Reviews for other books by this author.
Jane Palmer’s first novel Is a real
find -definitely a specimen of higher lunacy. The Planet Dweller appropriates
all the furniture of TV sci-fi and duly stands it on its head, with a wonderfully
pragmatic absurdity - that’s been done before, of course (Terry Pratchett,
Douglas Adams), but not quite this way.
A hilarious story in which the Earth is
threatened by the deadliest life-form in the universe: the Mott. Diana, a
menopausal mother, and Yuri, a practised drunk, are the two humans destined to
fight them
Palmer has more in common with Muriel
Spark than Marge Piercy. Her alien invasion of Earth takes place among the kind
of people who cause havoc at the supermarket checkout.
Jane Solanas Time Out
Jane Palmer’s novel, The Planet
Dweller quite unashamedly a good sci-fi adventure,
The Planet Dweller is a much more
traditionally sf novel, and also funny in a Tom Sharpe/Douglas Adams sort of
way:
Paperback Inferno
Jane Palmer’s first novel The
Planet Dweller comically (and Britishly) juxtaposes menopausal female reality
with a farcical chauvinist SF subplot about the Molt and their plan to rule the
galaxy.
The Planet Dweller has more in
common with Dr Who . . . including a sense of humour.
David Sexton Sunday Times
Jane Palmer spins a confused but amusing
tale of earth menaced by extragalactic baddies. Her heroine, Diana, a
menopausal housewife and administrator of an architectural museum, is original,
sympatico and fun.
The Drune
As in her 1985 debut novel The Planet
Dweller, Jane Palmer likes to confront wildly eccentric but plausible humans
with alien weirdness, producing offbeat SF comedy containing the occasional
serious barb ... Palmer's narrative bubbles with frivolous inventiveness and
unhinged dialogue, and has a gentle sting in the tail.
David Langford
Amazon.co.uk
Palmer has some points to make about
humans, civilization, and civility. The fact that she works them in to a wild,
through-the-looking-glass adventure eases the lessons into the most resistant
brain, with little or no pain.
Lisa DuMond SFF Site
Jane Palmer's fabulous and complex
universe is pleasantly refreshing … [this] lively, bubbling and buzzing
universe is a gentle call for a more harmonious, tolerant and generous society.
Martha Fumagalli WiPlash
And the story itself is the most
remarkable blend of sci-fi, fantasy, the self-defeating effects of bigotry,
power, control, love, self-sacrifice - and the ending is simply perfect.
Joules Taylor WordWrights
ATON BIRD
by
First
published in
by
Dodo Books 2008
Copyright
© Jane Palmer 2008
This is a work of fiction and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is
purely coincidental.
The
author asserts the moral right to be identified as
the
author of this work.
ISBN
978-1-906442-16-3
All
right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the
publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other
than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Other
science fiction books by this author
THE
PLANET DWELLER
THE
WATCHER
MOVING
MOOSEVAN
THE
KYBION
THE QUEEN
CHAPTER 1
The cloudbanks were glowing orange canyons in the
setting sun, and the horizon's curving rim gleamed like a burnished ring
mounted with the jewel of the solar disc. As Ahmose soared higher, silver
meteors intermittently stabbed the thin layer of atmosphere, and above its
misty curtain the constellations made a diamond collar against the backdrop of
space.
The bird
followed the Earth's rotation to bathe in the sun's perpetual warmth. Then he
plunged back to the planet's surface through a whirlpool of cloud, sleet
hammering against his golden plumage, and out into the glare of white mountains
where Neanderthal tribes hid from the spears of the new hominids.
While the
silence of space touched the highest peaks, busy winds swirled through the
flower-speckled valleys below. Here, thatched stone outcrops and dank caves were
dormitories for populations doomed by encroaching ice sheets.
Further south,
land was being pushed up by erupting volcanoes. In a bright blue sea a chain of
islands lay in a dusty girdle about the caldera where there used to be a mighty
civilisation. The planet's crust had blistered, then blown away its people,
artefacts and history. Crumbs of what it once was glistered in the art of other
lands. Now only the dolphins remembered.
Ahmose floated
in the rising thermals with the albatross and migrating swallow, across the
boundary of one empire and over the deep green ocean of another. Here
leviathans rose like bald grey islands and blew fountains of drizzle at
circling gulls.
The wind
picked up. It was fast and icy, buffeting the water into cliffs topped with
ragged fringes of spume. As they arched over, the golden bird soared through
their funnels until, dizzy with exhilaration, he misjudged the speed of the
next wave and it crashed down on him.
Ahmose woke
with a start.
The
The royal
barge came gliding ghostly over the water like a huge furtive pelican. The
river's current brought it alongside the small jetty and the crew secured its
weighty grandeur to the flimsy mooring posts. The prow and stern of the barge
were curved over in elegant stems sprouting enormous lilies, their white cedar
petals now shrouded by brown linen. The canopy decorated in gold at the centre
of the vessel had also been covered and the lighter skinned crew members crew
wore dark tunics with hoods; their oars so well muffled even the fish wouldn't
hear them being stroked through the water.
Ahmose left
the reed boat and climbed aboard. The captain was unable to conceal his
surprise at the champion selected to save Queen Ankhesenamun. A full featured
man, his shaven head glowed in the rays of the sinking sun, and the animal
keeper’s kilt was too large for his slight frame. There was an aura of holy
innocence about him. Many in the Egyptian clergy were undoubtedly holy, though
usually only as innocent as self-preservation would allow. In those troubled
times that was as much as a scorpion waiting its chance to dash from a crack in
the crumbling fabric of the Aton cult.
Ahmose was
used to others observing him. Even the sacred animals in the menagerie of the
As he waited
on the deck of the royal barge, Ahmose watched the sun set in the rose pink
sky. Though the craft was moored a safe distance north of
A small party
approached the royal barge and some sailors pushed out a ceremonial gangplank.
Queen Ankhesenamun and her attendant, who carried a cedar casket banded with
electrum and inlaid with ivory, came on board.
‘Could you
find nothing faster?’ the young Queen asked her priest advisor as he caught up
with them.
‘Once away
from here, who would try to stop a royal barge? When you reach Innu, Ahmose
will hide you until your ship arrives.’
Queen
Ankhesenamun then noticed Ahmose. Only sixteen, she had the imperious glance of
a middle-aged matriarch, probably learnt from her large intimidating companion
wearing a correspondingly huge wig. The animal priest frequently had to conduct
such formidable women through the temple menagerie and it had left him with a
fear of being engulfed. Fortunately he lived by a lake well away from the
temple precincts and the world outside only intruded on inspection days.
Ahmose knelt
before the Queen, his head almost touching her jewelled sandal. She looked at
the wisp of a man as though he were a fallen leaf.
The Queen's
advisor read the misgivings in her face. ‘Ahmose is the second keeper of the
sacred animals of the
‘What does the
first keeper do?’
‘Being senior
to Ahmose, he is solely responsible for the bull of Merwer.’
‘Well, Ahmose,
second keeper for the sacred animals of the
Ahmose obeyed,
trying not to look too simian.
His innocent,
yet enigmatic, expression made her hesitate. ‘What strange eyes you have. Like
two pools of ink waiting for a scribe to spell out eternity.’
The priest
advisor feared his plans could unravel for the sake of a colleague's haunted
expression. ‘No one is more devoted to the Aton than Ahmose. No other is
trustworthy or dedicated enough to risk their life for your safety.’
The Queen
reached out and placed a delicate hand on Ahmose's shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, holy
one. I am too used to priests with political minds.’
Her advisor
was also aware of the danger he was in. ‘I must go now. When I return to
‘No, you must
return to your temple. The old scoundrel would have fewer qualms about
executing you than declaring his marriage to me.’
Ahmose was
astonished. ‘He has married you?’
The Queen
looked at Ahmose as though some passing zephyr had just spoken. There was
nothing extraordinary about his voice; it came as a surprise to discover he
possessed one.
‘Yes. Eye now
has no reason to keep me alive.’
The Queen's
advisor hastily bade farewell and returned to his waiting ferry. As soon as the
senior priest was out of sight, Ahmose realised the danger he was also in and a
chill of fear made him shudder. Thinking it was because of the night air
Ahouri, the Queen's companion, wrapped a woollen cloak about his shoulders.
Ahmose looked
puzzled.
‘This material
is the same colour as the night,’ Queen Ankhesenamun explained. ‘It is possible
to see that your kilt once used to be white.’
‘Surely the
second keeper of the sacred animals of the
‘This is my
best kilt.’ Ahmose looked at his paw stained garment. It was much washed and
threadbare. Embarrassed, he pretended to be interested in the sailors rowing
the barge out into mid river where it could catch the current.
‘Ahmose.’
He turned back
to see Ahouri holding a garment of soft white folds.
The Queen took
it from her and shook out the fine linen. ‘Toss that other rag into the river.’
Ahmose refused
to take the kilt. ‘Even the High Priest would not wear a garment as splendid as
that.’ Especially his High Priest. He never wore anything finer than coarse
brown linen except on ceremonial occasions.
‘It belonged
to a pharaoh. He has no need of it now.’
In the light
of a lamp shielded by her companion's cloak, Queen Ankhesenamun delved into the
casket Ahouri had brought on board, then beckoned Ahmose to her. He approached
hesitantly. The Queen removed the small copper earring the priest wore in his
left ear and replaced it with a gold pendant. She looked for the hole in his
right ear lobe to hang its companion.
Ahmose was
intimidated by the value of the gifts. ‘I only wear one earring.’
‘Why?
Humility?’
‘It was
painful enough having one lobe pierced.’
She laughed,
replaced the spare earring in the casket and lifted out an opulent necklace
collar. Its jewels and gold glittered in the flickering light and probably
hadn't been worn since leaving the hands of the goldsmith. The Queen would have
placed it about Ahmose's neck if he hadn’t backed away.
