The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh (48 page)

“What manner of man?” I asked, my heart cold within me.

“A N-Nubian,” he told me. “A tall Nubian with big shoulders. He had the bearing of a soldier. And a bag of gold.”

I closed my eyes. It could have been Khani, I thought. He had returned from the North by the time of the festival. He could have made plans to lead a great campaign himself. Soldiers who return from foreign fields bringing ample wheat will earn the adulation of the populace, there can be no doubt about that. He who led them would be able to do exactly what he wished. The situation required deep and careful thought.

“The drowned man is to be fed to the crocodiles,” I told Hapuseneb. “This sorry priest shall hang head downwards from the walls of Thebes …”

The man gave a fearful shriek.

“… since he knew of a plot that affected the security of the kingdom and he did not speak. You are dismissed.”

I ordered a sedan chair to take me to the palace, where I lay down on my day-bed on the portico. I allowed my ladies-in-waiting to minister to my headache and then sent them away, for I was in great need of privacy. The report of the Nubian who had bribed the priest disturbed me greatly and I mulled over it. The one who told this tale could be a liar. He could have been himself bribed or intimidated by Hapuseneb. Or the tale could be true, but the guilty person need not have been Khani. I was sorely troubled by the possibility. It seemed to me that I could see his face as he stood before me, bringing me information as he so often had. Was that the face of treachery? Were those eyes that have always held my gaze so steadily the eyes of one who wished me dead?

Suddenly I was overcome with grief. Tears poured from my eyes as if welling up from some deep fountain of sadness. I wept for my good friend who, I feared, had turned on me. The evidence against him was mounting up.

A miserable night I had of it. At first sleep would not come, and it seemed to me that I could not breathe in the stifling darkness. Shortly after I retired, a strange sound assailed my ears. It was a fierce, sustained growling, and it made the hair on my neck stand on end. For one wild moment I imagined monsters. Then I saw, in the faint light of the small oil lamp that always burns beside my bed, that it was Sekhmet. She was prowling my bed-chamber with a bird clamped in her jaws. Catching a bird brings out the lion in her. She took her booty under my bed and proceeded to devour it. Faint peeps suggested that at first it yet lived; but soon only the crack and crunch of bones could be heard. I found it hateful yet oddly fascinating to listen to. It was impossible to sleep while that went on. I hate it when she catches birds. It is within the natural order of things for her to catch mice and rats, and even the occasional lizard. But it always seems to me that cats ought not to prey on birds.

Finally she was done. She emerged from under the bed, jumped onto my bed and washed herself delicately, licking her paws and fastidiously grooming her muzzle and then her ears.

“What has become of Bastet?” I asked her. My other pet disappeared some days ago and has not been seen since. I would not be surprised if Sekhmet chased her away.

Sated, Sekhmet curled up at my feet and went to sleep. But sleep eluded me until the small hours. Then at last my eyes closed in utter weariness, but it was not restful, for I had a dream – indeed, a vision – that chilled my heart. In my dream I stood in the Grand Audience Chamber of my main palace at Thebes, but not on the raised dais where I am wont to sit. Instead I stood amid the press of common people who were awaiting an audience with the Pharaoh. I could see the throne up on the dais, but it was empty. On it lay a bunch of flowers, indicating that the previous Pharaoh had died and the Double Throne awaited a new incumbent.

Then a figure appeared on the dais and a thundering cheer went up. This figure was a tall male person, and although his face was indistinct I could tell that it was a Nubian. He removed the flowers from the throne and threw them away as if in disgust. Then he majestically took his place upon the throne. I saw that he held the crook and flail, and the Double Crown was upon his head.

Still I could not clearly see his face. I moved forwards, the press of people parting to let me through. I must see who this person is, I thought, this imposter, this usurper, who has the temerity to sit in my place. I shall order him to be thrown out and the worst possible punishment shall be his fate. He shall be executed and fed to the crocodiles. He shall not live. His Ka shall suffer for all eternity in the Netherworld and Ammit shall devour his heart. I called for the Royal Guards, but I found that I could not utter a word.

Who was it? I feared that I knew, but I strove to see clearly to exclude all doubt. I approached the dais, and I was all but certain that it was Khani. As I mounted the steps leading up to it the figure on the throne seemed to shimmer, dissolve and coalesce into a new shape. Where a man had sat there was now a snake, its scaly black body curled upon the seat, gleaming as if coated with oil, its narrow head rearing up and back, forked tongue flickering, poised and ready to strike. Fear turned my bowels to water but I stood my ground.

Apophis, I thought. Companion of Seth, the destroyer. The enemy of men and gods. He who lies in wait for the solar barque of the sun god as it travels through the nether regions. Yet once he had spared me for my destiny. So, Apophis, I thought, have you come for me at last? But I refuse to bow to you. I faced a live cobra at my coronation. I shall face you down also. I am the Pharaoh of the Black Land and none but I shall sit upon the Double Throne. The voice I had heard so often in my dreams spoke to me again:
Kill him for Khemet! Kill him for Khemet!
And now at last I knew whose voice it was. It was my own. It was my heart speaking to me.

When I awoke, it was as if the dream had made matters clear to me. All my life I have trusted in dreams and visions. I have had a warning and I must heed it. Above all, no person from the wretched Kush shall govern Khemet. There shall be no black Pharaoh upon the Double Throne.

