The buzzard swept in from the Red Lands; the sun was beginning to dip, and the heat of the day ebbed. A cool breeze ruffled the waters of the Nile and sent the thickets around the derelict Temple of Bes swaying like dancers. The bird's sharp eyes watched for movement as it searched for carrion. It swooped, wings slightly back, until it glimpsed the two men walking into the ruins. The buzzard recognised the dangers, the threat of the throwing stick, the arrow or spear. Frustrated in its search for easy pickings, the bird rose higher. It glimpsed further movement in the thicket. Another man stood there, strangely garbed in the black leather kilt of a soldier, a mask over his face. Too much movement for the buzzard, too dangerous a place for it. The bird soared up and across to the mud flats along the Nile.

Impervious to the bird or anything else, the killer in the thicket, face hidden by the jackal mask, watched Lord Amerotke and his servant Shufoy enter the main hall of the ruined temple. In one hand the killer clutched the instruments of swift and sudden death; in the other a short horn bow. The killer realised any shot would be too long, too dangerous. Amerotke and Shufoy did not present a clear target. Perhaps they might draw closer. It was time the judge's sharp eyes were closed in death. The killer stared up at the sky. So far everything had gone according to plan except for one matter. So, should this blow fall now or later? The killer moved, pushing aside the sharp thorn bush, going down on one knee, the eyes behind the mask intently watching the judge and his servant as they surveyed the temple. An arrow could be loosed but would it hit the target? And if it missed? Yes, there would be other times. The killer let the thorn bush go, and leaving the ruins, ran swiftly away, keeping to the shadows.

In the temple Amerotke, oblivious of how close he'd been to an attack, studied the flagstone in the entrance to the side chapel.

'Can we move it?' Shufoy asked.

He stared round. A feeling of danger prickled the hairs on the nape of his neck. Were they alone? The thickets and coarse vegetation which choked the pathways and lanes leading to the temple lay silent. The setting sun shimmered along the Nile. In the grass, crickets whirred, a bird shrieked from the reed beds along the river bank. Shufoy didn't like this threatening, desolate place.

'We should have brought Asural,' he moaned. 'Or at least a couple of guards.'

'We are safe.' Amerotke smiled back, wiping the sweat from his face.

Shufoy and Mareb had been waiting for him on the quayside. Shufoy immediately reported what he'd learnt from the Crocodile Man.

'It fits what I learnt at the tomb,' Amerotke declared.

'Weni was a very wealthy man: claimed he was the Gardener, eh?'

'Have you heard of him?' Prenhoe had asked.

'Once or twice, in different cases,' Amerotke retorted. 'Passing references in police reports.'

He had thanked Mareb for accompanying Shufoy and told Asural and the rest where they would be.

'The Crocodile Man may have been selling a bundle of lies,' he told them. 'There's only one way to find out.'

Amerotke and Shufoy had left the thronging quayside, following the same lonely path Sinuhe must have taken the morning he was killed. Shufoy felt distinctly nervous. He didn't trust the Crocodile Man, the Shadow or, indeed, anyone else. Moreover, he wanted to return to the temple. He had a new love song for that heset. She had been so skilled, so accomplished, but Amerotke had insisted they come here. Shufoy felt angry, nervous and envious at Mareb and the rest going back to comfort and safety whilst he trudged this desolate place.

'Why?' he demanded.

'Because we are collecting evidence.' Amerotke sighed. 'How do we know the Crocodile Man wasn't paid to tell his story?'

'But you've got the proof,' Shufoy protested. 'Weni was far too rich.'

Amerotke shook his head. 'Evidence is like beads on a string, Shufoy. You take one at a time, a little bit here, a little bit there.'

Shufoy stamped his foot.

'Well, we are here now; can't we get on with it? The lady Norfret will be waiting and didn't you say you had to leave for the Oasis of Palms?'

'They'll both have to wait.'

Amerotke grabbed Shufoy's knife. He knelt down and ran the blade along the mud around the paving stone.

'The lord Amerotke is not a labourer.'

'The lord Amerotke is a labourer,' the judge replied. 'I quarry for the truth. Now, Shufoy, are you only going to stand there and lecture me?'

Shufoy grabbed a pointed stick and began to dig, clearing away the packed earth. He found a stout pole cast up by the Nile. The day drew on as they fought to prise it under the flagstone. At last, they did: the stone slab worked loose and they pushed it back. One glance was enough. A skeletal hand thrust through the loose soil beneath. Amerotke cleared this away and stared down at the skeleton. He turned the skull over.

'You are polluting yourself,' Shufoy warned.

'No, I'm not.'

Amerotke tapped the jagged, cruel hole at the back of the skull. He wiped the dirt from his hands and got to his feet.

'The Crocodile Man wasn't lying. Weni killed and killed again.' He walked away and sat on a stone plinth. 'So, what do we have here, Shufoy?'

'I don't know,' Shufoy replied absent-mindedly staring down at the skeleton. 'By the way, Master, where is Sinuhe's manuscript?'

'I gave it to Asural. He will take it back to the palace. Shufoy, what is the matter?'

The dwarf was now digging. He reminded Amerotke of a puppy in the garden.

'Look at this.' Shufoy held up a thick copper bracelet.

'Well I never!'

Amerotke got up, took the bracelet and translated the hieroglyphics along the rim.

'So, the man's name was Hordeth,' Shufoy exclaimed.

'I've heard of him.'

'So have I.' Amerotke turned the bracelet over and over again. 'He was a master herald from the House of Envoys. He disappeared about four years ago.'

Shufoy was digging away and pulled out a piece of papyrus. He blew away the dust, looked at the faded red ink and recognised the curse.

 'May the demons act against you,

 Enduringly, lastingly for all time and eternity.

 Bad be your sight, bad be your hearing.

 May your soul be smitten.

 In the scales of Anubis,

 May your soul weigh as heavy as a rock.

 May the Devourers rend your spirit,

 May you never see the eternal light of Ra.'

 He handed it to Amerotke.

 'I suspect that was written by Weni, an act of vengeance...'

Amerotke turned at the sound of chariot wheels and the neigh of a horse. Shufoy grabbed his dagger and ran forward.

On the trackway separating the temple from the river bank stood a beautiful chariot of wickerwork and bronze. Its two horses were milk-white steeds from the royal stables. Shufoy exclaimed in surprise as Mareb dismounted and came forward. The herald had dressed and changed; his hair was oiled, and he wore a fresh white tunic with a gold braid belt around his waist.

'You look the part.' Shufoy smiled.

Mareb stared round the temple.

'Asural told me you would be here. I bring a summons from the Divine Hatusu.'

'What's the matter?'

Amerotke came forward, still holding the bracelet and the piece of parchment.

Mareb thrust out the royal cartouche for Amerotke to kiss.

'Your presence, my lord, is required at the House of a Million Years. The Divine One, the emanation of the...'

'Thank you,' Amerotke broke in. 'We are all alone, Mareb, in a derelict temple.'

Mareb noticed the paving stone pulled away, the disturbed earth.

'My lord, you should not be here. What is the matter?'

'I asked you that,' Amerotke replied.

'The Divine Hatusu requires your presence. The Mitanni envoys are about to leave for the Oasis of Palms. We should be going with them. Now it's too late.'

'We will go at daybreak,' Amerotke retorted. 'There are matters to discuss with the Divine One. I have just discovered the corpse of one of her heralds.'

'A herald?' Mareb exclaimed.

'How long have you served in the House of Envoys?' Amerotke demanded.

The herald grimaced and glanced over his shoulder at the chariot.

'Yes, you'd best hobble the horses,' Amerotke declared. 'I have something to show you.'

When the herald returned, Amerotke led him up into the side chapel. Mareb glanced down into the pit and moved disdainfully away.

'I have washed and bathed,' he explained. 'I have purified my lips and hands.'

Amerotke noticed the bruise high on the herald's face and recalled Shufoy's story of how they had both been attacked.

'You never explained why you were looking for me.'

'I don't have to.' Mareb laughed, staring down at the pit. 'It was apparently a trap. You never sent for me and the assassin was waiting.'

'You were very lucky I arrived,' Shufoy interrupted.

'I know. I'll give eternal thanks.' Mareb moved closer. 'But all that can be explained to the Divine One. You said this was a herald?'

Amerotke showed him the bracelet and the scrawled curse.

'Do you recall the name Hordeth?'

'Of course.' Mareb made the sign against ill luck, sticking his thumb between his two forefingers. 'He disappeared. Some say he may have drowned or...'

'Or what?' Amerotke demanded.

'He was a bachelor, a womaniser...'

'Did you know him well?'

Mareb shook his head.

'And how well did you know Weni?'

'He was a colleague, a companion. He was married to a Mitanni woman: totally besotted with her he was. According to the accepted story – well, at least before I met the Crocodile Man – she suffered a boating accident and drowned. Weni was never the same. I thought it was grief but it was murder. He killed her and invited Hordeth to this place, eh?'

'Correct,' Amerotke replied. 'He struck him on the back of the head and buried him beneath the flagstone. To make sure his soul would not progress through the Underworld, Weni also buried a curse with him.'

'Hordeth deserved it,' Mareb declared. 'I liked Weni. To discover his beloved wife had been unfaithful must have driven him mad. But,' he blew his cheeks out, 'I suppose Hordeth deserved a better death: no tomb, no mortuary priest.' Mareb's dark eyes creased in a smile. 'You are discovering a great deal, my lord Amerotke. Nothing is what it appears, eh?' He stared up at the sky. 'The Divine Hatusu will be impatient.'

A short discussion followed about what to do with Hordeth's remains. Mareb agreed that it was a matter for the House of Envoys to decide. He would tell them what he knew and the remains would be taken across to the Necropolis. He helped Amerotke and Shufoy place the flagstone back.