‘No my lady,
it would attract attention.’
‘I don’t
expect you to go unrewarded for the risk you are taking.’
‘I want no
reward. It is for the truth of the Aton I do this.’
The cynical
smile on Ahouri's face faded as she realised that he meant it.
On the journey
north, Ahmose sat in the stern and wondered why the Aton had chosen this fool.
He had been caught out many times, talking to the sacred animals, and
eventually learnt not to mention that he understood what they said. Whatever
the hippopotamus of Taueret told him wasn't worth repeating anyway because it
was only interested in scandal and its appetite. Ahmose also dared to believe
that the Aton listened to him. Amon Ra and the whole pantheon of deities were
minor manifestations compared to the mighty oneness of the Sun. The Aton's rays
had swept up Ahmose, and many more, leaving them suspended in the cushioning
wonder of the Universe. Now Akhenaton had gone and his vision been eclipsed by
the vengeful old order. The Aton had become like a comet that would not return
for two thousand years.
While the
daughter of Akhenaton slept, Ahouri watched the animal priest's bald pate catch
the moonlight like another moon rising from his dark cloak. She was fascinated
by Ahmose's wise innocence, but thought better of encouraging him to talk in
case she became exasperated and was tempted to tip him into the river.
Several nights
later the royal barge glided into a tributary below the city of
As the party
went in they felt as though a serpent with icy breath was swallowing them. The
ample Ahouri had trouble negotiating the twists and turns in the passage. Just
when she thought she had lost the others she stumbled into a vast chamber. It
was full of gold; they were entering the gods' treasure chest. The lamps of
pure olive oil that Ahmose was lighting had not tarnished the precious metal,
and it was now obvious why gold didn’t impress the priest - he had a temple
full of it.
‘What is this
place?’ asked the Queen.
Ahmose pointed
to a huge gleaming disc. The descending rays ended in human hands. ‘The temple
of the Aton. When your father died, everything dedicated to the One God was
brought here for safety. The cave was excavated as a tomb a long time ago but
the roof cracked it was never used.’ He added hastily, ‘It’s quite safe. Hardly
anyone remembers it existed.’
The Queen ran
her fingertips over the muzzle of an alabaster Anubis. ‘The Aton was only
worshipped in temples open to the sky.’
‘That would
attract attention, and during the day the sunlight does enter from those rock
chimneys up there.’ Ahmose hesitated guiltily. ‘I have little time to worship.’
‘Are you this
temple's priest?’
‘Goodness no!
The High Priest of Amon Ra allows me to be its guardian.’
Ahouri laughed.
‘Its guardian! And what honour does he bestow on you for taking such a risk?’
As she would
have found the idea of a menial animal keeper being the confidant of a High
Priest even more amusing, Ahmose gave an innocent smile. ‘The honour of serving
the Aton.’
Ahouri and the
Queen glanced at each other. What could they say while Ahmose wore that pious
expression? Any other priest would have demanded bolts of fine linen, several
years’ supply of grain, and a herd of oxen for taking such a risk - and needed
to be drunk when agreeing to the arrangement. They doubted Ahmose was even
capable of inebriation. The priest probably refused to don the dead pharaoh's
robe because he wore poverty to reflect the greater glory of Akhenaton’s god.
Ahmose felt
like the subject of an autopsy trying to determine how badly he was riddled
with piety. He tried to sound businesslike. ‘Do you know when your ship will
arrive?’
‘Soon. My
agent will bring a boat to the place where we disembarked.’
‘How will he
contact us?’
‘At dusk he
will use a mirror to signal from the other side of the river. You must keep
watch every day just before the “Aton” goes down.’
‘It's a long
way from the menagerie and I can't spend too much time from the animals. My
assistant is a willing lad, but I've already been gone for some while.’
‘You will only
need to wait for a short time at sunset.’
A deluge of
apology swept through Ahmose. ‘Please forgive me. I didn't mean to be
unhelpful.’
‘Oh shut-up,’
snapped Ahouri. ‘Is it possible to get some sleep in this place?’
The fabulous bird
soared through clouds rotating over deep gorges, churning the atmosphere into
ionised soup. Suddenly daggers of lightning shattered pinnacles of desert
sandstone as though they were blocks of salt on a blacksmith's anvil. The air
twisted clouds into funnels of spinning fury. Like the trunks of cosmic
elephants, they drank up everything they touched - sand, water, buildings, and
ships.
From the stratosphere, Ahmose could see
the moon's powdery glow giving off insipid warmth, its craters and rills an
enigmatic jigsaw fretted out by Thoth. Up here the stars were huge and bald,
wearing bland, cadaverous expressions that loured at the soaring spirit.
Suddenly a finger of
plasma shot up from the storm below and the odour of singed feathers filled
Ahmose’s nostrils.
The animal priest picked himself up
from the stone floor of the tomb and rubbed his head. He had these dreams so
often he should have known how to avoid crash landings.
Ahmose trimmed his lamp and prepared
food and wine for the Queen and Ahouri. Before they woke and the shafts of
morning light streamed through the fissures in the tomb's roof, he rode back to
his small hut in the temple menagerie.
Ahmose cleaned and cut the animals' food
then went into each pen to make sure his apprentice hadn’t missed any signs of
moult, listlessness or foaming at the mouth. By the time he had been licked by
the jackals and oxen, pawed by the leopard, butted by the pigs and splashed by
the hippo, he needed to wash his kilt again. He didn't mind, the animals were
his family.
Ahmose had reared the hippopotamus from
when it had been small enough to fit in a breadbasket. Now its bulk filled the
pen it had once looked so lost in. As he had refused to have its massive tusks
trimmed, it had bitten its way through the wall that separated it from the
beautiful mud bank. Sometimes it would follow the keeper along the lake or
riverside like a mobile sarcophagus, but always returned to that small pen.
The lion was a gift from a Babylonian
prince. Its intellect had never been great, to the everlasting contempt of the
elderly Bast cat. Desert lions were no larger than wolves, though formidable
hunters in their natural habitat. Now domesticated, this one was quite content
in its garden of rocks, roaring for the visitors and living on a diet that it
could never have hoped to catch in the desert. If it ever managed to reach the
ibex of Thoth it would never remember what to do about it anyway. Ahmose had
more trouble with the Bast cat. He often had to scold her for hungrily watching
the aviary. While the ibis and falcons paid little attention, the racket the
ducks made could have prematurely resurrected the dead.
The
crocodile of Sebek always greeted the priest with a gaping pink mouth. However
dead the meat thrown into its jaws, the reptile would thresh it about in the
shallow water just to make sure. Any onlookers privileged to watch were awed by
the priest's nerve. It was easier than believing he could talk to the animals.
As
Ahmose sat waiting for his kilt to dry, the old Bast cat joined him. She was
wiser than the other animals and noticed things they missed.
She
sensed that his scent had changed. Her nose wrinkled. 'Are you ill, son of Ra?'
Ahmose
momentarily allowed himself to become aware of his middle-aged body. 'No. What
makes you think that?'
'Perhaps that corpulent man in the large
wig worries you?'
'What
corpulent man?'
'The
one who has been watching for your return.'
'Probably
a temple visitor waiting to inspect the animals.'
The old cat dozed off in a cushion of vigorous purrs; it
was her way of dropping out of a conversation.
Ahmose
heard the tread of his apprentice's large feet. The Bast cat sleepily raised
her head to see who was coming and gave a matriarchal mew as the youth bounded
to where the priest sat.
Goose
had a large face, stubbly hair that refused to submit to a razor and a wide,
perpetually smiling mouth that made him look slightly dim-witted. Nevertheless,
he had a better grasp of reality than his mentor did.
'Hello
Goose.'
'Where
is she then?'
Ahmose
had forgotten the excuse he had given for his journey. 'Who?'
'Your
wife. Everyone in the lower temple can't wait to see her. Is she like you?'
The
priest had never seriously thought about marriage and the complications of
using that reason for his absence had not occurred to him. Now the world wanted
to see what sort of woman was prepared to take the lowly animal keeper as a
partner. To his horror he suddenly felt disappointed, and it showed in his face.
Goose
never gave him time to answer. 'Oh – I’m sorry! Wouldn't she come?' 'I'll fetch
you a drink and your other robe.'
The
youth dashed off, leaving Ahmose to wonder why he had allowed the thought in.
The
Bast cat's eyes remained inscrutably closed. 'There, I thought your scent had
changed.'
'I
don't want a wife.'
'Never
used to want a wife.'
Ahmose
sulked until Goose returned with a dry robe and some beer. Unable to remember
having a father, the youth wasn’t sure how to treat older men. He had always
tried to show respect. The animals may not have been any trouble; his mentor
was an enigma, however, and often exasperating.
Goose
lifted the Bast cat from the priest's lap so he could dress himself. 'The
Merwer bull has mange.' His tone had a degree of smug satisfaction.
Ahmose
nodded. 'As it's never allowed outside, I'm not surprised.'
'I
told them that, but they wouldn't let me touch it. Perhaps they want it to die
so they can have a funeral.'
'Goose!'
Ahmose chided.
'Well,
we haven't had a good embalming for months. Think of how long that bull would
take.'
'Lord
Monte's funeral wasn't so long ago?'
'By
the time they found him and his hunting party the sand had dried them out. The
remains were so brittle we didn't need natron. Couldn't even get a piece of
wadding up his backside.'
Ahmose
laughed. 'Disgusting brat. Why did you have to become an assistant embalmer?'
'It
pays well and you get used to the stench. It’s also less dangerous than looking
after a tomb full of Aton artefacts.'
The
priest seized his arm. 'Has anyone asked you about that?'
Goose
was puzzled. 'No. The only others who know are the priests of the inner temple.
As they were the ones to move everything in there in the first place, they're
not likely to say anything. Now the Aton's temple has been rededicated to Amon
Ra, who's going to be any the wiser? What's the matter with you? That blackbird
been perching on your roof again?'
