ill-effects whatsoever, and asked for more.’
‘Children are not sentimental. Or perhaps they are taught to become so because we cannot bear their honesty. Or their cruelty.’
‘Were you taught to be sentimental?’
‘I was raised in a palace, not a home. My mother was taken away from me, my father was remote as a statue. My companions were a wet nurse and a monkey. Is it surprising I gave my love to animals? At least I knew they loved me, and I could trust their love.’
And he gently fed some of the meat to his monkey, then delicately washed his fingers in the bowl.
But we were interrupted, at that moment, by a shadow that appeared on the linen walls at the entrance to the tent. I let my hand fall to grasp the hilt of the dagger hidden in my robe. The firelight outside made the shadow seem larger than life as it approached. The King called out permission to enter. It was his personal assistant. He carried a tray of freshly baked honey cakes, and a dish of the honeycomb. The King’s eyes lit up with delight. The assistant bowed and placed the tray before us. The cook must have decided to make a special treat for the King’s hunting-night supper.
His delicate fingers flickered swiftly towards the cakes; but suddenly, instinctively, I grasped his wrist.
‘How dare you touch me!’ he cried out.
‘Forgive me, lord. But I cannot be sure…’
‘Of what?’ he shouted petulantly, rising to his feet.
‘That this honey is safe. We do not know its origins. I would rather not take the risk…’
Then his little monkey, with its crafty, shiny eyes, darted down from his shoulder, plucked a piece of honeycomb from the dish, and scampered off into a corner.
‘Now do you see what has happened?’ he cried, annoyed.
He approached the monkey, making little loving noises, but it mistrusted him, and darted along the wall of the tent to the far corner, where it began to nibble at its treasure, blinking with anxiety. Again the King followed him, and I approached from the other angle, in a pincer movement. But the creature was too swift for us, and it darted away again between my legs, snapping at my hand with its sharp little teeth, and ran off again to the far side of the tent, where it sat on its haunches, munching and chattering, until the honeycomb was consumed. The King approached it again, and now that it had nothing to lose, it willingly trotted back towards him, perhaps even in hope of further treats. But suddenly, strangely, it seemed to trip over itself, as if it had forgotten how to walk; and then it curled up into a tight ball, twisting and turning into itself, writhing and uttering little cries of agony. The King’s shout of distress quickly brought Simut and the guards. There was nothing anyone could do. Mercifully quickly, the monkey was dead. I was only glad it was not the King who had died in the grip of poison.
He carefully picked up the dead creature, and gently held it close to himself. He turned and looked at us all.
‘What are you all staring at!’ he shouted.
No one dared speak. For a moment, I thought he was going to throw the little corpse at me. But instead he turned away and carried it into the privacy of his bedchamber.
Outside the moon hung low on the black horizon. It was very cold. The King’s guards stamped their feet, and moved back and forth as they resumed their sentry duty, trying to keep warm and awake as they stood beside the brazier that burned like a small sun in its black cage. Red sparks drifted briefly up into the night, and vanished. For more privacy, Simut and I walked beyond the edge of the encampment. Away from the firelight, the vast silvered desert lands spread out for ever; they were more beautiful, under the great blackness of the night sky, than under the harsh light and heat of day. I looked up, and it seemed the heavens burned brighter than ever tonight with the millions of stars that glittered eternally in the perfect air. But here on earth, we were in trouble again.
‘It seems he is not safe anywhere,’ he said at length. ‘It seems nothing we do can assure him of security.’
We had questioned the assistant, and the cook, who hastily explained that Tutankhamun had personally requested the honey be made into cakes. Both were terrified of their involvement in what had happened-and the implication that they were themselves complicit.
‘The King has a sweet tooth. He always requires something sweet at the end of a meal,’ said the cook, his big, sweaty hands twisted together.
‘I did not approve, but the King’s wishes must be obeyed in all things,’ added the assistant superciliously, nervously regarding the cook.
I had the evidence of my own eyes to confirm their story, and no doubt whoever had sent the honey knew too of the King’s pleasure in sweetness.
‘If we can catch those honey gatherers, we can question them directly. They will quickly confess who instructed them to deliver the honey,’ I said. But Simut shook his head.
‘I have already asked the Master of the Hunt. He has persuaded me it will be a fruitless task to track them, especially in the dark. They are experts in the desert, and he assures me if they do not wish to be found they will have disappeared without trace by dawn.’
We pondered the possibilities that remained open to us.
‘The King is alive still, and that is the most important thing.’
‘Certainly. But whose reach is so extensive that even out here’-he gestured at the huge vacancy of the countless stars and the night desert-‘they can attempt to poison him?’
‘I believe there are only two people,’ I replied.
He looked at me and nodded. We understood each other well.
‘And I know which I would pick as the likelier candidate,’ he said quietly.
‘Horemheb?’
He nodded. ‘We are in his territory, and it would not have been difficult for him to track our progress. And it would suit him for the King to die far from his own court, and the chaos that would follow would be the perfect battleground for him to contend with Ay for power.’
‘All of that is true, although it might be said he would be the first suspect one would think of, and perhaps he would not be so-obvious.’
Simut grunted.
‘Whereas Ay is clever enough to engineer something from this distance, which would also cast a shadow of suspicion over Horemheb,’ I continued.
‘But in either case, they would both benefit from the King’s death.’
‘And in either case, they are men of immense influence and power. Ay cannot control the army, and yet he needs it. Horemheb cannot control the offices, and yet he needs them. And both of them wish to control the royal domain. I am beginning to think the King merely stands between them as an obstacle in their own great battle,’ I said.
He nodded.
‘What do you think we should do?’ he asked.
‘I think we should remain here. The priority is to kill a lion. That in itself will give the King renewed comfort, and confidence.’
‘I agree. To return in any other way would be a sign of failure. He has set the stakes very high. We must not fail.’
We walked back to the brazier, to warm ourselves.
‘I will watch through the night, with the guards,’ offered Simut.
‘And I will see if the King needs anything, and I’ll sleep in his tent, if he requires it.’
And so we parted.
30
Tutankhamun was sitting on his travelling throne, staring at nothing, holding the dead monkey like a baby in his lap. I bowed my head and waited for him to speak.
‘You saved my life,’ he said, eventually, flatly.