'So, you are to accompany me to the Oasis of Palms?' Amerotke asked.

'I'd prefer not to,' Mareb replied over his shoulder as he led them towards the chariot. 'I have no love for the Mitanni. My father and brother were killed in the Divine One's great victory in the north.'

They walked out to the chariot. Shufoy gazed back. The derelict temple was bathed in shadows, no longer a shrine to Bes but the home of Seth, the red-haired killer.

Amerotke was ushered into the private bathing room of the Divine Hatusu. Outside, the sun was slipping fast into the west, bathing the luxurious marble room in red-gold rays. An exquisite place, open windows high in the walls which gleamed like ivory and were decorated with symbols and pictures of the gods. Most of them were female deities. Amerotke wryly noted how many of them looked like Divine Hatusu. Bowls of frankincense and sandalwood perfumed the air. The tiled floor gleamed in the light of the pure oil lamps in their alabaster jars. A statue of Horus, as a gold-winged falcon, stood on a plinth overlooking the indoor pool. The water was a dark blue; it rippled gently and the lotus blossoms on the surface swayed and bobbed. Hatusu, who so loved the glory, pomp and power, was seated on a quilted chair in the far corner. An oil-drenched black wig bound by a silver filet covered her head; a necklace of cornelian, carved into little flowers, hung round her throat. The linen robe she wore, tied round her waist by a golden sash, was diaphanous, billowing out around her feet, which rested on a footstool. Senenmut sat in a chair next to her, a scroll across his knee. Hatusu was studying her nails, head to one side. She looked up as the Nubian captain ushered Amerotke in, closing the door silently behind him.

'Look, Senenmut.' Her voice was hard and strident. 'Here comes our lord Amerotke, Chief Judge in the Hall of Two Truths! He doesn't do what we ask him but wanders quayside taverns and ignores his Pharaoh's commands. He even forgets to kneel in her presence!'

Amerotke, who felt even more tired and dishevelled in such luxurious surroundings, remembered himself. He approached, knelt on a cushion dangerously near the side of the pool and pressed his forehead against the wet tiled floor. He expected a quick demand to rise but this didn't come. He sighed and kept his position.

'My heart is glad.' He intoned the official rite. 'And my soul delights in the light of your face, oh Divine One.'

He heard a sound and glimpsed Hatusu's sandalled feet: the nails were painted a dark green, small gold rings on her toes.

'I am your Pharaoh.' Hatusu's voice sounded hollow. 'Kiss my feet, Amerotke!'

He did so.

'Now, you may kneel back.'

Amerotke went back on his heels and stared up. Hatusu's face was now hidden behind a gold and silver mask: her eyes, peering through the slits, flashed angrily.

'You presume too much, my lord.'

'I presume nothing,' Amerotke retorted.

Senenmut breathed in a loud hiss. Hatusu's hand fell to her side. Amerotke wondered if she was going to slap him; instead her fingers came up and stroked his cheek. Taking the mask away, she crouched down beside him. You are truly beautiful, Amerotke thought, those lustrous eyes, light copper skin, perfectly shaped face, sensuous lower lip; her languorous perfume seemed to swim all about him. She allowed her robe to slip open. Amerotke noticed one nipple had been painted green-gold. She followed his glance and grinned.

'I inspected the palace guard this morning. I wore my crown and this robe.' The grin widened. 'The men loved it. A couple fainted! I won't do it again: I thought I'd die of heat stroke. Am I beautiful, Amerotke?'

'Yes, as the morning star, and as changeable as the moon.'

Her smile faded at the tinge of sarcasm.

'Do you lust after me, Amerotke?'

'No, my lady.'

'Why not?' The question was querulous.

'I lust after my wife, not a goddess.'

She touched him on the tip of his nose.

'Ever the clever one, Amerotke; even when you were a boy at Father's court, you always had the right answer.' She looked over her shoulder. 'He's a rare one, isn't he, Senenmut? Look at the pool, Amerotke, what do you see?'

He kept his gaze on her.

'Why, water, my lady.'

'And beneath?'

'More water.'

'Men are like that: Senenmut is. You are. But sometimes I wonder, Amerotke, all grave and solemn, so absorbed with your gorgeous wife. See.' She pointed a finger. 'I saw your eyes change. Is she all you lust after, Amerotke, the beautiful Norfret?' The tip of her tongue came out. 'And what else, Amerotke? Do you have fears?'

'Of course, my lady. I fear the dark, the unknown, failure.'

'And dogs?' she added. 'You do fear dogs?'

She got to her feet and helped him up. She kicked off her sandals, undid the bow at her throat and let the gauze robe fall about her feet. She turned, hands raised. Amerotke blushed. Senenmut was staring down at the piece of papyrus. Hatusu laughed and dived into the water. She twisted like a fish, her beautiful golden body skimming beneath the blue surface. She came up and her wig was askew. She laughed and put this in place.

'I always forget that.' She stood, treading water, arms out. 'Won't you come in, Amerotke? Try and catch me?'

'My lady.' Senenmut's voice was harsh. 'Lord Amerotke is tired and has not cleaned himself: the pool will be polluted.'

'You are just jealous.'

Hatusu grinned and swam to the side. She climbed up the steps and Senenmut hastened to put the robe around her. She went across to a small acacia-wood table laid with goblets of white wine. She returned to the chair and gestured for Amerotke to sit beside her. All flirtation and gaiety had now disappeared. She sipped from her cup and leaned forward, one hand pulling the robe more tightly around her.

'The Mitanni leaders have left. You, Amerotke, will follow them. The herald Mareb will accompany you. You will give our greetings to King Tushratta. You will assure him that the deaths in the Temple of Anubis are not our doing. You will repeat our wishes for a peaceful settlement.' She paused. 'You will also carefully probe his mind, if that's possible.' She gestured at the leather satchel resting against the wall. 'Did he know anything about Sinuhe's death, the theft of his manuscript and the Glory of Anubis? Does Tushratta have a finger in all this dirt?' She waved a hand. 'I don't have to spell it out: learn what you can and return.'

'Tushratta's camp,' Senenmut spoke up, 'is at the Oasis of Palms. We have created an artificial border, a sort of no-man's-land between the oasis and our cavalry squadrons, no more than ten miles. The squadrons will take you to Makra, a lonely outcrop of rocks out in the Red Lands. After that you and Mareb will be on your own. The Mitanni will meet you and escort you into their camp.' Senenmut pursed his lips; his harsh face was lined, eyes heavy from lack of sleep. 'They will treat you honourably. Keep Mareb by your side. They don't like him, we'll come to that in a while. Stay there during the heat of the day, be careful what you eat and drink. At eventide return to Makra and the waiting squadron. They will bring you back to Thebes. Now, my lord, what have you discovered?'

'The Glory of Anubis?' Hatusu demanded.

'It remains a mystery, my lady.' Amerotke ignored her look of annoyance. 'The room was sealed and the door was locked. The pit of water was not disturbed. No sign of violence. Nemrath the guardian priest was found with a knife in his heart and the key to the door still on his belt.'

'I know all this!' Hatusu snapped. 'The assassin? The thief?'

'One, two or three people,' Amerotke replied. 'Khety, Ita and the captain of the guard.'

'I'll crucify them!'

'You can't do that, my lady,' Senenmut intervened. 'The priests of Anubis are powerful and we have no evidence. All three, however, are under strict surveillance and have been forbidden to leave the temple precincts.'

He looked expectantly at Amerotke; the judge shook his head.

'They may be guilty but I do not know how the theft, or murder, was committed. As for the other deaths...' Amerotke spread his hands, 'the dancing girl, Lord Snefru, Weni? The first two definitely died of some poison. How it was administered remains a mystery. On my return to the palace I reflected on Weni's death: there are many ways of killing a man. But why that?'

'Explain!' Hatusu demanded.

'Well, Weni could have been shot by an arrow, poisoned, garrotted, so why lure him out to be killed by a pack of wild dogs? A hideous death! It's as if the assassin wanted him destroyed both body and soul.'

'No corpse for the embalmers?'

'Precisely, my lord Senenmut. Whoever slew Weni had a personal grudge, a settling of scores. Who or why...?'

Amerotke then described what he had learnt from the Crocodile Man. Hatusu's face went white with fury.

'I'll have him crucified!'

'I don't think so. He's already fled Thebes. I depend on Shufoy and Shufoy depends on the likes of the Crocodile Man for information, not only in this matter but others.'

'If I understand you correctly,' Senenmut spoke up briskly, 'Weni may have been a royal herald but he was also a killer, a professional assassin.'

'Apparently so, my lord. He killed his wife for her infidelity; and her lover, the herald Hordeth, and buried his corpse in a derelict temple. Encouraged by the Crocodile Man, Weni acquired a taste for bloodshed. He carried out murders in Thebes. He undoubtedly bought one of the knives used to slay Nemrath. So, he may also have had a hand in the theft of the Glory of Anubis. The derelict Temple of Bes was the scene of Hordeth's murder so Weni, according to custom, invited another victim, Sinuhe, there. He could have done this openly or disguised. What we do know is that someone wearing a jackal mask was seen down near the Temple of Bes. Weni killed Sinuhe, stole his manuscript and hid it in his tomb along with other treasures. Now,' Amerotke spread his hands, 'Weni may be the cause and origin of all that has happened. But why should he kill a dancing girl? The temple sheep or some of the fishes? Finally, who killed him? Who was responsible for the attack on the herald Mareb? Our only clue is that Sinuhe's neighbour mentioned a foreign woman being seen near his house.'

'The Mitanni?'

