare
use it.”

They stared at
him.

Semerket
looked at the
prince. “Your majesty,” he asked, “can you make this sign with your
hand?”

Semerket held
up his
fingers and formed the secret sign of the Beggar Kingdom.

THEBEGGARKINGspoke privately with Semerket. Nenry,
Qar, the crown prince, and his Libyan guard waited at the rear of the
room. Nenry cast his eyes over the place, examining its crumbling walls
and bizarre ornaments. Strange as the old Hyksos temple was, however,
stranger still was the legless man in his miniature chariot, with his
stained robes and battered crown of acanthus leaves, the one who now
spoke to his brother.

Semerket never
ceased
to amaze him. How did he even know such ruffians? Nenry cast a
surreptitious glance at Prince Ramses, who seemed unperturbed to be in
such bizarre surroundings, amid such odd people. But then, reasoned
Nenry to himself, the prince must be inured to meeting strange
personages, everyone from foreign ambassadors to professional
assassins. A lifetime at court prepared one to be fazed by nothing.
Unconsciously, Nenry straightened his shoulders and made his features
as blandly unassuming as the prince’s.

But Nenry
flinched
when the Beggar King muttered a surprised “Hmmph!” at something
Semerket whispered to him. From his chariot, the king peered closely at
the crown prince, running his redrimmed eyes over Ramses in cold
appraisal. Then the Beggar King inclined his head to him, one potentate
to another. The crown prince nodded as well.

“Yousef!” the
Beggar
King shouted suddenly.

The tallest
man Nenry
had ever seen entered the room. The giant and the prince’s Libyan
bodyguard eyed one another uneasily.

“Bring a chair
for His
Majesty—
the
crown prince
!” The Beggar King raised his eyebrows at Yousef
significantly. Prince Ramses sat gratefully in the proffered chair,
taking out his kerchief to wipe his face.

The Beggar
King drove
his chariot to where the crown prince sat. “Semerket was prudent to
bring the son of Pharaoh to us. You will be well protected here.”

“Thank you,”
said the
prince, remembering to add “Your Majesty.” All the way from Djamet,
Semerket had attempted to prepare his companions for the surreal
spectacle that now confronted them; in particular, he had stressed the
Beggar King’s wish to be addressed as a fellow monarch.

The Beggar
King laid
his whip again on the ram, and moved his chariot to where the Libyan
stood. “Is this Your Majesty’s bodyguard?”