'Someone
believes that I’m too trusting.'
'Well,
you're daft enough to trust anyone.'
Ahmose
plunged his cup into the lake and tossed the water over his apprentice.
CHAPTER 3
Several evenings later, Ahouri was shaking out bed linen
beneath the great golden disc of the Aton. ‘Tell me, little priest, does no one
suspect you of helping us?’
Ahmose stopped
topping up the lamps. ‘The only ones who know of this place are the senior
priests of Amon Ra.’
‘You still
believe in the Aton, though?’
‘Isn't
generosity of spirit worth dedicating a life to?’
Ahouri
laughed. ‘Yes, if other people are going to show it to you.’
‘Why do you
always sneer at me?’
‘Because I'm
fond of you.’ Ahmose grazed his shin on a bed frame in an attempt to move out
of the intimidating matron's range. ‘Not like that. My husband was twice your
size and as unfaithful as any pharaoh. I'd never want another. Because you
happen to be considerate, you expect everyone else to be the same.’
‘Even I could
never be that unrealistic.’
‘Your mind
knows that, but your heart doesn't. If you were ever given a noble's funeral,
the embalmers wouldn't know which organs to put into which Canopic jars.’
‘From what
Goose says, they're not always that fussy. Many a dignitary has travelled to
the West only to have Anubis weigh their intestines instead of their heart.’
‘Don't change
the subject.’
‘Your
reasoning is too fierce for my lotus thoughts.’ There was a sarcastic edge in
Ahmose's tone.
Ahouri was
reassured that he might not have been a paragon after all. ‘Don't you ever
listen to anyone?’
‘The animals.’
An eerie
sensation prickled the scalp under Ahouri's huge wig, and it wasn't lice. She
suspected that the unassuming priest was trying to frighten her. ‘What sort of
entity can see into the mind of an animal?’
‘I've always
been able to understand other creatures, except humans.’
‘Not even your
parents?’
‘When I was a
week old, a lady's pet goose found me by the river. I was too ugly to keep so
she donated me to the
‘Your parents
deserted you because you were ugly?’
‘Unless they
thought that water was my natural element.’
Ahouri
scrutinised his slight frame and full features. ‘No, you never looked like a
fish. It was because of those eyes. Their expression is unworldly, like that of
a courageous gazelle's. But courage is for the lion, Ahmose. Why invite danger
when all the other priests of Amon Ra pivot like locusts before a pouncing
lizard to avoid it?’
‘I have the
brain of a river horse.’
‘You may be
stubborn, but you haven't the jaws to bite a crocodile in half.’
‘That would
annoy Sebek and the taste would no doubt be foul.’
‘So you do
respect the other gods?’
‘All gods are
what you believe them to be. When Seth is good I respect him as well.’
‘Is Amon Ra
bad?’
‘The Aton is
better.’
Ahouri raised
her hands in exasperation. Ahmose was afraid she was going to shake him. ‘The
Aton is dead! All this is self-deception, the fancy of Akhenaton's fuddled
mind. I know fuddled minds have moulded terrible tyrants and we should be
thankful that his madness was benign, but he has been gone many inundations now
and his daughter is fleeing from the usurper who some believed murdered her
young husband.
‘Do you
believe that?’
‘Goodness no.
The silly boy spent more time in his chariot than on his throne, managing the
country. He had an accident and the wound became infected. Even if he wasn’t
responsible, Eye would show you none of the Aton's compassion if he discovered
your part in Queen Ankhesenanum's escape. By allowing yourself to be used by
these priests, it’s inevitable that suspicion will fall on you. Give up the
Aton, Ahmose. Be a priest of Amon Ra and live!’
Ahmose looked
thoughtful. ‘Can you let me have a wig?’ he asked.
Realising that
there was no way to intimidate common sense into the animal keeper, Ahouri gave
up. ‘We only have women's hairpieces with us.’
‘Yes, I want a
woman's wig.’
Having lived
in the court of a hermaphrodite pharaoh, nothing could surprise Ahouri. ‘You're
welcome to it. You haven't even tried on your new robe, though. Would you
prefer one of the Queen's instead?’
‘No thank you,
the one she gave me is long enough to be taken for a woman's when I wear it. I
would like some eye make up.’
Ahouri went to
the cedar casket and pulled out what he had requested. Ahmose carefully arranged
the wig on one of the gilded wooden guards at the chamber's entrance and hung a
mirror of polished silver on its spear. He looked objectively at his
reflection.
After several
moments, the priest turned back to Ahouri. ‘Haven't you ever known a man wish
he were a woman?’
‘That wouldn't
explain you.’
‘No. I often
dream that I am a large glittering bird that soars through the heavens bathed
in the light of the Aton. It must be something to do with that goose finding
me.’
‘Stop going on
about the Aton. I had enough of that when the Queen's father was alive.’
Ahmose yawned.
‘I feel tired.’
‘Sleep here
tonight.’
‘I daren't. I
could be seen leaving in daylight. The city medjay are always gossiping to the
doorkeepers and the new mayor demands to know everyone's business.’
‘Well don't
try flying off any hills in the darkness.
I doubt that anyone as bald as you could grow so much as one feather. If
you could, I would braid it in my hairpiece and wear it forever.’
‘If I ever
manage it, what colour should it be?’
‘Gold of
course, and long enough to circle my wig.’ Reluctantly fascinated by the odd
little priest, Ahouri stroked his face. ‘Be careful. There is no Aton to watch
over you during the night.’ She wrapped a cloak about Ahmose's shoulders and he
left.
As soon as his
soft footsteps had faded, Ahouri went to the casket and pulled out two amulets
and the wide golden necklace collar set with jewels. She arranged them on the
gilded guard wearing his wig.
CHAPTER 4
Ahmose rode his donkey back to the menagerie.
Too tired to notice that he was being
watched, and without bothering to shut the moonlight out of his hut, he toppled
onto his reed bed and fell asleep.
Since being
caught up in Queen Ankhesenamun's intrigue, the animal priest's dreams had
become filled with even stranger images and, as well as being a bird, sinister,
gaunt faces had started to appear. The apparitions didn’t bother him any more
than the whispers that echoed through the tomb's tunnels and chambers. Goose
had explained how the change in temperature caused the night air to rush
through cracks and crevices - ‘Merely Anubis escorting the dead into the
presence of Osiris.’ The thought of the jackal deity on his journey to the
As usual he
woke early, only to find something large and furry sitting on his chest.
‘I warned you
to be careful of the visitor, didn't I,’ mewed the Bast cat.
‘What?’ Ahmose
mumbled.
The animal
priest’s frail reed chair was valiantly taking the weight of a corpulent man in
a wig larger than Ahouri's.
The intruder
with the voluminous jowls beamed like a toad. ‘I hope you will excuse me
dropping in like this.’ He poured something into a copper cup and his Nubian servant
handed it to Ahmose. ‘Drink this. It will help you wake up.’
The Bast cat
smelt it. She mewed that it was all right, then jumped from Ahmose's chest so
that he could sit up and drink the mixture of pomegranate juice and honey.
The priest
wondered why an important dignitary was honouring him with this early morning
visit.
‘My name is
Kahu, deputy to King Eye's new vizier. I recently received a message from
A tingle of
horror reminded Ahmose's much shaven head that it still had hair roots.
‘I understand
you had a friend in
Ahmose
cautiously nodded. Being a senior priest of the Aton after the death of
Smenkhkare, Akhenaton's successor, was not a very healthy occupation.
‘Poor fellow.
Met with the most dreadful accident. It's pity we can't find the Queen to let
her know that her advisor is now taking that long journey to the West.’
‘What
happened?’ the animal priest asked in an attempt to conceal his horror.
The toad smiled
amiably. ‘I think the beating my Nubians gave him was a little too severe.’
Ahmose's
horror quickly turned to indignation. ‘But he was a senior priest of Amon Ra!’
‘And he is in
the process of being dispatched with all ceremony due to such an elevated
position.’
Ahmose knew
that Kahu was inferring that a menial animal keeper could expect far less
consideration. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘You kept in
contact with this priest through letters.’
‘Letters?’
‘Written on
small pieces of fine linen and carried by pigeons. That was really clever of
you, talking those dim creatures into such important errands.’
‘Birds aren't
stupid.’ Ahmose remembered the ducks. ‘Mostly.’
‘But then, you
know more about other creatures than I do. You might also know something that
could save you from...’ Kahu didn't need to go on. His powerful servant, head
brushing the beams of Ahmose's hut, looked as though he could make the priest
admit anything. ‘It would be reasonable to assume that your friend might have
mentioned something about the movements of the Queen?’
‘The Queen?
Surely the King must know where his wife is?’ Ahmose realised too late that
very few could have known about the widowed Queen's betrothal to Eye.
‘Ah!’ The
large man's belly juddered with a deep gurgle of glee. ‘Life isn't always as
simple as that.’
‘So people
keep telling me.’
‘King Eye is
rather keen to find out where his wife is.’
There was
stubbornness in Ahmose's tone. ‘Why would the Queen want to flee, and all the
way from
The vizier's
deputy knew that the frail chair wouldn’t stand the strain of him leaning back
to express his tedium, so he fixed the animal priest with a menacing glare
instead. ‘No harm would come to the lady if she returned to her responsibilities.’
Ahmose's gaze
was so intense, Kahu felt as though he was reading his bloated entrails.
The potentate
gave an agreeable smile. ‘If you remember anything, it will be for the good of
the Land.’
‘Good of the
Land?’
Kahu wondered
how much Ahmose really knew about current political intrigues. ‘Though Queen
Ankhesenamun is very young, she can scheme as well as any high priest, even
your's. When you decide to remember I will be waiting on my boat.’ He rose. The
chair creaked with relief and sprang as far back into shape as it could. ‘I do
have a few guards about the place, but they won't bother you.’