'I'd like to think so, my lady, though the evidence doesn't point that way. Weni was holding Sinuhe's manuscript but he was more interested in selling it to the Libyans. As for the sacred amethyst, only Anubis himself knows where that is now. Finally, how does Lord Snefru's death fit into all this?' Amerotke leaned back against the wall and sighed. 'My lady, Lord Senenmut, that is all I can say.'

'Well, we can add more. Show him!'

Senenmut handed across the piece of papyrus on the floor next to him. The manuscript was of good quality but the writing was scrawled, hasty hieroglyphics Amerotke couldn't understand.

'It's Mitanni script,' Senenmut explained. 'A communication between the King and his envoys. Naturally,' he added sardonically, 'the messengers carry two types of message, the public and the secret. Our House of Secrets discovered the Mitanni king was using a sand-wanderer to bring letters to Wanef and the others. We arranged a slight accident, some controversy over his right to enter the city and trade in the market. He was searched and his goods taken away: this was found hidden in a basket. Our scribes made a fair copy; the translation runs as follows.

'"Tushratta, King of the Mitanni,"' Senenmut began reading, '"to his well-beloved Wanef, half-sister and envoy to the Egyptian court. We have learnt about your stay in the Temple of Anubis. We give you fair warning that the negotiations must be completed whilst it would fill our hearts with joy if that which gleams and that which explains were delivered into our hands."'

Senenmut lifted his head.

'The Glory of Anubis and Sinuhe's manuscript?' Amerotke queried.

'It must be,' Senenmut agreed. 'So, we know Tushratta did have a hand in their theft.'

'Not necessarily,' Amerotke objected. 'What happens if the Mitanni king just learnt of their theft and, naturally, wants to get his hands on them?'

'Possible,' Senenmut conceded. 'But,' he returned to the papyrus, '"We have full confidence that you can use the Gardener."'

'Weni?' Hatusu spat the name out.

'"And deal with the jackals which snap at your heels."'

'Is that a reference to us?' Amerotke wondered.

'Strange,' he murmured. 'There's no mention of the Hyaena, the recognised name for the Mitanni spy.'

'"However, we must look to the safety of you and yours,"' Senenmut continued reading. '"If necessary return to the Oasis of Palms for fresh consultation. The peace treaty must not be threatened. Our interests and that of the Pharaoh-Queen agree on this. Be wary of the herald Mareb. He has good cause to hate us."'

'Yes, he does,' Hatusu declared. 'Mareb's father and brother were ambushed by the Mitanni. Both were killed, their corpses left out in the desert.'

'"Do not trust the Gardener,"' Senenmut now returned to the papyrus, '"or the lord Senenmut. In these matters you know our mind." Well, that's the gist of it.' Senenmut put the papyrus back on the floor.

'So, it all revolves around Weni?' Amerotke mused. 'He's an Egyptian herald by day and an assassin by night. He offers to spy for Egypt but also works for the Mitanni. In truth, the evidence suggests he only worked for himself.'

'We believe,' Hatusu stamped her sandalled foot, 'that Weni was hired by the Mitanni, perhaps because of his marriage. They probably discovered the truth about him from the Crocodile Man or the Libyans, anyone prepared to sell information. The Mitanni wanted Sinuhe's manuscript because of the treasure house it contains, and the Glory of Anubis to shame us. Weni, however, could not be trusted, so the Mitanni killed him.'

'It poses more questions than it answers.' Amerotke got to his feet. 'My lady, may I?' He pointed to the leather satchel. 'Examine Sinuhe's manuscript more closely?'

'Of course.' She smiled. 'Keep it safe. You must be gone by first light.'

Amerotke picked up the satchel. He turned to kneel but Hatusu rose and, standing on tiptoe, kissed him on each cheek.

'No need to kneel,' she whispered. 'Certainly not for Pharaoh's friend.' She pinched him playfully on the wrist.

Amerotke nodded at Senenmut and left.

Shufoy and Prenhoe, dancing from foot to foot, were waiting in the antechamber.

'A message from the lady Norfret!' the little man exclaimed. 'The key to her casket, it's...'

'Not now!' Amerotke snapped. He turned towards the window: darkness had fallen swiftly. 'Tomorrow's another day,' he whispered.

Grasping Sinuhe's manuscript firmly, Amerotke left the House of a Million Years and went back along the streets to the Temple of Anubis, unaware of the shadowy hooded figure following closely behind.

One of Anubis' principal titles was 'Lord of the Divine Pavilion'.

Anubis: the principal Egyptian God of the Dead.


The war chariot was of acacia, elm wood and birch. It was built for speed and attack, for smashing the lines of the enemy infantry. The chariot was reinforced with copper and electrum: it was the finest in Egypt's war squadron, with its red leather interior, bronze rail and high, six-spoked wheels protected by leather thongs. Amerotke clutched the rail. He turned to the north, caught the cool breath of Amun and murmured the dawn prayer. He glanced at the horses: two chestnut mares, the fleetest and the most beautiful from the royal stables, nicknamed 'the Pride of Hathor' and 'the Splendour of Isis'. They were yoked in an elegantly curved elmwood bar: the long reins were skilfully managed by Mareb, who snapped and pulled, guiding them expertly.

Amerotke and the herald had left the escorting squadron and sped like the wind across the dry yet magical landscape of the Red Lands east of Thebes. The sky was turning brilliant colours in the first rays of the rising sun. The light from the east rapidly changed the grey rocks, the dry rivulets and parched wadis into a landscape of various hues. Amerotke always marvelled at the beauty of dawn in the desert. The sand turned a purple shade, the rocks became rose-dappled, the harsh scrubs a sinister black. He glanced at his companion. Mareb was intent on managing the chariot, guiding the horses around rocks and across dips in the ground. Amerotke closed his eyes like he used to when, as a boy, his father would bring him out here so they could both worship the rising sun.

'I feel as if I am flying,' he murmured. 'I have become a hawk skimming over the desert.'

Mareb turned his head.

'An exhilarating feeling, my lord! Listen to the music of the charge. How it makes the blood sing!'

Amerotke opened his eyes and clutched the copper rail more tightly as Mareb urged both horses into a wild headlong gallop along the beaten trackway. An expert charioteer, the herald knew every twist and turn. Amerotke became aware of what the charioteers called the 'music', the rhythmic crash of the wheels, the swaying of the chariot in its own elegant war dance; the pounding hooves of Hathor and Isis, their heads bobbing, the black plumes fixed between their ears rising and falling as the horses revelled in their headlong charge. At last Mareb slowed down. The sun was rising, its rays so brilliant it now affected their sight.

'You wish to worship, my lord?'

Amerotke agreed. Mareb reined the horses in, talking to them softly, calling them 'beautiful girls', 'the pride of my heart'. The chariot stopped in the shadow of some rocks. Amerotke climbed down gingerly, as did Mareb. It was not unknown for riders to become dizzy, or even faint, after such an exuberant charge. Mareb quickly checked the horses, taking handfuls of feed from the small sack, wetting their nostrils and mouths from a waterskin. Amerotke checked the wheels, the linch pins, the protective thongs, to make sure all was well. Mareb had drawn the best chariot possible from the royal stables, with its red and green ornamentation, the fighting warriors carved on the side. It also carried a great leather war sheath, stained a dark brown and stitched with gold thread, which held throwing spears, a sword, axe, bow and a quiver of finely plumed arrows. Amerotke laid his cloak on the ground. He and Mareb broke their fast with some dry meat and water. Afterwards they both knelt watching the Far Horizon and the glory of the rising sun.

 'Your splendour fills the whole world.' Amerotke intoned the dawn prayer.

 'You have gone down into the Underworld.

 And successfully subdued all beneath your sceptre.

 You have visited your mountains,

 Your portals are of lapis lazuli,

 Your walls of silver,

 Your floor is of sycamore.

 Your door is of copper,

 Your throne is everlasting.

 Your word goes out to the ends of the earth.

 Oh, glorious Ra, all tremble before you!'

Amerotke bent, pressing his forehead against the ground; Mareb did likewise. Amerotke secretly wondered if the herald truly believed the words, or did he, like Amerotke himself have doubts? Amerotke murmured a silent prayer to the goddess Ma'at, imploring her wisdom and protection, both for him and for all he wished to pray for.

'We will be there within the hour!' Mareb exclaimed, getting to his feet.

Dressed in the dark green of a royal charioteer, the herald looked younger, face still slightly flushed after his exertion. His black hair was now held by a white braid, decorated with hieroglyphics which proclaimed him to be the mouthpiece of Pharaoh. The cord round his waist held the white staff of office decorated with a small gold eagle, wings extended.

'Do you fear treachery?' Amerotke asked.

Mareb grasped the rail of the chariot and stared out across the desert. The silence was broken by the screech of some bird. And, on the breeze, the muffled roar of a lion.

'If the truth be known, my lord, I am more concerned about this place than the Mitanni. It looks so empty but it's deceptive. You heard the lion?'

Amerotke nodded.

'Entire packs prowl here,' Mareb continued. 'The hyaenas, the jackals, the wild cats, not to mention the snakes and the scorpions. A terrible place to die, my lord. I have a nightmare,' he continued, 'of being alone in the desert at night and all around the killers gather.'

Amerotke repressed a shiver. 'And you don't like the Mitanni?'

'No, my lord, I don't, and they don't like me. My father and elder brother took part in Divine Hatusu's victory in the north. Both were killed. I couldn't even dress their corpses for burial.'

'And Weni?' Amerotke asked.

'I've told you.' Mareb got into the chariot and loosened the reins. 'A strange one.'

'How did the Mitanni regard him? Both of you served together as envoys?'

Amerotke climbed into the chariot beside the herald.

