of our temples and our offices of government, but even of our royal palace itself. We wonder how such acts of treachery can possibly have been permitted to come to pass.’
There was a gasp among the audience, for the implication of what Horemheb had said went directly to the heart of the King’s authority.
But Tutankhamun was not perturbed.
‘It is the way of the world that men are vulnerable to disloyalty and to deceit. There are always those who seek power for their own purposes: men of treacherous hearts and seditious minds. But be assured we shall always triumph over these men, for their petty disaffection has no power over our great kingship. The Gods will be avenged upon them all.’
His calm was impressive. He stared unequivocally at Horemheb. The general moved forward again.
‘Words are powers. But actions are still more powerful. We pray for the safety of the King, and remind him that a great army waits, at his disposal, to defend the Two Lands against the enemy that lies within, as well as that which lies without our borders.’
Tutankhamun slowly bowed his elegant head.
‘And in recognition of your loyalty, we commit further resources to the wars, for the support of the divisions, and in the anticipation of great victory. We request our general’s return to those wars, for where should a general be but with his troops as they fight?’
Those present recognized that this moment in his speech required their vociferous support; they cheered, loudly, and so it seemed like a triumph for the King. But the officers of the army stood around the periphery, observing the drama like jackals waiting for a kill, and making the applauding audience look like monkeys.
28
We departed that afternoon. The sky was milky with heat, and the crowds were small and subdued. The currents carried us swiftly beyond the city’s great margins. We had survived the potential dangers of the state visit. Here on this great ship, on the Great River, I felt more in control of the environment. Further north, in the immense marsh-lands of the delta, the river would begin to change, spreading out in numberless branches that would eventually divide and divide again until at last, like a vast, intricate and unnavigable fan, they would run into the ocean to the north. By evening we had moored at a spot chosen for its remoteness from any towns, and even the local villages lay at some distance. We settled down early for the night.
The caravan that set out before dawn the next morning was not a small one. It included a deputation of diplomats, representatives and officials whose function was to be available to the King in case of need, but more importantly to witness and record the King’s deeds, for soon the written statements of his fierce kills and prowess would be commemorated in the carved Scarabs of the Hunts, which would be distributed around the Two Lands. And, of course, the team included uniformed royal guards, outrunners to protect the caravan and charioteers; also armourers who transported the royal weapons, the King’s spears, arrows, nets and shields; the Master of the Hunt and his assistants; the dog and cheetah handlers; then the attendant beaters, and the trackers, whose knowledge of the habits and lairs of the animals would be crucial to the success of the hunt. In the royal caravan, our number included myself and Simut, and Pentu the physician.
The dawn air was cold and pure; the moon was low in the sky, and the stars were just fading. Mist drifted across the shadowy waters, and the first hidden birds began to sing as if to conjure Ra himself with their music. Despite the earliness of the hour, everyone seemed aroused and inspired by the beauty of the scene, as perfect as a great wall painting, and by the prospect of the adventure of the hunt. Horses stamped their feet as they were untethered, and the breath of men and animals plumed in the chilly dark.
The green and black fields were still and silent as our strange cavalcade passed along the rutted ways; and only the earliest of the farmers, and a few wide-eyed, barefooted children arriving at their strips of land before sunrise to take advantage of their water rights, caught a glimpse of the spectacle. They gazed and pointed at us as if at a marvellous dream.
When we came to the margin of the cultivation, we paused. Ahead of us lay the Red Land. I was struck as always by the great silence of its apparent emptiness-holier, for me, than any temple. The sun had just risen about the horizon, and I turned to enjoy the welcome, immediate warmth of its first rays upon my face.
The King stood high on his chariot, and raised his hands to Ra, his God. He was bare-chested, wearing a kilt, and a stole over his shoulder. For a moment his face and body seemed to shine. He held his young lion by its short leather tether, striving for the image of a king, despite his small stature and his golden walking stick. A roar and a long ululation rose up from the hunting teams and the soldiers, a celebration of the start of the hunt, and a shout of warning to the evil spirits of the desert. Then, the moment of ritual accomplished, the King drove his chariot forward, and on this signal we crossed over the eternal border between the Black Lands and the Red.
We followed a course due west, and the rising sun threw the slanted shadows of our marching forms directly ahead of us. The trackers and half of the guard went first, plotting the direction. As we slowly ascended to the desert plateau, the air hummed with heat. The creaking of wooden axles, the occasional stumble of a horse on the loose, gravelly ground, and the panting of the carrying servants and the mules came to me clear and close through the dry air.
We think of the desert as an empty place, but it is not. It is marked and mapped by ancient and newer tracks and by routes worn into the scrub ground by men and animals. As we progressed through the heat of the morning, we encountered occasional drovers and shepherds, those lean and angular nomadic tribesmen who are always on the move; unshaven, their head hair cropped very close to the scalp, their kilts tucked up between their legs, carrying their small rolls of supplies and a few pots on their backs and their long walking sticks in their bony hands as they travel perpetually forward with the same long, languid gait. Their animals, thin and resilient, nibble at whatever they can find, moving at the same slow pace towards some water hole hidden out in the shimmering far places of heat and light.
At times as we progressed through the morning, the trackers cried out, strange high calls like animals or birds, to indicate a sighting: a small herd of desert gazelle or antelope, or ostriches, or caracals, which stood very still, observing us from a safe distance, scenting the wind, and then suddenly vanished in a kicked-up whirl of dust.
As the sun approached its zenith, we stopped to make camp. The trackers found a place which benefited from the protection of a long low bluff to the north-for out here the breeze from that direction at night would be cold, rather than cool-and everyone hurried with practised discipline to their allotted tasks. Quickly a settlement of tents appeared as if out of nowhere. Drills were worked expertly, the sparks quickly blown into flames as the tinder caught; animals were slaughtered; and the rich scent of roasting meat soon filled the desert air. I was hungry. The King sat on his travelling throne, in the luxury of a shady white canopy, fanning himself against the great heat of the day and the flies, and watching the settlement being constructed. Alongside his boxes and his gilded travelling furniture, in this world without walls he looked like a god paying a brief visit to the world. All seemed well.
I walked to the head of the nearest rise to assess the terrain. I shaded my eyes against the harsh glare. In every direction there was nothing to see except the white and grey and red barrenness of the desert, dotted with the occasional tenacious desert bush. I looked back down upon the circle of the encampment. The horses, pack- mules, long-horned sheep and short-haired goats, tethered to thick wooden pegs, were munching on the feed that had been brought along for them. Ducks had been released from their cages, and waddled and pecked furiously at the unpromising desert ground. The hunting dogs and cheetahs, barking and panting in the heat, were kept separate, watched over by their keepers. The tents were all nearly erected, and the King’s had been placed in the very centre of the encampment, for maximum protection. Its golden ball-topped central pole shone in the sun. The hunting chariots stood in a line propped on their stands. It all seemed like a vision of civilization. But when I looked again at the distance in every direction, I absorbed the empty, inhuman vastness of the desert. We were here for pastime and amusement, but our little colourful tents and vehicles looked merely like a child’s toys set out on a boundless wasteland.
Then I saw, far off, a trail of shadow-sticks, figures as tiny as insects, whose path through the wasteland, I realized, would eventually lead to our encampment. Sweating in the glare of the afternoon sun, I hurried back down to the camp, and alerted the guards. Simut came jogging towards me.