Kahu left,
almost taking the narrow doorframe with him.
As he was
going to be constantly followed, Ahmose wondered how he could keep watch for
the signal of the Queen's agent. Something soft caressed his legs.
‘I can help,’
said the Bast cat.
‘Your sight
isn't what it used to be.’
‘I can see
some silly signal.’
‘Lives depend
on it, and I know what happens to your concentration when you find a lizard to
chase.’
‘You have no
choice, son of Ra.’
‘I keep
telling you not to call me that.’
‘Have you
noticed the sun lately?’
‘What do you
mean?’
‘It has a
curious halo. Your father is angry’
Ahmose glanced
out at the sky. He noticed nothing odd, only that infernal blackbird peering
down from the roof of his hut. ‘You imagined it.’
‘Oh no, the
air is charged with something strange - Are you sure you don't want me to eat
that blackbird?’
CHAPTER 5
Not daring to leave the menagerie in daylight, Ahmose
remained with the animals. They sensed something was wrong and paced their
pens, howling and baying so loudly it disturbed the devotions in the temple.
Goose had no need to attend the
mortuary, as there was nothing apart from a noble's dog to embalm. Only
two-legged nobility was lucrative enough to require his assistance.
When Ahmose
started to pace up and down with the animals, this was too much for his
apprentice. Goose sat on the wall of the lion's pen and looked down at him.
‘What is wrong with you? Have you been bitten by something?’
The animal
keeper stopped in surprise. So did the lion, as though demanding the youth's
credentials.
Ahmose climbed
out of the pen and pulled up the ladder. He rubbed his upper arms as though
cold, then suddenly said, ‘I want you to promise me something Goose.’
‘Only if you
and the animals stop walking grooves in the ground.’
‘If you knew I
wasn't going to be here tomorrow, would you stay?’
‘Of course I
would. Are you going away again, then?’
‘I may have
to. I'm not sure.’
Making sense
of the priest could be a fine art at times, and it was too early in the morning
for Goose to try. ‘I'll always be here to feed and clean out the animals.’
‘Make me a
promise.’
‘What is it?’
‘You must
disown me.’
Goose slid
down from the wall to face Ahmose. ‘How could I do that?’
‘Because you
must stay here to care for the animals.’
‘How could a
son renounce his father?’
‘From the
seventh cataract to the blue ocean, this country teams with so many priests the
loss of one will hardly make the inundation fail.’
Believing that
Ahmose had become totally eccentric, Goose put a gangling arm about his
shoulders. ‘How could I suddenly not know you?’
‘You not only
have big feet, you are a brash youth. I’m afraid you might try to snatch me
from the jaws of the Ammet.’
Goose was
bewildered. ‘Tell me what has happened?’
‘Just make
that promise.’
‘Why?’
‘Promise.’
With no
intention of keeping his word, Goose nodded. ‘All right.’
CHAPTER 6
The Bast cat sat and watched, ignoring every rasp of
scales and scraping of small claws. The desert creatures seemed to know that
the old eyes were not interested in them. As the sun sank behind her, the low
rays reflected a sequence of flashes from the other side of the river.
When the Bast cat returned, Ahmose was
scouring the animals' feeding bowls clean with a bundle of reeds and sand.
‘Tonight? They’re bound to see me. What will the High Priest say about me
betraying the location of the Aton's temple?’
‘Nothing
much,’ mewed the Bast cat. ‘He and that fat Kahu will probably split the sacred
gold between them.’
Ahmose ignored
her slander and left the bowls to rummage in his chest for the scrap of papyrus
on which he recorded the animal mortalities. He wiped it clean, trimmed a reed
pen and wrote a note Goose would be able to understand. Though the youth could
count his mortuary wages well enough, reading had never been his strong point.
Ahmose threw
the dark cloak Ahouri had given him about his shoulders and rode off into the
night on his donkey, across the flood plain to the desert margin.
The animal
priest used every detour and narrow pass he knew to reach the cliff above the
tomb. He looked out over the river, but couldn’t see the lights of any ship. It
must have been standing off further north while its small boat waited in the
cover of the reeds for Queen Ankhesenamun. There was much Ahmose hadn’t been
told. However, this was not the time to remember the deputy vizier's allegation
about the young woman’s scheming nature. He released the donkey to find its own
way home, then darted down into the tomb.
Ahouri quickly
helped the Queen prepare for her journey. When they re-entered the main chamber
they were surprised to see Ahmose applying elaborate eye make up in front of
the polished silver mirror the gilded guard now clutched in his spear hand. The
priest was already wearing the late King Tutankhamen's robe, amulets and
necklace. Lastly, Ahmose put on the large wig. Its long ringlets fell to his
waist. The transformation was amazing. Although he lacked breasts, the wig
concealed this and the small priest had become a stunningly attractive woman.
‘What are you
doing?’ asked the Queen.
‘I’ll go
first. Give me time to get away, then leave.’
‘You are
coming with us, Ahmose,’ she commanded.
‘No my lady, I
cannot.’
‘Why this
disguise?’
‘Merely a
precaution.’
‘Are we being
watched?’
‘Probably
not,’ lied Ahmose.
‘Come with us,
little priest,’ pleaded Ahouri. ‘That way we can be sure you are safe.’
‘Then tell me
where you are going?’
‘We cannot.’
‘What foreign
land could need the services of a minor animal keeper?’
‘You will be
my advisor,’ Queen Ankhesenamun promised.
Ahmose almost
told her what had happened to the last one, then realised it would have only strengthened
her argument. ‘Travel safely, my lady. When I have finished with this jewellery
I will dedicate it to the Aton.’
‘It belongs to
you, not a figment of my father's irrational imagination.’ The Queen took some
jewel-encrusted sandals from the cedar casket and Ahouri placed them on the
priest's feet.
Ahmose hardly
ever put on footwear and found them uncomfortable. He couldn’t afford another
time wasting argument and turned to the entrance.
‘Your cloak!’
Ahouri wrapped the garment about his shoulders then reluctantly watched him
slip into the twisting passage.
As soon as he
was clear of the tomb's entrance Ahmose let the cloak fly off. Glittering in
the silver moonlight, he dashed towards the river.
Someone was
pursuing him. He daren’t stop to pull off the crippling sandals. If he were
caught too soon the Queen and Ahouri wouldn’t have time to reach their boat.
Despite his
lungs being raw through gulping the freezing night air and the straps of the
pharaoh's sandals cutting his feet, Ahmose didn’t stop until he reached the
river. He dived through the reeds of a narrow tributary in hope of finding one
of the fishermen’s’ small boats.
As he stepped
ono a mat of rotten papyrus stems a counterweighted cord ensnared his ankles
and brought him down. Without bothering to examine their catch, two huge
Nubians half carried, half marched the priest to a boat moored on the river.
Under its decorated canopy, sitting like massive toad waiting for its supper,
was Kahu. Ahmose was unceremoniously dumped before him.
‘Well madam,
what fools you must think we are.’
The priest had the urge to let him know
just how much but couldn’t disabuse the monster of his mistake too soon. He
kept his head well down so the wig obscured his face and chest.
‘Did you
really believe you could escape like a traitor in the night?’ Kahu had expected
a little more response from his precious catch. She had never been short of
protests before.
As the
potentate hadn’t wanted to attract attention to his regal kidnapping, there
were few lamps. He leaned forward from his cushions to take a closer look. At
first he didn’t believe his eyes, then told an attendant to bring a light
closer. In a spasm of rage he snatched off Ahmose's wig. The priest grabbed it
back and replaced it on his bald head with a girlish smile.
Kahu's jowls
convulsed in fury as he squealed like a pig robbed of its swill. ‘Idiots!’
The bungling
agents stepped back in horror at their mistake.
Had Ahmose not
been enjoying his deception so much, he could have taken the opportunity to
jump over the side of the boat. Unfortunately he left it too late and Kahu's
hypnotising gaze settled on him.
The huge man’s
voice was cold and toneless. ‘Where is the Queen?’
‘I don't
know.’
‘If you help
us catch her you might be spared a thrashing.’
Ahmose
remained silent.
‘You do
realise that you have been tricked into helping an enemy of this country?’ It
was obvious the priest didn’t believe him. ‘Your precious Queen Ankhesenamun is
guilty of the ultimate treason. She dispatched a messenger to the ruler of
Hatte, our greatest enemy, to demand he send one of his sons to marry her. He
would have become pharaoh of the Upper and
Ahmose's eyes
widened in horror. Despite every sentimental thought he had about the delicate
Queen, he believed the fat toad.
‘Fortunately,
while she was still trying to convince this enemy of
Ahmose's
thoughts were arguing amongst themselves. He had been warned. Not only was her
priest advisor dead, so was the prince she intended to put on the throne. She
deserved to be betrayed. Having used so many, why should she escape? Even
Ahouri must have known. However, what Ahmose lacked in common sense, he made up
for in stubbornness.
CHAPTER
7
The High Priest of Amon Ra was an enigmatic creature.
Few believed he was Egyptian. His expression was so like a cat's, he should
have been a devotee of Bast. His skin was creamish beige and he had the eyes of
an Eastern magician's, slightly crossed as though he were looking beyond the
person confronting him and at some ghostly image over their shoulder. Instead
of being roundly moulded like most Egyptians', his cheekbones could have been
hewn from jade.
The High
Priest never cared for the finery of his office. When he wasn’t obliged to don
the ceremonial leopard skin and stiff white double kilt, he preferred to wear
an austere brown robe of coarse linen. The only other concession to his rank
being a pectoral with the horns of Amon surmounting the disc of Ra and
surrounded by the Cosmic serpent. It was gold inlaid with a strange green stone
unknown to Egyptian jewellers and counterbalanced by a scarab beetle of
electrum.