'At times Weni could be sullen, morose. He never talked about himself. Most of our conversation was about the House of Envoys: who was on the way up, who was on the way down. I knew about his Mitanni blood and that he had married a Mitanni woman so I kept my opinions to myself. Whenever we met Wanef, I always got the impression that there was something between them. The Princess is not the most beautiful of women, but,' he laughed, 'you know what I mean, my lord?'

'Do you think she controlled him?'

'In truth, all things are possible. Weni was no better than a whore. He'd go to the highest bidder: money was his god.'

'Whoever killed him must have hated him,' Amerotke sighed. 'To have his body torn to pieces by wild dogs...'

'Perhaps the Mitanni did?'

Mareb gathered the reins, clicked his tongue and the chariot moved off slowly.

'We must be at the oasis within the hour,' Mareb declared. 'I would prefer the Mitanni to see me in my glory rather than sweaty and bedraggled.'

Amerotke clutched at the rail as Mareb urged the horses into a gallop. It had been years since he had visited the Oasis of Palms, but as they drew close, he recalled his memories of the place. The desert gave way to more scrubland: eventually the oasis, a sprawling green island in the eastern desert, came into view. Amerotke glimpsed the glitter of bronze, flashes of colour as the Mitanni dispatched war chariots to greet them. These were bigger, more cumbersome than the Egyptians': four-wheeled, drawn by heavier horses. Each could carry three fighting men.

'Tushratta's showing off,' Mareb murmured.

Amerotke agreed. The Mitanni thundered towards them, the plumes of their war horses rising and falling. The soldiers within carried shields and wore cuirasses of copper, leather kilts and bronze helmets with ostentatious plumes. Mareb ignored them, keepinghis horses at a gentle canter. The Mitanni war chariots circled before coming up on either side. Amerotke raised his hand in a gesture of peace. The commanding officer responded in kind, his face almost hidden by the helmet and a bushy black moustache and beard. He grinned in a flash of white teeth and shouted at Mareb to follow him. The Mitanni chariot careered in front of them, following the trackway into the oasis.

Amerotke was surprised at how busy it was. The oasis stretched for four miles on either side. The Mitanni court had taken it over with their brightly hued pavilions, tents, shops and horse lines. The air was thick with the pungent smell of wood smoke, cooking meats, perfumes and spices. The camp, however, despite its apparent chaos, was well ordered: artificial lanes and rows had been created. Its perimeter was protected by lines of soldiers and groups of war chariots. Some of these stood to arms, dressed like those Amerotke had already seen. Others were Canaanite mercenaries with their own exotic costumes, armour and headgear. A babble of voices, different nationalities; Kushites, Nubians, Libyans. Even mercenaries from the islands in the Great Green. Women clustered round campfires, naked children ran screaming and shouting, dogs barked and rushed out to meet them. Apart from a few surly glances from passing soldiers, Amerotke and Mareb's passage went unnoticed. At last they reached the centre of the oasis. The King had set his tents round the great pool, in the cool shade of sycamore and palm trees.

The royal pavilion was luxurious, coloured cloths stretched over poles. Caananite mercenaries, in white kirtles, bronze cuirasses and greaves, stood on guard with shield and lance. Amerotke and Mareb waited as the grooms unhitched the horses and led them away.

'My lord Amerotke, it is good to see you.'

Amerotke turned. Wanef, dressed in a dark green robe with a blue fringed shawl over her shoulders, stood smiling across at him. He sauntered over.

'Your journey was safe, I hope?'

Amerotke bowed.

'I hope it will be as safe when we return. My lady, why am I here?'

'Because of all that is happening! King Tushratta is very alarmed that one of his inner council has been found murdered. We need your assurances,' she chose her words carefully, 'that all is well.' She looked at Mareb, her smile fading. 'The King will see you now.'

She ushered them past the guards and into the royal tent. At first Amerotke was dazed. The interior was dark but very cool. He stood until his confusion cleared and stared round. Varicoloured cloths covered the ground. Cushions lay stacked around small tables, most of them covered with precious ornaments, statuettes, cups, jugs and bowls. Incense burners sent up plumes of perfumed smoke. Guards stood silent as statues, as did the fan-bearers with their coloured ostrich plumes which flooded the air with their heavy perfume.

The first part of the pavilion was an antechamber. Tushratta was waiting inside an inner, more opulent chamber. The King squatted on a pile of cushions, Hunro and Mensu on his left. Wanef went to sit on his right. Tushratta, dressed in a white robe with a purple sash running across his chest, raised his head. He was tall, muscular, with a harsh, cruel face fringed by oil-drenched hair which fell to his shoulders. His upper lip was shaven; his beard, carefully curled and oiled, fell to lie on his chest. He didn't look at Amerotke directly but, head down, stared from under bushy eyebrows, one finger scratching a fleshy nose. Mother-of-pearl dangled from his ear lobes, a jewelled gorget circled his throat, a prince's ransom in precious stones decorated his stubby fingers.

'I understand your tongue.'

Tushratta still didn't raise his head but gestured at them to sit on the cushions before him. Mareb and Amerotke obeyed. Servants served iced wine and sugared dates. Amerotke took the first but refused the latter. The King, however, grasped the plate and began popping them into his mouth, one after another, chewing noisily, a gesture of studied contempt. Tushratta belched and cleared his mouth.

'You have come to explain the doings in Anubis?'

'I've come to explain nothing, my lord,' Amerotke replied. 'Why should I explain what Egypt is not responsible for?'

'One of my envoys died.'

'So did one of our heralds.'

Tushratta picked at his teeth and smiled with his eyes.

'So why are you here, Lord Amerotke? Shouldn't you be in your court? True, we asked for your presence as a sign of reassurance, but what else have you brought?'

Amerotke, who'd been given urgent advice by Senenmut before he'd left Thebes, considered his reply.

'Egypt wants peace,' he answered, 'not war, but on the conditions of Divine Hatusu, the incarnation of the will of Ra.'

The smile faded from Tushratta's eyes.

'She has already decreed,' Amerotke continued, holding his gaze, 'what will bring a lasting peace. Egypt is not responsible for Lord Snefru's death: you asked for guarantees of that, which is why I am here.'

Amerotke ignored Hunro and Mensu's growls of protest. Wanef kept her face impassive.

'What are you implying?' Tushratta jibed. 'That Snefru's death was caused by someone else?'

'All things are possible, my lord.'

'Such as?'

'The Glory of Anubis, the death of Sinuhe, the theft of his manuscript?'

Tushratta's sallow, pitted face flushed with anger.

'We did not come to Egypt to steal.'

'So, you know nothing about these matters?'

Tushratta shook his head. Wanef coughed and cleared her throat. She picked up her cup in a clatter of bracelets. Amerotke was sure it was a sign for Tushratta to hold his peace.

'My lord Amerotke,' she murmured, 'we do know something; the death of your herald Weni...'

'He was a traitor,' Amerotke retorted. 'He was prepared to sell whatever he had to the highest bidder. Did that include you, my lady?'

'Weni was a spy.' Wanef smiled ruefully. 'He pretended to spy for us.' She made a mouth. 'But that's what traitors do, isn't it? I am sure somewhere in this camp my lord Senenmut has his spies. We have learnt,' she drew a breath, 'let us say from...'

'Your spies in Thebes?' Amerotke smiled.

'Most tactful, my lord. We have learnt that Weni killed Sinuhe. He took the manuscript and hid it in his tomb in the Necropolis. Oh yes, we know all about that. He also stole the Glory of Anubis and offered it for sale to others, but not to us.'

'How did he steal it?' Amerotke demanded. 'You have seen the Chapel of Anubis?' he added.

'According to our intelligence,' Wanef replied, 'Weni was in the chapel from the moment Nemrath entered. He killed the priest, concealed himself there, and left when the crime was discovered.'

Amerotke blinked in surprise. Mareb leaned forward as if to speak but Wanef, not even looking at him, held up her hand.

'Amerotke is Pharaoh's mouth!' she snapped. 'You are here as his guide and escort. We will have no more dealings with the heralds of Egypt.' She lowered her hand and stared at Amerotke. 'It is the wish of King Tushratta that we return to Thebes tomorrow morning to continue our discussions. We will seal the peace treaty. We will honour the marriage on two conditions: that Mareb here be removed from the Temple of Anubis, and the sarcophagus of King Tushratta's sister be taken from the Valley of the Kings and returned to us.'

Amerotke recalled Senenmut's advice.

'True, her corpse is embalmed,' he declared, impatient to return to Weni's crime, 'and it lies in the royal mausoleum. Cannot she continue to sleep in peace with Pharaoh her master?'

He paused, feeling Mareb stiffen beside him. 'And why should you object so much to Egypt's herald?'

'I think our requests are reasonable,' Tushratta responded slowly. 'Benia was my beloved sister, a mere child when she married Pharaoh Tuthmosis.' His harsh face softened. 'When I sleep in my tomb, I wish my beloved sister to lie by me.'

Amerotke bowed. 'I will see to that personally, and our herald?'

Tushratta didn't even bother to glance at Mareb.

'Like many in Egypt, your herald lost kin at the great battle in the north. He should hide his feelings more carefully: the sly grin, the curl of the lip. We also think he's a spy as well as a herald.'

Amerotke gripped Mareb's wrist as a sign to remain silent and decided not to press the matter further. He didn't like the smirk on Wanef's face. Imperceptibly the atmosphere had changed. Hatusu held the reins of power and controlled the peace treaty: Tushratta would have to accept that, yet the Mitanni were laughing at her, Amerotke was certain of that.

'Why were we not told in Thebes,' Amerotke tried to assert himself, 'about Weni's doings?'

'We thought it safer to divulge such news here,' Wanef replied. 'It's only hearsay, and anyway, we only discovered it shortly before we left your city.'