The sky is a bleached blue and a searing wind has begun to blow. It is now obvious that evil walks abroad in the Black Land. The wind that burns all growing things and strips the soil from the hard-baked ground is the foul breath of Seth. Aye, Seth and his devils are casting a blight on Khemet and they must be fought with all the might of Osiris, Isis and the great god Amen-Ra. The Living Horus must rise up and smite the enemies of Egypt who gather and plot and breed in the darkness. Now must the Son of Light be resolute.

My heart aches for the brave young prince whose cause I once espoused when his life was forfeit. One who became my friend, one who has served me well. One who has loved me – truly, I believe it – and whom I have loved as a brother. Is it possible that pressure has been put on him? He still has ties of blood and no doubt loyalty to a foreign land, a vassal state. They may well be stronger bonds than those of gratitude, friendship or fealty. Certainly there are rebellious men of power among the Nubians who hate Egypt and who desire to destroy us. Perhaps they have had a directing hand in this.

Or perhaps not. Men go to the crocodiles of their own accord. The Double Crown is a glittering prize, for which all things might be sacrificed. Driven by ambition, what would Khani not do? Where would he stop? Not at regicide, it seems. Deeply as it grieves me, I must conclude that in the final analysis, he too is nothing but a foul barbarian.

And as for me, when it comes down to a choice weighted by the throne of Khemet on the one side there can be no doubt of where my interest lies. More than my interest – my sacred duty. I have been invested with the Double Crown. The God my heavenly father blessed me when I was anointed and became myself a god. I am his heir to whom he gave birth. The Divine Light placed me upon the earth of living mortals to reign wisely over this land.

It is clear to me what I must do. I have sent for Ibana.

Here endeth the twenty-seventh scroll.                      

This is terrible. Ahmose had a tale to tell when we met as usual yesterday that convinced me of dire treachery – but the guilty parties are other than he whom Her Majesty suspects. I must beg immediate audience to inform the Pharaoh before something dreadful is done. I tried to see Her Majesty early this morning, but I was told that she had gone to the temple and would not be in the audience chamber at all today. I shall try to gain entry to the palace where she rests in the afternoon. I must see her, I must.

There are conflicting claims and accusations involved, but I am sure that Her Majesty will understand at once that Ahmose has no reason to lie, while those who have told her another tale have strong motivation to create their own version of actions and events.

This is what happened after I left Her Majesty’s office with her most recently written scroll. Ahmose awaited me at the tavern where we meet. When I sat down opposite him at the small table, his crooked face was grave. Before he began to talk to me, he peered around very carefully, to be sure that none listened. But it was a quiet time of day and there were not many other customers; those who there were sat far enough away. Yet he leaned forward and spoke very low. Ahmose is often called in by Hapuseneb to act as scribe when matters pertaining to the records of food stores are at issue. So he has every opportunity to glean items of interest to pass on to me.

“The Grand Vizier sent for me yesterday,” he told me. “Several scribes have been called in to help plan the distribution of food to the people. You know that already hunger stalks the land.”

“I know,” I said. “It is frightening.”

“Well, yesterday, when the rest of the scribes left, I lingered for a few moments because I was to take a missive to the leader of the Party of Legitimacy. Hapuseneb wrote it as I waited. Then, just as I was leaving, a closed sedan chair arrived with a visitor. I saw them set him down before the gate and he entered without seeing me, for I drew back behind a pillar.” He paused. He likes to be dramatic.

“Well? Who was it?”

“It was the Great Commander,” he told me.

“Thutmose?”

“Shhhh. Do not speak the name. Yes, it was he. Aha, I thought, this is an interesting development. What could those two have to speak of? And why did he come unattended? Usually he has quite an entourage.”

I nodded. The Great Commander has a considerable sense of his own importance and normally travels with several guards and slaves.

“So, I thought it might be advisable to linger a little longer. I was outside on the portico, so I slipped around to the side where a window to Hapuseneb’s office stood open. There were palms in pots, and I could crouch down and approach close enough to hear without being seen. I crept nearer on all fours.” He chewed another date.

“I have no doubt that you heard something of note,” I said, “and that you will tell me in your own good time.”

His crooked grin was a grimace. “You cannot imagine what I heard,” he said, his voice so low that I had to lean forwards and listen carefully.

“They are plotting to do her harm,” he said.

“What! To do harm … you mean, to the Pha …”

“Shhhh! Do not speak it.”

“Are we speaking of murder?” I whispered, aghast.

“Maybe … not quite that. But evil spells are being cast. Dark magic. They want her to fall ill. Perhaps they are hoping that if she feels weak enough, she will abdicate.”

“She has been very tired of late,” I said. “She does not complain to me, of course, but it is clear to an observer who sees her often that she is not well. But what …”

“They were using wax figurines. You know how it is done.”

“Yes, I do know. How did you find out?”

“I crept right up to the window,” he said, “and I peeped in, and I saw the little figurines on the table. With sharp needles stuck into them. I heard Hapuseneb chanting incantations. He would not do such things in the temple, of course.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” I was cold with dread. These actions boded nothing but ill for the Black Land, and for Her Majesty. Then I added: “But you said figurines, not just a figurine? There were more than one?”

“Two,” he said. “The one was much taller than the other, and black.”

I stared at him. “Khani,” I whispered.

“Shhhh. Yes. And you know, it is said that the wound he suffered on his recent campaign festered badly and he is not yet properly recovered from it.”

“He supports Her Majesty,” I said. “He is probably her most loyal supporter. If he fails her … Oh dear, oh dear, what are we to do?”