Like everyone
else, Goose was in awe of the High Priest and expected to encounter his icy
wrath for daring to get direct access to his presence by following the Bast
cat. No one knew if the High Priest had a temper. If he did, his rage would
have been capable of sandblasting the soul.
As the Bast
cat made her serpentine greeting against the High Priest's legs, he took
Ahmose's note from Goose and silently read it. Anxiety crept over his stony
features as though someone had threatened to push him into the waters of Nun
without so much as a papyrus prayer to grasp. The bizarre truth dawned on the
assistant animal keeper. Someone not intimidated by the crocodile of Sebek was
unlikely to be in awe of the High Priest of Amon Ra. It was obvious that the
simple-natured Ahmose and the all-powerful High Priest were close friends.
Goose shuddered at the condescending way he had always treated the animal
keeper.
* * *
Totally shorn of body hair and ritually cleansed, the
six mystics of the inner sanctum wended their way into the temple of the Aton
where Ahmose had given Queen Ankhesenamun sanctuary. Their wan skins never saw
sunlight, their thoughts were permanently purged by meditation, and loins
forever celibate. Most of the other, more worldly, priests didn’t know of their
existence. They would have been unable to comprehend such commitment.
Unlike Ahmose,
these mystics had never dedicated their lives to the Aton, or to the great
pantheon of Horus and Ra. Their conviction stemmed from the primordial
The true
nature of his devout and unassuming confidant had always been an enigma to the
High Priest. So the mystics of the inner sanctum had meditated on the mystery
of eternal life. On the same night, at the sacred hour, they all experienced
the same vision. The land rose from the waters of Nun and the great golden
Learning of
this, the High Priest was convinced that the prophecy meant Ra intended to
bless Ahmose with immortal deification in Duat. It meant that the primeval
deities, who created all things after creating themselves, would accept the
animal priest into their pantheon. After all, wasn’t the Aton the monothiestic
manifestation of all entities, as well as Ra? A mere name could hardly matter
to the Supreme Being … could it?
Silently the
priests of the inner sanctum lit the lamps in the Aton's last temple. In the
gleam of Aton gold, they started their magical ritual.
CHAPTER 8
Like phantoms rising over the reeds, lights from a party
of senior priests at their most inscrutable appeared on the bank.
Ahmose saw his
chance and dashed to the side of the boat. Kahu's attendant caught him; the wig
kept on travelling and landed in the dark water. Huge jaws snapped and it
disappeared.
The vizier's
deputy knew this was a timely warning that, however menial, the animal priest
belonged to the
The High Priest of Amon Ra and an
anxious youth clutching a crumpled note waited on the river jetty as a small
figure glittering with a pharaoh's jewels was hustled towards them. As soon as
he realised who was concealed beneath the eye shadow, Goose snatched Ahmose
away from the Nubian guards.
Without a word the High Priest,
unescorted, boarded Kahu's boat. There was a murmur of alarm amongst the
waiting priests, though none of them attempted to follow. Trying to protect
their superior would have been like standing below a tree to catch the panther
about to drop out of its branches.
Kahu had never
known the true meaning of sinister until he looked into the depths of the High
Priest's feline eyes. In them he saw damnation waiting to swallow his corpulent
incarnation. Fortunately he was in the realm of the living where he still held
some sway.
‘There is a
battalion of the King's men within two days journey from here. They have
instructions to search out and eradicate all mention of the Aton, including
those who used to pursue its heretical cult.’
This meant the
icy paragon before him, and all the senior priests and scribes within the
precinct of Amon Ra's temple, not to mention the local population.
The High
Priest still said nothing.
Kahu's
expression was at its most toad like. ‘King Eye’s reign may not last, but it
will be long enough for his soldiers to purge your temple before someone else
overthrows him.’
Though Kahu
was too well insulated to have cold shudders, the silent rage mirrored in the
High Priest's expression made his blood run cold.
The vizier's
deputy dare not back down. Credibility was everything; there was always some
snake waiting to make a meal of this toad and claim his expensive burrow.
Kahu leant
forward and glowered at the holy obelisk. ‘Not only will your temple be purged,
all those in the Delta who crafted the monuments and artefacts of the Aton, and
their families, will be annihilated.’
The High
Priest's stony glare radiated an unspoken curse.
Kahu knew he
had to offer a way out if he wasn’t to meet the jaws of the Ammet in the
afterlife. ‘Surrender the animal priest and nothing will happen. The King's
soldiers will be sent to deface monuments somewhere else … Not unless you are
prepared to tell me where Queen Ankhesenamun is of course?’
The High
Priest gave a thin-lipped smile and pointed towards the sea.
The toad's
leer dropped into his jowls. ‘Escaped?’
The High
Priest had known it would end this way since he saw the note Goose brought him.
What could he do? He had no right to allow the inhabitants of a city to be
massacred.
The ritual of
the mystics of the inner temple was now complete. The High Priest turned his
back on the amoral mountain of flesh and went ashore, convinced that Ra would
install Ahmose as an immortal in Duat.
Goose and the
others watched hopefully. Only Ahmose understood. He could read his friend's
thoughts as well as the animals in the menagerie.
Ahmose took
Goose's arm. ‘Can you remember everything I told you?’
The youth was
baffled. ‘About what?’
‘The animals,
of course. Remember that the crocodile only needs feeding every five days, the
cats must have flesh in the morning or they will try to attack the cackler and
waterfowl. Men, the butcher in the city, will always supply ox or pig's offal
if you can’t get it from the outer temple-’ Before he could finish, Kahu's
guards had seized Ahmose.
Goose launched
a murderous attack on the Nubians. The High Priest caught the youth and held
him back with the strength of three stone masons. Ahmose, still shouting
instructions to his struggling apprentice, was taken aboard Kahu's boat.
Goose turned
his rage on the High Priest. ‘How could you murder your friend? What sort of
monster are you?’
The other
priests were puzzled by the youth's apparent brainstorm and assumed he had
caught some disease from the animals. Although expecting him to foam at the
mouth any moment, they decided that their superior was doing quite well without
their assistance.
‘Be still,
priestling.’ The High Priest's voice was cavernous. ‘There is no other choice.
Would you see everyone you know slain and Innu destroyed?’
Goose realised
that he was cursing the only other person who felt the same way as he did. ‘How
could you do such a thing, though? Why Ahmose?’
‘Ahmose's soul
has been committed to the care of Ra.’
The hollow
tone frightened Goose. This was the icy voice that could persuade thousands to
put their trust in irrational miracles. ‘I don't understand?’
‘Most misunderstandings
occur because of belief. Belief is the element that allows Nut to hold up the
heavens, Ra to overcome Apep and rise each morning. It is the Inundation, the
call of the Great Cackler and the life force of
Goose was now
sidetracked. ‘You mean … the Universe is really a misunderstanding?’
‘Stupid boy.
The belief belongs to the second keeper of the sacred animals. You are the one
who misunderstands.’
It was too
much to take in all at once. ‘Ahmose ... immortality?’
‘He has been
chosen by the gods. His soul will become immortal and a deity greater than any
pharaoh's.’
‘Oh no,’ Goose
murmured. ‘I don't think he'll like that.’
The High
Priest frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What sort of
immortality will the gods confer on him?’
To his superior,
immortality wasn’t a thing of compartments. Everyone aspired to everlasting
life and it wasn’t for lowly mortals to question the form it came in. And here
stood a scruffy adolescent challenging the wisdom of his mystic authority.
‘Ahmose a
deity?’ Spoken by a semi-literate apprentice priest, it now sounded odd.
The High
Priest knew he would remain awake all night wondering what monstrous mishap he
might have set in motion.
CHAPTER
9
Having once again overcome the underworld serpent, Apep,
the rising solar barque of Ra sent its rays soaring into the dawn sky like
fountains of hope and lit up Goose’s boat. The new day didn’t reassure him. All
night, by torchlight, he had been searching for Ahmose in the dark waters of
the river and its tributaries. Although there was no chance of finding him
alive, he wanted his body to be decently embalmed. As the sun rose higher,
Goose had to accept that crabs were probably eating the animal priest’s remains
at the bottom of some stream.
He steered his
boat into the reeds and watched the senior priests wending their way to the
bank. They lifted their eyes to the rising sun and prayed to Amon Ra. The god
may not have been listening but, in the menagerie, the Bast cat sensed an odd
charge in the still air. Her thin fur rose and she growled as she warily paced
the perimeter wall.
The priests
went to Kahu's boat, expecting to find Ahmose's body waiting for collection.
Unlike Goose, they believed that death was innately tidy.
Kahu's servant
glowered back at them. ‘Where are our master's guards?’
The priests
looked at each other to make sure none of them were responsible for the
disappearance of those two mountains of muscle. Their scribe raised his pen as
though about to record a confession, then tucked the papyrus back into his belt
as it became evident his brethren didn’t know the answer.
A cry cut
through the still air.
Having helped
disembowel all manner of corpses, Goose shouldn’t have been so horrified at his
discovery. Yet, when the first fragment of human head floated out of the reeds
and nudged his boat, the part of the expression it wore made him almost topple
into the water. By the time the priests and Kahu's servant had reached him, he
had netted enough remains to make up one and a half muscular guards.
The High
Priest appeared to ensure that none of the parts belonged to Ahmose. ‘What did
it? Crocodile?’
‘No,’ Goose
called back. ‘Probably a river horse.’
‘What about
your master?’
‘No river
horse would have touched Ahmose.’ Goose pulled in the net. ‘Shall I send these
back to the vizier's deputy so he can try stuffing them himself?’
Regardless of
the razor jawed wildlife, Kahu's servant plunged into the water and helped haul
the net ashore. The others watched in dull amazement as the man cursed its
contents with alien profanities.
‘What's he
muttering about?’ a priest asked.
The scribe
understood the language too well to give an exact translation. ‘Something about
serving them right. He's an animal worshipper. Saw Ahmose talking to his cat
and believes he was a magician.’