Amerotke gazed at the insignia on the battle standard hanging behind Tushratta: a sickle moon, a burst of stars, the representation of a dog god. He was about to continue his questioning when the tent flap was pulled up. A chamberlain entered, resting on his staff of office; a curious line of servants followed bearing platters and dishes of roast quail, antelope, figs and other fruits. The air became savoury with cooking smells. Amerotke was more fascinated by the servants: their skins were black as night and they were no bigger than Shufoy. They moved with a remarkable grace; perfectly formed, they looked like children but they were men and women. They were naked except for leather decorated kilts; bangles circled their wrists, gold studs gleamed in their ears and the side of their noses. As one of the servants put a platter down, she caught Amerotke's eye and smiled dazzlingly.

'Exquisite,' Amerotke murmured.

He had heard stories of such people from the jungles far to the south, but this was the first time he had ever encountered them.

'You like our little people, my lord Amerotke?' Tushratta demanded. 'There are twelve in all: the gift of their prince to me.'

Amerotke recognised the threat. Tushratta was reminding Egypt that he, too, had allies. Amerotke watched the line of servants leave. As courtesy dictated, he nibbled at the dishes offered. Mareb refused to touch anything but sat resolutely silent. Amerotke used the break to reflect on what Tushratta had told him about Weni. It would have been possible, when the priests were changed over, for someone to slip into the chapel and lurk in one of those recesses, kill Nemrath and escape in the subsequent confusion. Except, how did he get in so easily? Was it with the connivance of others?

'My lord Amerotke?'

He lifted his head.

'We accept Egypt's assurances that our envoys are safe,' Tushratta murmured. 'You shall leave this evening at dusk and formally advise the Divine Hatusu that the princess Wanef and my good councillors will return tomorrow morning: within five days the treaty will be signed.'

Tushratta turned to Wanef, a sign that the meeting was over. Amerotke sighed. The journey had been arduous but necessary. A Mitanni envoy had been killed. Egypt had offered its assurances of good will and these had been accepted.

Accompanied by Mareb, Amerotke got to his feet, bowed and left the pavilion. Outside, what Tushratta called his 'little people' were grouped round a chamberlain giving them honeyed dates from a dish. They turned their attention to Amerotke and Mareb, touching their arms, bracelets, the pectoral round Amerotke's neck displaying the goddess Ma'at. They chattered in high-pitched voices, the women being more friendly whilst the men stood a little way off. Amerotke noticed how some of these had little tubes pushed into the thongs round their waists, and small antelope-skin pouches about their necks. He wanted to draw them into conversation but the officious chamberlain intervened. He ushered Amerotke away to a small pavilion at the other end of the royal compound. This was well furnished with cushions and rugs: covered dishes of food and a cracked jug of chilled wine had been left on a table. The chamberlain gestured around and quickly left.

'That was insulting.' Mareb threw himself down on the cushions. 'They are barbarians.' His face was flushed with anger. 'Not even being allowed to clean ourselves before they offered food. They were mocking us.'

'Perhaps they were.' Amerotke sat opposite him. 'But let them have their hour in the sun. The Mitanni are defeated. Tushratta can swagger, boast, demand this and that, but he lost the battle and he lost the war. He has to come and accept Hatusu's terms. Oh, he may have had a hand in Sinuhe's death and the theft of the sacred amethyst. He may insist on the removal of Benia's sarcophagus, but all Hatusu is really concerned about is that Tushratta becomes a compliant king: that her troops, merchants and ships are allowed safe and free passage.'

'You could have objected,' Mareb retorted. 'I am the Divine One's herald.'

Amerotke leaned closer.

'Tell me, Mareb,' he demanded softly, 'speak the truth. Haven't you used your office to show disdain? A smirk, a narrowing of the eyes?'

Mareb bowed his head.

'It's hard,' he murmured. 'I loved my father and brother. Their killer squats feasting in a tent like the barbarian he is.' He raised his head, eyes gleaming. 'I wish the Divine One had marched on his capital, burnt it around his ears and crucified him as a warning.'

Amerotke heard a movement outside the tent and raised his hand for silence. A chamberlain lifted the tent flap and Wanef slipped in.

'Your quarters are comfortable?' she asked.

'They are but we will not be here long.'

'No, no, you won't be. Your horses have been fed, watered and gently exercised. I have asked our armourers to check your chariot to ensure all is safe.'

'They should not touch it,' Mareb interrupted.

Wanef glared at him.

'Your mission, my lord Amerotke,' she got to her feet, 'has been successful. You have smoothed matters over. I think it's best if we left it at that.'

She moved to the tent flap. The chamberlain lifted it and followed her out. Amerotke moved across to a small couch made out of cushions and sacks of flocked wool.

'We will rest, Mareb,' he declared. 'But once the sun begins to set, we will leave.' He glanced across and smiled. 'I advise you not to wander far from my side.'

Mareb just knocked a dish of food off the table and went across to his own couch. Amerotke settled himself. He murmured a prayer for Norfret and the boys as he tried to curb his own anxiety, a deep feeling of unease. Was this mission necessary? Why did the Mitanni find matters so amusing? Was Tushratta just enjoying the baiting? And why had they not asked for compensation for the death of Lord Snefru? But there again, if Egypt was not responsible for his death then why should such reparation be made? And the news about Weni's death? Had he acted alone or was there an accomplice? Amerotke, wishing Shufoy was with him, drifted into a deep sleep. When Mareb shook him awake, Amerotke realised the day had drawn on.

'The sun is slipping,' the herald said. 'I've been out, the horses are fine and the chariot is safe.'

Amerotke got up and washed his hands and face. They ate some of the food and had a sip of wine. Outside came the rattle of a chariot and the sound of horses. Mareb hurried out. Amerotke followed. The herald quickly checked the wheels, the yoke and the reins, totally ignoring the Mitanni officers who stood around.

'We will give you safe escort,' one of them declared, 'to the edge of the camp.'

Mareb ignored him. Amerotke agreed and climbed into the chariot beside the herald. The air was cooler, the sun had lost some of its brilliance, turning a blood-red as it slipped into the west and sent the shadows longer. The camp was all a-bustle, preparing for the night. Mareb snapped the reins, keeping the horses at a walk as, escorted by the Mitanni, they made their way to the edge of the camp. No words of farewell or greeting were exchanged, though Mareb turned, hawked and spat in the dust: a gesture of contempt. Flicking the reins, he urged the horses into a gallop, almost catching Amerotke by surprise.

'May the lord Amun be thanked!' Mareb shouted. 'To be free from their stench and out under the heavens!'

Amerotke agreed. It had been a long time since he had stood in a chariot racing across the evening desert, that magical time when the rocks, sand and scrub seemed to change both colour and appearance. Mareb was enjoying himself, shouting at the horses, getting rid of the fury boiling within him. They were now deep into the open desert. Amerotke glimpsed watching lions slinking behind a wall of gorse. Mareb urged the horses on, then muttered under his breath, pulling at the reins, staring along the outside of the chariot.

'What's the matter?' Amerotke asked.

'It's uneven.'

Amerotke steadied himself, holding the rail. Mareb was correct: he felt the slight judder.

'I am not sure,' Mareb reined in, 'whether it's the horses or the chariot.'

They climbed down. Mareb crouched by the right wheel, studying it carefully. The sun was now sinking beyond the horizon, a glowing ball of red fire. Amerotke shivered at the cold evening breeze. The desert was simply a place to pass through, but what happened if something went wrong? How far were they from the Egyptian chariot squadrons? He stared around and swallowed hard. On the hillock in the distance shapes were moving: the lions, their curiosity disturbed, were watching carefully. Mareb still crouched by the wheel.

'My lord, I can't see anything wrong. If you could check the horses?'

Amerotke went round, patting the horses on the withers. Mareb was now up, muttering about the other wheel. Amerotke lifted Hathor's foreleg and felt for any swelling or contusion: there was none. He moved to 'the Pride of Isis'. Again he could find nothing amiss. He was about to come round the chariot when Hathor reared in the traces, hooves lashing out. Amerotke backed away. Mareb hastened round, grasped the halter and quietened the animal.

'Possibly a snake,' he murmured. 'There's nothing wrong with the chariot.'

Mareb put away his herald's staff as if it was cumbersome and climbed in; Amerotke took his place. Mareb moved the chariot slowly off. He kept it at a walk, studying both horses carefully. Amerotke was about to declare it was nothing when Hathor reared up again, thrashing out, her hooves grazing Isis, who went down on her back legs. Something was very wrong with Hathor: the animal settled but began to tremble, moving from side to side.

'Jump!' Mareb urged and, pulling Amerotke with him, leapt from the chariot.

Hathor slumped, head going up, upper lip curling back. Mareb slipped in and cut the horse free of its traces: a simple task every charioteer was taught. Hathor fell on her side, legs thrashing. Mareb shouted at Amerotke to lead Isis away. It was a difficult feat, for the removal of the first horse had turned the chariot into a cumbersome load. By the time Amerotke had loosened and quietened Isis, Mareb had cut Hathor's throat, her blood spurting in a gushing red pool. The horse, all her splendour gone, lay eyes glazed on her left side. Mareb pointed to the distended belly.

'An accident?' Amerotke asked.

Mareb shook his head.

'Poison!' He stared past Amerotke. 'May the lord Amun help us!'

Amerotke whirled round. Isis, traces and reins dangling, was limping badly. Amerotke could see the bloody gash on her foreleg where Hathor, in her panic throes, had struck. Mareb grasped the horse, leading her up and down, talking to her softly. The magnificent animal was very badly injured, limping so badly Amerotke knew they had no choice.

'It's not just a bruise,' Mareb declared. 'Bones have been broken.'