‘I can see
part of a boat!’ Goose called. He stood up and pulled off his kilt. ‘I'm going
in to look for him.’
The High
Priest's almond eyes grew round with some secret terror. ‘No! Wait!’
The other
priests murmured in surprise at their superior's sudden command. For someone
with the presence of a granite pillar, his behaviour had been a little erratic
that morning. They had put it down to giddiness brought on by his austere diet.
How could a man who never touched beer or honey cakes hope to keep his sanity
forever?
Then they saw
it.
The centre of
the river was bubbling like frantically fermenting liquor. Deep beneath the
boiling surface there was a large sphere of fiery light. It rose, and a
beautiful, eerie sound filled the flood plain, making the walls of the temple
ring with the clarity of a cosmic bell. Lightning struck the large sphere.
There was a silent explosion and white light dazzled the onlookers.
When their
eyes had recovered they could see a shape in the sky.
A large golden
bird briefly merged with the rising solar disc like a child paying homage to
its parent.
The sight
transfixed goose.
‘Come ashore
quickly, boy!’ the High Priest called.
‘How beautiful!
What is it?’ The youth then came to his senses, retrieved his kilt and
scrambled ashore.
The colour
drained from the High Priest’s face as his worst fears were realised. None of
the other priests understood - How could they? Most of them were too married to
the material to visualise the gods they had dedicated their lives to. None of
them would be dragged down into the Great Abyss in their meditations. Their
minds were so earthbound, they would soon be wondering if they really had seen
the Aton bird rise from the river after all and put it down to excitement or
badly digested fig.
The High
Priest was not excited, nor had he eaten for a day and night. He could feel
himself going down beneath those primordial waters suffocating his soul for
daring to believe it was possible for a mere mortal to bargain with the gods.
The animal priest had been a devotee of the Aton, whose cult briefly usurped
the glory of Amon Ra. The High Priest hadn’t taken into consideration that
Ahmose had surrendered his life to save the daughter of the Aton's prophet. The
only reason Ra wanted to deify the animal keeper was as a punishment. Instead
of casting the protecting wings of Nephthys about Ahmose, Ra had sent the
Miracle or
not, the other priests soon decided that life should go on as usual. They may
have waited a lifetime for a sign from the gods, but that didn't mean they were
obliged to believe it when it came.
‘Ahmose always
fed the animals about this time,’ one of them reminded Goose. ‘He wouldn't want
you to keep them waiting.’
Knowing he
would never find Ahmose's body, the youth returned the reed boat to the
fisherman he had borrowed it from and rode off on Ahmose’s donkey to collect
food for the menagerie.
Automatically
he chopped up the meals before taking the buckets down to the pens. As they had
been able to sense Ahmose's thoughts, he expected the animals to be agitated.
Instead they were mysteriously content and ate well.
Then Goose
remembered the Bast cat. She was always fed first. The cat had long since
stopped living in her pen and taken up residence in Ahmose's hut. As she had
few teeth left, Goose chopped her food finely, intending to leave it on the
hut's cool floor where the flies would take longer to find it.
When he pulled
the coarse curtain aside he thought the sun had risen again in the animal
priest’s room. The keeper's meagre possessions were bathed in a rich golden
glow.
The Bast cat
was in deep conversation with a visitor.
Goose's knees
gave way in fright and he sank to the floor, nearly dropping the food.
Perched on
Ahmose's rickety table was a large bird. Its wings and body were gold, and the
tail a cascade of white streamers. On its head was a dazzling crest that rose
like the flames of a torch and about its neck a deep collar of scalloped
feathers.
‘Stupid boy
seems about to faint,’ the Bast cat mewed.
The bird gave
a low, soft whistle. There was something familiar in its tone and Goose tried
to come to his senses.
‘Mind my food,
you oaf,’ scolded the Bast cat.
Unable to make
his legs obey him, Goose pushed the bowl aside and cautiously approached the
magical bird on his hands and knees. Those eyes. Only one person had that
gentle, haunted look about him.
The youth put
out his hand to touch its plumage. It was like reaching from the shadows to
feel the rays of the sun. Goose was saturated in soothing warmth. Then he
keeled over into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When Goose
woke, the bird had gone and the Bast cat, having finished its meal, was curled
up on Ahmose's bed.
CHAPTER 10
A southerly breeze filled the sail of the white ship.
Suddenly the
circling gulls deserted the sky and a school of dolphins rose from the depths
to ride before its bows in arches of black, white and yellow.
Ahouri smelt an odd fragrance as she
went up to the stern's upper deck. The sailors noticed a change in the sea zephyrs
and scoured the darkening horizon for a storm.
The lookout on the masthead spotted a
bright star in the slate grey sky. A fireball was heading straight towards
them!
The captain
tried to calm his crew, though he had no idea how they could avoid the
collision. Thunderbolts from the gods never missed their targets, though he had
no idea what crime he had committed to deserve it.
The blazing bolt of fire didn’t hit the
ship. It spun like a fiery tornado, sending down shafts of light that patterned
the brown sail in gold. The lookout frantically abseiled to safety as a huge
entity blazed on the top of the mast, making the ship shudder.
The ghostly
song of a fabulous bird with gleaming plumage filled the air. The glorious
phantom spread a wing and plucked out a long golden feather. Catching the
breeze, the deity floated down to Ahouri like a dazzling umbrella, and dropped
the plume into her hands. Then with one downbeat of its wings it soared into
the sky and disappeared from sight. The clouds in the leaden sky disappeared
and the gulls returned.
As the deity
hadn’t been the herald of some sea monster or typhoon, the crew decided not to
mutiny.
For a long
while Ahouri stood murmuring to herself, ‘Those eyes, those beautiful eyes...’
* * *
Scribes, advisors and the temple baker believed that the
High Priest's prolonged fast had turned his mind. Though overcome by guilt, it
was not penance, but necessity. He was purging his body in preparation for
mummification - there were always problems when drawing cadavers with full
digestive tracts. His corpse had to remain intact for eternity or, failing
that, longer than any pharaoh's.
Goose
continued to blame the High Priest for allowing Ahmose's death until, after
watching him endure so many complicated rituals, the man's stoic resolution
captured his reluctant admiration. Goose didn’t understand what was going on,
though was practical enough to realise that by now Ahmose was soaring through
the skies far beyond the
Goose and the
other priests were dismissed before the six emaciated mystics arrived like
phantoms from the bowels of some Earthly underworld. Knowing these sinister,
shrivelled men were going to send the High Priest on the first stage of his
journey, Goose didn’t want to witness their magic. The animals depended on him
to stay Earthbound.
Two days
later, as assistant embalmer, Goose once again met the High Priest.
After more
interminable rituals, the dedicating of his corpse took one hundred days instead
of seventy. Then it was placed in a plain coffin lined with papyrus text. The
mummy was sealed in a stone sarcophagus that was lowered to the bottom of a
deep shaft where it would remain, standing upright, for eternity.
THE ATON BIRD
CHAPTER 11
Its tail of gleaming feathers ribboning in the thin air,
and crest glittering like faceted jewels, the fabulous bird spiralled down to
the banks of billowing clouds.
On wide golden
wings, the entity had seen the crystal stars above the atmosphere and flown the
world to dip its beak in stormy oceans. It had spun in tornadoes, floated on
dry desert breezes, fanned life into creatures desiccated by drought, plucked
rubies from the crowns of tyrants and dropped them into the hands of the poor.
The dazzling
deity filled the centuries, soaring in the sun's rays like a mesmerised eagle
then hanging dormant in the stratosphere like a sleeping swallow. Now legend
and illusion, the Aton bird lived out the marvel it had once dreamt of as a
mortal. Over the centuries it learnt secrets from every corner of the pristine
Earth and watched quakes rend its crust and oceans erode its coral reefs.
Now the bird
felt a pang of weariness and was aware of a shadow trying to drive a stake
through its magical heart. The familiar gaze of cat like eyes appeared in its
mind's eye and a jackal-headed staff pointed downwards.
Before the
deity could descend, fiery tendrils tried to drag it back into the sky.
Confused, the bird started to tumble, claw over wing, faster and faster as two
determined entities battled to pull its mystical wishbone.
Magical though
the bird might have been, its intellect was no greater than the animal keeper's
it had incarnated from. It didn’t know what to do and no longer knew what it
wanted. Before then it had just been. Questions like, why? What for? had never
troubled the Aton bird as it had glided through cavernous blue grottoes,
swooped down on coronation crowds or perched on ziggurats. The entity had
believed that it owned its own immortality. It came as an unpleasant surprise
to discover that it did not.
THE ALCHEMIST
CHAPTER 12
Helen Maat weighed some mercury. ‘Lower the mirror a
little, Dinan, then adjust the lenses to the sun's zenith.’
The alchemist
was a middle-aged woman with the acuity of a Greek and temper of an annoyed
hippo. Her scientific bent of mind didn’t entertain the domestic, and her
wealth had never been wasted on banquets for the idle rich. Such things could
wait until she had comprehended the Universe, or at least managed to smelt
dross metal into gold.
Dinan wasn’t
so sure about his origins. He had been born into slavery and intended as a
guard for the women's quarters in Ptolemy's palace. He wouldn’t have survived
the operation essential for that position if the court astrologer had not known
Helen. She was the only one with the medical skill to save him, and rich enough
to disregard the wrath of a Ptolemy. The head eunuch was bribed to declare
Dinan dead so he could be spirited away to the remote and maniacal household of
the alchemist. When a boy, Dinan had served the court astrologer well and
learnt much more than was expected of an adolescent slave. For all his
intellect, he still wondered what he had been doing in the eccentric company of
Helen Maat for so many years.
With an expert
hand, Dinan aligned the mirror and lenses as instructed. When that great fiery
orb, beloved and deified by
Helen would
have chosen the alchemical name of Isis or Nephthys if her rational mind could
have coped with the conceit of being called after an all-creating, empathic
goddess. Maat, the essence of balance and justice, had a more convincing ring.
When experimenting, the Greek wore that deity's feather in her headband even
though the heat usually frizzled it.
Then one day
Dinan had discovered an extraordinary feather for himself. The exotic plume
glittered as the breeze tumbled it over the sand into his grasp. It was gold.
Helen had insisted he find the whole bird in moult before she would be
impressed. Closer examination had shown it to be from no ordinary plumage and
the alchemist wasn't too sure she wanted to encounter the creature that had
shed it after all. To annoy her, Dinan wore the long feather in his hair like a
pennant.
Day after day
they had set up their experiment with the sun's rays. Other alchemists would
have used sand and dung baths to distil their ingredients. Helen Maat didn’t
have that patience. She had intuitively made the connection between heat and
cosmic creation. It was obvious that the answer to all alchemic riddles lay in
the power of the sun. Common sense had also told her that she would never be
able to create enough energy to generate it, but that had never stopped her
before. Peasants and gentry alike thought her mad. They believed Helen Maat’s
fiery expression and affinity with large cats meant that she had the protection
of Sekhmet, a pretty fierce deity, and they always looked on from a safe
distance. Curiosity overcoming personal safety, they were watching at that
moment.
The solar
barque of Ra neared its zenith. The sun’s rays were concentrated through two
lenses to brilliant points of light that seared the contents of the crucible.
Then Dinan
glanced up. He rashly removed his smoked glass eye shield and gave a sudden
shout, making Helen jump. ‘Look!’
‘What is it?’
‘A bird! A
large bird!’
The alchemist
was more interested in her experiment. ‘Probably a vulture. Watch the crucible.’
For several
minutes Dinan and Helen scrutinised the dross metal being bombarded by the
sun's heat. After the surface impurities had been vaporised away in fiery
blisters, scrolls of white heat patterned the mixture of smelting metals.
Without warning
a fierce glow radiated from the small crucible. At last! The secrets long
hidden in the Universe's mystic locker were about to be revealed.
The glow
increased and became a teardrop of sun blazing with the intensity of a hundred
furnaces.
On the verge
of jubilant terror at what they had achieved, the alchemists quickly leapt
back.
Then something
above them flapped huge golden wings and cast a shadow over the alchemist’s
experiment. It hovered a short distance above, gazing down as though unable to
believe its luck.
‘What in
Typhon's name is that!?’ raged Helen.
‘The rest of
my feather!’ Dinan sounded a little too enthusiastic.
‘Well make it
go away!’
‘How?’
‘Tell it how
many cats there are in this place!’
‘That bird
would eat them.’
‘Its shadow
will ruin the experiment!’
But the heat
of the crucible remained constant and reached some magical temperature.
Before Helen
could aim a stone at the golden bird, it fell from the sky like molten fire.
For a
millisecond everything was saturated by a wave of mysterious plasma that would
have transmuted the elements into gold had the right ones been available.
Believing that
Ra had once again hurled his eye at ungrateful humanity, the watching villagers
dived for cover.
After their
traumatised retinas had recovered, the two targets of his wrath were amazed to
discover that they hadn't been burnt to a crisp.
Helen rolled
over on the sand to glower up at the sky and let loose a stream of curses that
would have made a crocodile blush. Dinan was already sitting up, shivering with
an odd sensation she would also experience as soon as her blood pressure went
down.
‘Everything's
smashed!’ Helen raged. ‘Those lenses will take years to regrind! I hope that
wretched bird's dead!’
Dinan stopped
shivering. ‘Well, it's certainly not here any more.’
‘Damn its
beak! We've spent years working for this!’
Dinan tried to
sound sensible. ‘It seems to be turning into something else.’
Helen sat bolt
upright. ‘What?’
Standing
amongst the remains of the crucible and shattered equipment was a shimmering
form. It certainly wasn't that of a bird. It looked uncannily like a golden
statue.
Helen
jubilantly leapt up. ‘We've done it!’ Then keeled over as she was struck by a
strange, crushing sensation. She hammered her fists in the sand. ‘We've made
gold!’
Dinan's tone
was somewhat flat. ‘Then why is it shaped like a man?’
The alchemist
lurched towards the statue. ‘Who knows? That thing is pure gold.’
Dinan stopped
her before she could touch it.
‘What's the
matter?’
‘Something’s
wrong.’
‘How do you
know? Have you ever seen a statue of solid gold that size before?’
‘Yes, in
pharaoh's palace. And there is something wrong with this one.’
‘Why, Dinan?’
‘The Ptolemies
only use gold to sculpt perfection - the immortal, the beautiful … Just look at
this.’
‘Well, it's
not ugly. Quite cuddlesome in a metallic sort of way.’
‘What else
would you want to cuddle.’
‘Don't be
insolent, bird lover.’ As Helen calmed down she saw what he meant. ‘The
face is rather rounded now you mention it.’
‘Too Egyptian.
No Greek would cast an effigy like that.’
‘What a
strange little man.’
The statue's
eyes suddenly opened.
Dinan fainted
and Helen found herself looking into the most haunted expression she was ever
likely to see on a human face.
After taking
in its surroundings, the statue tried to move. It toppled forward instead, into
the alchemist's arms. Half expecting to be flattened, Helen was amazed to find
that this sculpture weighed no more than a small mortal man whose breath had
the perfume of cedar, and skin the overripe peach pliability of middle age.
Her
countenance, usually fierce enough to curdle milk, softened a little in
curiosity. The intruder's long golden lashes set a beautiful frame around the
only part of him that was a natural colour. Even then, those penetrating, deep
brown eyes had a minute furnace blazing in their depths.
Helen gave a
smile that could have frozen water. ‘Do you know what you've done to my
experiment, little bundle of sunbeams?’
‘I'm, I'm
sorry,’ the golden man murmured apprehensively.
‘You’ve got to
be bad news from Ra.’
‘I come from
the Aton.’
‘The what?’
Helen's grip on his arm increased.
‘All right.
They are the same.’
‘You stupid
Egyptians couldn't tell a good harvest from the plague.’
‘Everything
has its meaning, and many things mean the same.’
‘Ugh! A
philosophising statue.’ Helen released him so suddenly he fell down next to
Dinan. The large man had come round some moments before but remained on the
ground as a precaution.
‘Don't let her
bully you,’ Dinan whispered. ‘She gets like this.’ The intruder looked at the
friendly black man beside him and retreated a little. Dinan smiled
reassuringly. ‘It's all right. My “aggression” was removed years ago. What's
the matter?’
‘I was killed
by two men like you.’
Not even Dinan
could think of an answer to that, but had to keep the conversation going. ‘You
make a habit of this sort of thing, then?’
‘The Aton has
given me immortality.’
In most people
this would have provoked amazement, in Dinan it brought on an anecdote. ‘I've
often wondered myself, whether the elixir of life hasn't been overrated. All
the mumbling and magic - so many people wasting lifetimes searching for it, still
ending up dead. Now, this character who used to own me a long while ago - Sort
of prince-’
‘Sort of
prince?’
‘Pharaoh had
their mother assassinated just in case she had conceived him in adultery, so no
one could be sure after that. Anyway, when this prince died they tried to give
him the right send off. Full burial rites, libations, coffin portrait, laying
in, drying out - you know the sort of thing - all for immortality. So, when
the day came to put his body in the coffin, guess what happened?’
‘What?’
‘He was so
brittle he fell apart. They overdid the natron.’ Dinan shrugged. ‘All that for
an afterlife. I sometimes wonder which part of him became immortal.’
The visitor
gave a self-effacing smile. ‘I don’t know why the Aton thought I was worthy of
immortality.’
‘What did you
do to upset it?’
‘You know of
the Aton?’
‘Not much.
Most traces of the heretic pharaoh have been obliterated. Something to do with
goodness and light wasn't it? And there isn't much of that in the court of a
Ptolemy.’
‘Ptolemy?’
‘Greeks.’
Ahmose was
still puzzled but let the subject drop. ‘My name’s Ahmose.’
‘I’m called
Dinan.’
Ahmose
realised that Dinan's misfortune was to have a mild nature in the body of a
giant. ‘I shouldn't have thought evil of you.’
‘I was thinking
some pretty strange things about you for a moment.’ Dinan now accepted that he
was facing the impossible. ‘What are you?’
Ahmose was
just as confused. ‘I'm no longer sure.’
Helen had been
listening to the new companions commiserating, and could stand it no longer.
‘You must know who you are?’
The animal
priest immediately recognised a predator. This was one fierce creature that
couldn’t be bought with soothing words and a freshly caught fish. As for
reading her thoughts … ‘I am - was - the second keeper of the sacred animals of
the temple of Amon Ra in Innu.’
‘You mean, you
weren't even a Pharaoh?’
Ahmose had
been so occupied with his predicament, he hadn't given any thought to his appearance.
‘Why no. I was only a minor priest. Then he remembered that he was wearing a
king's robe and Queen's jewellery. ‘Oh, the necklace and amulets. I don't know
why the Nubians didn't take them. They must have suited me too well.’
Helen held up
a shard of her polished metal mirror before him. ‘Look at yourself, second
keeper of the sacred animals of the temple of Amon Ra!’
Ahmose
unsuspectingly marvelled at the golden image mimicking his movements. Then he
realised who it was.
He frantically
tried to rub the gold from his skin. When he had just dropped from the sky onto
the alchemist's furnace he had been transmuted – not only from a bird. It may
have been fortune that he had materialised before two people who weren’t likely
to dedicate him as a living trinket to some deity or other.
Dinan helped
the priest rise. ‘We‘d better hide you, Ahmose. Too many curious eyes have seen
too much already.’ He put his cloak about the animal priest's shoulders.
‘No, it could
be dangerous for you. I must go to the nearest temple of Amon Ra.’
Helen laughed.