Amerotke agreed. He turned away as Mareb cut the second horse's throat. Amerotke looked up at the dusty dark sky and cursed. Despite the approaching night, the vultures had scented blood. Already three were circling above them. He glanced back towards the hillock: the dark shapes were now more pronounced. The entire pride had gathered. The lions, too, had noticed the horses in distress, the evening breeze wafting across the scent of blood.

'Before long,' Mareb said, following Amerotke's gaze, 'we'll have every hunter in the desert here.'

Amerotke went and took the leather war sheath from the chariot.

'In which case,' he went on, 'let us put as much distance between us and them as possible!'

They started to walk. Amerotke glanced back. The lions, all fear of man forgotten, were bounding down the hill, sinister dark shapes, heading directly towards the widening circles ofblood. Amerotke hurried after Mareb. The sun dipped quickly. Night fell like a black cloak. The cold night breeze strengthened. Amerotke tried to recall his training. The desert, a boiling cauldron during the day, would now become cold as ice.

'We can't keep walking,' he announced.

'Why not?'

'We have little food.' Amerotke gestured at the satchel Mareb carried. 'If the Mitanni poisoned our horses, I'd be careful of eating or drinking anything we took from their camp.'

'So, you agree Hathor was poisoned?' Mareb came back.

'I don't know.' Amerotke put the sheath of weapons on the ground between them. 'What accusations can we make? Hathor became troubled when she was on her way from the camp. She was highly strung. Horses become ill. By morning there will be very little evidence for anyone to examine.'

Amerotke paused. On the breeze came the muffled roar of a lion, a sinister coughing sound and, above that, the yip-yip of the great stripe-coated hyaenas, predators just as deadly, even more so, than the lions they followed.

'We can't walk on,' Amerotke continued. 'We have no food, whilst that blood will only whet the appetite for the hunt. Moreover, in the dark a man is just as vulnerable as an antelope.' He pointed to a hillock ringed with thick scrub and gorse. 'The only thing which will keep the predators away is fire. We have flint, bow strings...?'

Mareb agreed and they hurried on. The darkness now enveloped them. Mareb tripped, the fall bringing him to his knees. He got up limping badly, cursing softly under his breath. Amerotke helped him up the hillock. The ground was well chosen. They pushed their way through the sharp shrubs which cut and scarred their legs, and prepared their defence against the prowlers of the night.

[ In early Egyptian history, the rites of Anubis were reserved for Pharaoh alone ]


They collected kindling and dried scrubwood, and, using the flint and a bow string, managed to start a flame and build a fire. They cut more wood, using a war axe from the chariot. From the darkness of the desert echoed the cries of the night.

'Two beautiful horses,' Amerotke murmured, staring into the night.

'We had no choice, my lord.' Mareb stretched his hands out to the flames. 'Hathor was poisoned and Isis lame. Better for them to die quickly than be pulled down by the scavengers.'

'When do you think Hathor was poisoned?' Amerotke asked.

'Probably just before we left, but we have no proof. The Mitanni will dismiss it as an accident. They planned it well: a lonely chariot out in the desert.'

'But why?'

'My lord, they know you are investigating the deaths at the Temple of Anubis. You have a reputation for the ruthless pursuit of the truth.' In the firelight Mareb's face creased into a smile. 'They would also have destroyed one of Hatusu's closest advisers. They'd later explain how you left their camp alive and well and suffered some unfortunate accident.'

A lion coughed in the darkness. Amerotke got to his feet.

'And we still might.'

He glanced up at the stars which glinted like gems on a dark purple cushion: so close Amerotke felt he could pluck them out. The moon was full and strong. An icy wind ruffled his military cloak and made his sweaty skin shiver. Again the lion coughed. Amerotke glimpsed dark shapes moving beyond the scrub and, in the fire glow, the occasional glare of amber eyes.

'Be careful, my lord,' Mareb warned.

He got up, notching an arrow to his bow. Amerotke felt uneasy.

'Give me that!'

Mareb handed it over. Amerotke ripped off a piece of his cloak, creating a makeshift bundle around the arrow head. He plunged this into the fire, waited for it to catch light and loosed the arrow into the darkness. It struck the pebbled ground some way off in a splutter of sparks and, for a while, created a small pool of light. Amerotke's unease deepened. More shapes than he thought. He recalled his training as a soldier, when he and other royal recruits were marched out by a drill-master to spend a night under the desert sky.

'Beware of the big cats and the hyaenas,' their drill-master had warned. 'Once they scent blood and their hunting instinct is aroused, they'll only be satisfied with a kill.'

Amerotke tensed. A shape was sloping through the darkness towards him. He pulled Mareb back, lit another fire arrow and loosed it. The huge lioness roared in frustration and slithered back down the narrow trackway between the gorse.

'They'll not be satisfied,' Amerotke declared. 'The two horses only whetted their appetites. They followed our trail here.'

Amerotke gazed desperately around. Mareb, his whole body covered in a sheen of sweat, grasped a spear. The herald jabbed the spear and screamed curses into the darkness. The situation was now truly desperate. All around them the night air was broken by the scream of hyaenas and the muffled roar of the lions. Amerotke hastily lit another fire. On one occasion the huge lioness, probably the leader of the pride, came creeping towards them and was only frightened away by Amerotke throwing a firebrand in its direction. A sound behind made him whirl round. In the firelight he made out the stubby jaw and long neck of a marauding hyaena. He drove the beast off. Mareb was beside himself with fear, cursing and screaming, mouthing obscenities about the Mitanni. Amerotke gazed up at the night sky. Once dawn came they might be safe, yet it would be hours before the first streaks of red lightened the sky. He was relieved at the gorse which ringed their camp site. The scrubs were harsh and grouped closely together, and these and the fire would keep the predators at bay, but for how long? Three small fires now glowed, but every time they needed fresh kindling, it meant they had to leave the circle of light: Amerotke did not know how close the marauders were. Sometimes, as the night breeze shifted, he caught a rotting stench, that strange feral smell of wild animals.

Mareb's increasing terror made him reluctant to leave the firelight, so Amerotke had to cut the kindling whilst keeping an eye on the moving shadows. On one of these occasions the lioness, accompanied by another, came crashing through the scrub. Amerotke had to shriek at Mareb to throw a firebrand and the attackers retreated.

'We must do something else,' Amerotke declared.

He glimpsed the leather satchel containing their food and a small jar of oil and snatched this up.

'We have no other choice,' he urged. 'We can't keep going out to collect kindling.'

'What then?' Mareb demanded.

At Amerotke's insistence, they fashioned proper fire arrows. Amerotke's cloak was cut into strips: these were soaked in oil and fastened to the ends of arrows. Amerotke loosed them into the dry gorse. At first he thought they had made no impact till he smelt the smoke and saw the flames coursing through the scrubland.

'We'll set the entire gorse on fire,' he declared. He grasped the herald's arm. 'It's our only chance. If we wait, the fires will go out whilst the prowlers beyond will become more bold.'

Mareb calmed down. Using both lance and arrows, they started fires in the ring of gorse around them. The season was dry and the vegetation soon caught alight. Fanned by the night breeze, the flames caught hold and roared up to the heavens. Sometimes the smoke came billowing in to sting their eyes; other times, it drifted out over the desert. The flames also illuminated the enemy beyond, and Amerotke's heart clenched with fear. It wasn't just one pride of lions: two or three had gathered, attracted by the smell of the blood. He also glimpsed the slinking outlines of the hyaenas. At first he couldn't understand such a gathering of killers.

'Of course!' he exclaimed. 'The Mitanni have been hunting, the antelope herds have been driven off. Most of the game in this area will have been trapped, hunted and killed for Tushratta's table.'

Mareb nodded in agreement. The herald had now recovered from his hysteria.

'That's why the beasts of the night are so intent.' Amerotke forced a smile. 'They must have regarded those horses as a gift from the gods.'

Amerotke sat in the centre of their camp and watched the fires burn. He was tempted to curse his own ill fortune. He calmed himself by thinking of Norfret's smiling face; Shufoy chasing his two sons; Prenhoe ever eager to tell about his dreams or Asural strutting about in his ceremonial war dress. He tried to sleep but found he couldn't. The ring of fire now sealed them in, the only irritation being the billowing smoke. Amerotke thanked Ma'at that the night was clear and for the flames which protected them. He silently vowed that, if he was safely returned to Thebes, he would make special sacrifice to the goddess. Mareb crouched beside him, teeth chattering with cold or fear, Amerotke didn't know which. They both stared towards the east, desperate to catch that first glimpse of the rising sun. The night drew on. The flames subsided, giving way to thicker, darker smoke.

'Couldn't they still charge us?' Mareb murmured.

'No animal likes fire,' Amerotke declared. 'Even the hungriest will not cross burning earth. Let's pray for dawn and that this smoke acts as a signal.'

At last it came. Amerotke rubbed his eyes and stared. Yes, the first glimpse of red-gold; the darkness was beginning to thin. Amerotke loved to kneel on the roof of his house and watch the sun rise; now he had never been so pleased to see a dawn. The sun rose quick and strong, that strange time when night and day met. The surrounding desert, the gorse, even the smoke changed in a bewildering variety of colours. The cold disappeared, the breeze subsided. Amerotke knelt, forehead to the ground; Mareb did likewise, and they chanted a short hymn of praise and thanks. Then Amerotke got to his feet and went to the edge of the gorse. Picking his way carefully, he looked down the hill. His mouth went dry. The marauding packs had withdrawn but not disappeared. On a rocky outcrop, just before the ground dipped, he glimpsed the outline of a crouching lion.

'The hunters have not given up.'

Amerotke hid his despair. The fires still burnt but the dry gorse had been reduced to blackened ash. He leaned down and felt the ground, burning hot to the touch. He glanced over his shoulder. Mareb was looking to the west, eyes shaded.

'I think...' he exclaimed excitedly.

Amerotke hurried back and followed his direction. His eyesight wasn't as keen as Mareb's. The heat of the day now created a ripple effect. He was just wondering if the herald had seen a mirage when he caught the gleam of armour.

'It's a war squadron!' Mareb exclaimed. 'They saw the smoke.' He turned and grasped Amerotke by the arm. 'My lord, we are saved!'

Amerotke lounged in the cool of the evening in the gardens of the imperial palace, the Mansion of Silver, which lay on the west bank of the Nile just south of the Necropolis. The guest of the Divine Hatusu and Lord Senenmut, he sipped at his wine and gazed appreciatively around. The palace had been built by Hatusu's father, a veritable paradise with its landscapes and colonnades. The portico they were sitting in overlooked a terrace which fell away, stretching to the far walls. From where he sat, next to Hatusu, Amerotke could glimpse the doorposts of gold, mounted with copper and inlaid with costly figures of stone, which gave entrance to the various vineyards and orchards. Summer pavilions, fashioned out of papyrus and decorated with lotus blossoms, provided cool sanctuaries for Pharaoh's courtiers to drink, feast and even make love. The air was perfumed with the specially imported incense trees from Punt. The sea of greenery was occasionally broken by gleaming lakes and ponds where rare fish and birds were bred; various statues peeped either above or between the trees. Antelope, oryx and ibex grazed serenely on the lawns next to exotic birds resplendent in their brilliant plumage.

'A different resting place from last night, eh, my lord?' Senenmut joked. He leaned over and refilled the judge's cup. Amerotke gazed quickly at Hatusu: this evening her mood had changed. She was at her most regal, a coloured shawl decorated with precious jewels about her shoulders. Her gown was of the finest linen with a girdle of gold; sandalled, jewelled slippers on her feet. Her hair was bound by a circlet, in the centre a spitting cobra; her face was specially painted, her fingers and wrists dripped with gold and silver.

The war squadron which had rescued him and Mareb had been dispatched by Hatusu. They had brought Amerotke here and taken Mareb across into the city. The palace servants had seen to his every need. He had been washed and bathed, his body pummelled and massaged. Fresh robes were laid out; Hatusu had sent him a small cartouche of gold studded with pearls as a personal gift. The servants had been clear about their instructions. The lord Amerotke was not to leave the Mansion of Silver but to wait until the Divine One 'manifested herself and allowed him to bathe in her smile'. She and Senenmut had been brought across by barge, accompanied into the palace by the clash of cymbals, the beat of war drums, the rattling of the sistra and hymns of praise. Hatusu had stepped down from her gold-encrusted palanquin. She had graciously thanked the chamberlain and captain of the guard. However, once the doors were closed and she, Senenmut and Amerotke were by themselves, she dropped the mask, her face contorted with fury. She had walked up and down, kicking away furniture, mouthing obscenities Amerotke had last heard in the barracks. She'd turned on Senenmut and punched him viciously in the shoulder.

'We should have sent out other chariots!' she shouted, her face only a few inches from his. 'It was a mistake.' She glared at Amerotke. 'You could have died. What use would you have been then?' She'd fought back the tears, walked over and nipped his arm, digging her nails in. 'You could have died, Amerotke, and whom would I have to tease? Who would speak the truth to me? Who would stare down at me and frown like an elder brother? Whom could I trust?'

She stamped her foot, viciously comparing Tushratta to the dung of a camel. She walked back to the door and turned, leaning against it.

'I know.' She shook her fist, making the bangles jingle. 'I'll send out war squadrons, thousands of chariots. I'll give him peace. I'll burn the Oasis of Palms. I'll make him pay, a thousand pounds of gold. Yes, I'll put that in the treaty. I'll make him come here, kiss my feet and kneel till his back breaks. I'll take that Wanef and impale her on a stake!'

Amerotke glanced at Senenmut, who, face impassive, just shook his head imperceptibly. Hatusu gave her rage full vent. The only thing Senenmut did was urge her away from the door so the servants couldn't hear. At last she calmed down and sat on the specially prepared throne, her breath coming in short gasps, spots of anger high in her cheeks.

'What can we really do?' she grated.

'What proof do we have?' Senenmut soothed.

He made Amerotke repeat the story the judge had told Hatusu's envoy. Both Pharaoh and her vizier heard him out. Hatusu sat forward, tapping her sandalled foot against the ground.

'You are right,' she confessed. 'If we accused Tushratta, what proof do we have? The horse could have died of natural causes. Something she ate, something in her nature: scorpion bite or snake venom.'

'It could have been a simple accident,' Senenmut added. 'Simple misfortune. How can we blame Tushratta? Or, there again, one of the Mitanni could have decided on an act of private revenge. Indeed, as we know, Amerotke, poisons and potions exist which can take hours, even days to work! Hathor could have been poisoned before she even left Thebes.'

'I'll never do it again,' Amerotke laughed. 'My lady, next time I go out into the desert...'

'We'll organise a royal hunt.' Hatusu smiled. 'I'll teach those lions a lesson. They, too, will feel Pharaoh's fury.'

She got to her feet, came over, put her arms round Amerotke's neck and kissed him full on the lips. She ignored his blushes.

'I know, I know.' She stepped away wagging a finger playfully. 'You'd love to see the Divine Norfret. But tomorrow, you, I and Senenmut, a select group of scribes from the House of Secrets and my bodyguard will enter the Valley of the Kings. We will visit my father's last resting place in the House of Eternal Years and remove the sarcophagus of Benia.'

Hatusu then turned playful. She clapped her hands and declared that Amerotke should enjoy an evening in stark contrast to the previous one. Servants were ordered out of the garden and she invited Amerotke into this shady portico. She listened intently to the rest of his account and was bemused by the Mitanni claim that Weni had stolen the Glory of Anubis.

'Do you think that's the truth?' she asked.

'I don't know,' Amerotke replied. 'I'll have to return to the temple.'

'But not now,' Hatusu announced. 'Tushratta wants the sarcophagus returned, then let it be so, as a token of our friendship. Our escort will leave in secret at dawn. My father's tomb is well hidden.'

Amerotke nodded. All of Thebes knew the story: how the war-like, repressive Tuthmosis I had decided on a magnificent burial place hidden in the Valley of the Kings. He had hired a master-builder, Ineni. Hundreds of prisoners of war, slaves and criminals had been marched into the valley, which had then been sealed off by crack infantry units. None of the workmen had returned. When Tuthmosis died only a group of 'secrets', mutes, scribes and priests, had escorted the corpse to the royal tomb for its journey to the Far Horizon. Master-Builder Ineni had been proud, boasting that 'Eye hadn't seen, nor ear heard, nor mind imagined' where the King could be buried.

'Why does Tushratta really want the sarcophagus?' Senenmut asked.

Hatusu replied in such a whisper, Amerotke did not hear her reply.

'My lady?'

Hatusu glanced round to make sure there was no one in earshot: the nearest guard was some distance away.

'There is a rumour in the Divine House, one I heard as a child, that my father was infatuated with Benia. In a fit of passionate love Tuthmosis strangled her after discovering her affair with a courtier. No one knew the real truth. Some people claim she was buried alive.' She paused. 'Tushratta may simply want to discover the truth. Tomorrow we shall see...'

Early next morning the royal party gathered at the mouth of the Valley of the Kings. They had been escorted from the Mansion of Silver by a chariot squadron, whilst archers marched by a large cart pulled by four oxen. The soldiers were now told to wait at the entrance to the valley, while the chariot carrying Senenmut, Hatusu and Amerotke led the rest of the party up the winding, narrow path which cut through the rocks into the Valley of the Kings. Hatusu was dressed for the part in a war kilt, her legs protected by bronze greaves, on her feet the marching sandals worn by infantry. A white robe covered her head and shoulders, bands of the same colour around her chest. She wore no jewellery or any ornamentation. She provoked laughter with the heavy gauntlets she had donned but she insisted Amerotke and Senenmut wear the same.

'You will see,' she warned enigmatically.

Tucked in her waistband was a copper cylinder: she grasped its top as if it was a dagger. She explained that it contained Ineni's plan describing the precise location of her father's tomb and the dangers within.

'Dangers?' Senenmut queried.

'My father was as sly as a hunting cheetah and, at times, as vicious as a cobra,' Hatusu retorted. 'He did not want his tomb to be disturbed. You will see.'

Now she clasped the chariot rail, staring up the valley. Amerotke always found this a lonely, haunting place. Cliffs rose on either side, light-coloured in the rising sun. The ground dipped and shifted; rock and scrubs stretched as far as the eye could see. The deeper they went, the more ominous the silence grew. The rising sun sent the shadows of the bushes racing across their path. Occasionally the silence was broken by the call of some bird stretching its wings in the warmth of the rising sun. Amerotke wondered if it was the shriek of a soul murdered in this desolate place. He looked behind. The secrets stayed well away from the dust thrown up by the chariot wheels. These were the mutes, the confidential servants of Pharaoh who saw and heard but could not speak. They had all signed a vow that if they betrayed what they learnt, their eyes would be gouged out and their bodies decapitated so their souls would be deprived of ever reaching the Fields of the Blessed. Some were old, some young: all had their heads shaved. They were dressed alike in white gauffered kilts, heavy-duty sandals and white shawls to protect their backs and necks from the sun. Some carried staves, others leather satchels with writing implements. The rest of the procession, about half a dozen walking at the far back, would remove the sarcophagus and bring it down to the entrance of the valley for transportation to the Oasis of Palms.

An unreal, ghostly experience, Amerotke reflected: the creak of the chariot wheels, Hatusu and Senenmut lost in their own thoughts, and these silent, trudging men. They passed the remains of the slave camps which Ineni had supervised when Tuthmosis' tomb was first built.

'Have you been here before?' Senenmut asked.

'Once,' Hatusu replied. 'My father brought me here to show me the entrance to the tomb. He thought I wished to be buried with him. But I will build my own tomb,' she added. Her hand rested on Senenmut's shoulder. 'We shall travel together in our journey to the Far Horizon.'

Senenmut gathered the reins in one hand and used the other to pat her arm: no longer Pharaoh and vizier but, in all things, man and wife.

They went deeper into the valley, following the pebble-strewn track. Amerotke studied the cliff face on either side. He could detect no sign of an entrance to some marvellous tomb. Abruptly Hatusu cried out for them to stop. She climbed down and, undoing the copper cylinder, drew out a piece of papyrus, which she studied carefully. She pointed to a small trackway no more than a goat path, which wound up behind a bastion of rocks.

'Is that it?' Amerotke exclaimed.

Hatusu, grasping the copper cylinder, strode off up the trackway, climbing expertly. Senenmut and Amerotke followed.

'I now realise why we are wearing the gauntlets!' Amerotke said wryly.

The rocks were sharp and jagged, as if deliberately fashioned to cut and gash human flesh. They scrambled up, aware of the strengthening sun, the blast of heat from the rocks and the fine clouds of dust which rose to sting mouth and eyes. A snake, disturbed by the noise, darted out of a crevice. Amerotke froze; the snake disappeared. They reached the bastion of rock. Amerotke was surprised to see no sign of any entrance. Hatusu climbed on. Amerotke followed, the sweat now streaming down his back. He heard Senenmut exclaim and glanced up. Hatusu had disappeared, as if some giant invisible hand had plucked her away from the rock face. Senenmut and Amerotke hurried on.

'My lords!' a voice cooed.

They looked to their left. Hatusu was standing in a cleft of rock. This was cleverly concealed: even an expert mountaineer would have considered it a shadow, some trick of the light. They followed her in. The priests and scribes followed. Two had fallen and gingerly nursed bruised shins and knees. The cave entrance was cool and dark. Senenmut clicked his fingers. Pitch torches were quickly lit and a small fire started in the entrance to the cavern. Amerotke whistled with surprise. The cave was really a man-made chamber hewn out of the rock. The roof soared above them. Its walls were of dressed stone; a narrow path stretched deeper into the darkness. Hatusu grasped a staff from a scribe. Two of the torch-bearers were ordered to go before her.

'Walk slowly,' she declared. 'Do not leave me. When I tell you to, stop immediately. You understand?'

Both men nodded, their eyes fearful.

'If you obey my orders we shall all be safe.'

The procession moved off. Amerotke felt as if he was travelling through the halls of the Duat. They left the entrance cavern and moved along a narrow corridor. The walls on either side had paintings of dreadful beasts, the devourers and prowlers of the dark underworld: exotic creatures with the heads of crocodiles and the bodies of hippopotamuses, baboons and monkeys with the faces of panthers and leopards. At last they reached the doorway at the far end. One of the servants hurried ahead. Hatusu screamed at him to stop but it was too late. The man was in the gallery, almost touching the door, when the ground gave way beneath him and he disappeared in a rumble of earth and rocks. Amerotke grasped the torch and edged forward. One of the scribes came up with a pole but Amerotke told him to stay away. He peered over the trap, throwing down a torch: the pit simply fell away into the blackness. Of the servant there was no sign.

'He can't have survived such a fall,' Hatusu murmured. 'There is a pit on either side of a narrow bridge to the doorway.'

Amerotke, using the staff, probed the ground carefully. Hatusu was right: a similar trap lay to the right of the door, but in the centre was hard rock. He went across: sacred seals displaying the heads of jackals had been placed round the rim of the door. Amerotke removed these and, with the help of a scribe, pushed the door: it was based on some system of poles and levers and swung smoothly back.

'Go no further!' Hatusu shouted.

A scribe brought a torch. Amerotke had expected the floor to be even, but the torchlight illuminated a narrow ledge which fell away abruptly. Any thief who survived the pit would stumble through the door and fall to his death. Amerotke glimpsed a narrow staircase and carefully went down. The others followed. They gathered at the foot of the steps, torches were brought and Amerotke gazed fearfully around. Skeletons lay heaped on either side of the pathway.

'The workmen,' Senenmut whispered. 'Those who finished the cavern must have been executed here.'

Amerotke walked through this place of the dead, watching the narrow path before him. He tried to ignore the skeletons heaped in a haphazard fashion on either side. He calculated that hundreds must have been killed here: a true place of terror.

'They must have been locked in,' he exclaimed. He paused to examine one body but could see no mark or injury. 'They were starved to death,' he declared. 'Afterwards, a path was cleared between them just before the tomb was finally sealed.'

At the end of the cavern Hatusu told them to stop. Two of the scribes went forward, knocking at the ceiling with their staffs; they fled backwards at a loud crack, followed by tumbling earth and rocks.

'Ineni was efficient,' Hatusu explained, coughing at the dust. 'But that is the last.'

They went through another door into a long gallery with beautiful decorations and paintings on either wall. They reached the royal antechamber, a stark contrast to the horrors they had passed. A treasure house, its walls were covered in eye-catching paintings depicting Tuthmosis' victories. All around were stacked exquisitely painted and bejewelled caskets, beautifully carved alabaster vases, black and gold shrines with statues of the gods, silver vases full of bouquets of dried flowers and leaves, beds and chairs with sculpted footstools, a silver and gold throne, cups and goblets shaped in the form of lotuses, overturned chariots, statues of the King in various poses and dress, couches, their corners carved in the shape of lions' heads and coated in gold and silver. Two huge statues of Tuthmosis, dressed like a soldier in full war regalia, stood on either side of the entrance to the burial chamber. Senenmut broke the seals to this and they went in. Here the walls were also lavishly decorated, depicting scenes from Pharaoh's life with a mass of hieroglyphics describing each incident. The chamber was dominated by a huge sarcophagus of gold and silver. Other funeral caskets lay on either side, along with the canopic jars and chests. If Hatusu and Senenmut had any fear of disturbing the dead, especially the Ka of Pharaoh, they hid it well. Hatusu became businesslike: a priest brought forward a bag of great keys to open the caskets and coffers.

'Disturb nothing! Touch nothing! Find the sarcophagus of Benia!'

This was soon found: a gold-inlaid casket, smaller and narrower than the huge one which dominated the chamber. Using a special T-shaped key, Hatusu undid the clasps and swung the lid back. She sighed in satisfaction: perfume billowed out from the mummy which lay beneath, swathed in its bands.

'At least it proves Benia wasn't buried alive,' she whispered.

She ordered a physician from the House of Life to carefully peel back the bandages. This took some time, the scribes moving the embalmed corpse carefully, fearful of causing any damage or injury.

'It will decay!' Senenmut exclaimed.

'Perhaps not,' Hatusu replied. 'It has been preserved well.'

They waited patiently. At last the face bands were removed: the features beneath had decayed and changed over the passage of years. Hatusu immediately ordered it to be rewrapped.

'The legends were false.'

She took a fan from the girdle around her waist and used this to cool her cheeks.

'Tushratta cannot accuse my father of any violence. So,' she ordered, 'the mummy is to be taken to the House of Life, swathed tightly in fresh bands and the sarcophagus resealed. If Tushratta wishes to disturb the dead, let's make it difficult for him.'

Amerotke relaxed and walked away. Hatusu declared they wouldn't stay long. The torch light and Hatusu's calm attitude dispelled any atmosphere of menace or violation. Throughout the examination, one of the accompanying priests had squatted and, opening the Book of the Dead, softly invoked the protection of the gods, a clear demonstration that Hatusu meant no sacrilege.

Amerotke was distracted by the paintings on the wall and went over to examine them. He exclaimed in surprise on realising that, whilst the rest of the tomb was being prepared, Ineni had used the painters to decorate the chamber with a myriad of scenes from the Pharaoh's life: his victories and royal triumphs, but also family scenes. Hatusu came across and showed him a painting of herself as a girl kneeling before her father, a hieroglyphic signifying her name carved beneath the small figure. She seemed, however, unwilling to indulge in memories or nostalgia from the past and walked away. Amerotke knew her attitude to her fearsome father: deep respect but very little else. He found a similar painting of himself as a boy. He smiled at how small the figure was: the shaven head, the sidelock, the jewelled collar and white robe of a member of the royal kindergarten. Other scenes were there: Tuthmosis decorating soldiers with badges of honour and collars of bravery. A whole series of paintings depicted Tuthmosis' generosity to scribes, teachers and physicians. When Amerotke noticed a scene showing Tuthmosis blessing the royal pages, he stopped in astonishment, biting back his exclamation of surprise. A long line of small figures, each with their names beneath: two of these were holding hands. Amerotke studied it again to make sure he had not misread it and then moved on to the wall on the far side of the tomb. This was dominated by Tuthmosis wearing the double crown of Egypt with the royal Nenes draped about his shoulders, accepting the submission of vassals and allies. Amerotke glimpsed a small group of the dwarfed Nubians, the little people he had met in Tushratta's camp. They too knelt before Pharaoh, hands extended, begging for his blessing. They were naked except for headbands of feathers and leather kilts. Amerotke studied these carefully, particularly the weapons they carried. He became so engrossed he forgot where he was. Images came and went: the dancing girl dying in the pavilion; Snefru on his bed; Weni being pursued by a pack of wild dogs.

'My lord? My lord? Is there anything wrong?'

Amerotke shook free from his reverie, smiled and bowed.

'No, my lady, only the past.'

He decided to conceal, for a while, what he had just learnt about the murders in the Temple of Anubis.

[ In the Hall of Judgement Anubis weighed the deceased heart/soul against the feather of truth ]