‘To that lot? They'd melt you down and sell you to the Greeks as finger rings.’
‘Are they
still that unscrupulous?’
‘I always
thought the way they carried on was traditional.’
Ahmose was
afraid the idea might have appealed to the alchemist. She didn’t look Egyptian,
and was probably Greek as well. ‘Will you melt me down?’
Helen laughed.
‘Only the bits I can't cuddle.’ She strode off.
Having already
fallen into her arms once, Ahmose wasn't that reassured.
CHAPTER 13
Helen's house sat on the banks of the Nile like an
elegant outcrop. During the inundation, her estate became an island that could
only be reached by boat, which suited her. While the fields were under water,
the farmers often shared their time between building tombs for the nobility,
watching the plumes of smoke coming from the alchemist's courtyard and
wondering what was in the sacks being ferried to and fro.
Helen and
Dinan had so many scars from their dangerous attempts to reshape the laws of
physics, many believed that they were attempting to find the meaning of life by
trying to lose theirs. Despite her insistence that the experiments were more to
do with the inner soul, the locals continued to hang around for free samples
just in case she did eventually manage to transmute dross metal into gold.
To be sure
that Ahmose's appearance wasn’t a trick of glue and gilt, Helen told Dinan to
scrub the priest with a bristle brush until they could see the colour of his
blood. Then she tried to concoct a cure for that strange sensation that had
come over her since the explosion. Dinan disobeyed her of course, and never
even managed to wash away the fragrance of cedar.
As Helen
hadn't broken out into a rash, developed a temperature or been beset by severe
cramps, her malaise couldn't have been serious but the unworldly feeling had
unsettled her logical gyroscope. The alchemist reluctantly admitted to herself
that some things were beyond even her comprehension. To make matters worse, she
gashed her hand as she was throwing ingredients into a chipped basin. After
cursing a little, she forgot about the wound. A short time later it had
completely disappeared.
Without
warning or apology, Helen Maat deftly removed the bandage covering a recent deep
wound on Dinan's leg. That had healed without leaving so much as a scar.
The meal
Ahmose had been looking forward to after five centuries as a deity was suddenly
forgotten. He wrapped himself in the robe Dinan had given him and, trying not
to glow too much, crouched disconsolately in a corner by a statue of
Hermanubis. A servant girl, fascinated by the magical priest, brought him a
cushion and goblet of wine. By the time Dinan and Helen had decided to plot the
conjunction of Sirius with the planets in an attempt to solve the mystery,
Ahmose was fast asleep. Silently a panther called Ink, padded over to the
newcomer and curled up beside him.
After hours
studying charts, scrolls and calculations, Helen was questioning her commitment
to logic. ‘There is no explanation.’
Dinan had no
such problem with the impossible. ‘Ahmose must be the Phoenix or Bennu bird.’
‘Neither of
them are supposed to turn into a man after immolation.’
‘Your
experiment must have interfered with its transformation.’
That was the
last straw. ‘He!’ She stabbed a finger at Ahmose, ‘interfered with my
experiment! I only hope after I've melted him down there's enough gold to pay
for my equipment!’
‘Don't let him
hear you. I'm sure he is what he says.’
‘A menial
priest from Innu? A keeper of the sacred animals?’ Helen suddenly realised that
a panther fierce enough to scare off river bandits had snuggled up beside the
priest. She lowered her voice. ‘Then how did someone as insignificant as Ahmose
manage to get changed into a fabulous bird?’
‘The Aton must
have cast a spell on him.’
In a world
that believed the world was driven by magic, Dinan had to end up with the only
person who would have asked Isis how she managed to sew the pieces of her
husband, Osiris, back together without gangrene setting in. ‘Don't talk rubbish. This has a rational
explanation. It must be something to do with the sun.’
‘The Aton,’
insisted Dinan. ‘He mentioned the Aton.’
‘The Aton?’
‘The Aton,
Aton Ra, Ra, Ra Harakhte, Ra Atum, Khepri, Amon Ra. In Heliopolis there stands
an obelisk, a frozen ray of the sun from which the sacred bird heralded
creation.’
‘So much for
being educated by an astrologer,’ muttered Helen.
‘Start with
the legend, and we might arrive at the truth.’
‘Do you really
believe in all that rubbish? If he's as old as the legend, then that is
supernatural.’
‘You don't
question the possibility of matter being transformed by the sun.’
‘Heat
transforms everything.’
‘Then why not
accept that the Egyptians knew this centuries before the Greeks arrived?’
‘Let's wake
him up and ask.’ Before Dinan could protest, Helen shooed away the panther and
shook Ahmose.
‘Don't bully
him.’
Ahmose was
going to take some time to get used to Helen Maat's penetrating gaze and
preferred the floor for company, but she pulled him up and pushed him into a
chair.
‘How old are
you?’ the alchemist demanded.
Ahmose tried
to remember how many inundations he had seen. ‘I can't be much more than fifty
years.’
‘I didn't mean
that, little sunbeam. I meant, how old are you - collectively?’
Ahmose was
puzzled.
Dinan
interceded. ‘What Pharaoh was on the throne before you changed into a bird?’
‘Oh. The son
and daughter of the Aton.’
‘He means the
children of the heretic King, Akhenaton.’
Helen turned
her penetrating gaze on her long-suffering companion. ‘That was dynasties ago?’
‘It would
account for him being a devotee of the Aton.’
‘The little
liar!’ she snapped.
‘It is what I
remember,’ Ahmose protested thinly.
‘Then why do
you know how to speak Greek?’
That name
again. ‘Greek?’
She angrily
rounded on the priest. ‘What sort of trick are you playing? Who sent you? Was
it that wizened old charlatan over the river who wouldn't know how to cook an
egg even if you gave him the boiling water?’
Dinan laughed.
‘If he's that inept, it's unlikely he would have managed to produce Ahmose.’
The animal
keeper was too exhausted to argue. ‘I had to change. There was something trying
to pull me out of the sky. Perhaps I changed into the wrong thing.’
‘What should
you change into?’
It was only
then that Ahmose became aware of the ghastly trick some cosmic malefactor had
played on him. ‘Perhaps another bird’
Helen gave a
hard laugh. ‘Or perhaps something with a tongue forked enough to cradle a
million lies.’
‘Ignore her.
She’s at that time of life,’ Dinan told him. ‘Go on?’
‘I was pulled
here. I didn't know what was going to happen. I can't stay like this.’
Unfortunately the only person Ahmose could turn to was the glowering menopausal
alchemist. ‘Please help me.’
‘Help you? I
don't even know what you are.’
‘But you do
understand what caused it?’
Helen Maat
exploded. ‘What do you think we've been trying to work out while you were
snoring! We should put you back in the crucible and see what your precious Aton
does about that!’ Her pent up rage expended, the alchemist snatched one of
Ahmose's hands and examined it. ‘Did you scrub him?’ Dinan’s moon features were
eclipsed by false guilt. ‘Clear away this mess.’ Helen took a small knife from
her belt.
Ahmose
flinched.
‘Keep still
man, I'm only going to make a scratch.’ She deftly nicked one of his fingers
and pushed some blood from it. It was red. Helen replaced her knife and started
to pace up and down.
The panther
came over and rubbed her broad head against Ahmose’s legs.
‘Where am I?’
the priest quietly mewed to the cat.
‘By the Nile,’
Ink purred.
‘But, which
part?’
‘Where there
are plenty of reeds and granaries full of mice. Nice, fat, juicy-’
‘Don't be
disgusting.’
‘Don't you
like mice?’
‘Not to eat.
Tell me who these people are?’
‘You mean the
humans?’
‘Yes, the mad
woman and her placid friend.’
‘Oh, they're
all right.’ Ink paused to lick Ahmose's arm. ‘You are odd - No salt.’
‘I know I'm
odd. Please try and tell me something useful.’
‘Salt is very
good, you know. Helen Maat uses a lot of it. Heals wounds.’ The panther
stretched her neck and Ahmose could see a long scar parting her black fur.
‘How did that
happen?’
‘An intruder
with a knife. He tasted very good.’
‘Please stop
mentioning your appetite. I was hungry before you started telling me about it.’
‘Little Green
Eyes will feed you. She always feeds me whether I catch anyone or not.’
Helen aimed a
kick at a stool that dared to block her path.
Ahmose cast
her a fearful look.
‘Oh don't mind
her,’ advised Ink. ‘She's bad tempered and shouts a lot, but is very good at
curing people.’
‘She frightens
me.’
As Helen paced
to and fro, she slowly became aware of what was breaking her attention. It was
the faint whispering of animal tongues.
Dinan was
peering in curiosity at Ahmose and the panther over a pile of scrolls, and the
alchemist was glaring.
A tense
stillness filled the room.
‘Don't pay any
attention,’ mewed Ink. ‘They think they're so clever, yet can't even understand
simple directions.’
Ahmose's
curiosity overcame his apprehension. ‘Simple directions?’
‘To this
treasure the whole nome has been searching for. The grave robbers were executed
before they would admit where they threw their loot.’
‘Why let them
know? That's sacrilegious.’
‘It was only a
human tomb. Us cats have our own catacomb in Bubastis. Shall I tell you where
the treasure is?’
‘No.’
‘It might
persuade her to help you.’
‘All right!’
Helen interrupted. ‘What's going on between you and my cat?’
‘I don't think
she's aware that she belongs to you.’
Dinan was
still peering over the scrolls. ‘What was Ink telling you?’
‘She knows
where these grave robbers threw their loot.’
In too much of
a hurry to reach Ahmose, Helen blundered into the stool she had previously
kicked aside. ‘What? Where?’
But the animal
priest could be as stubborn as a donkey with a thorn in its flank. ‘I don't
know, and I'm not asking her.’
Helen pounced
on Ahmose and seized his ear. ‘Do you know how difficult it is to replace parts
of the anatomy, especially golden ones?’
‘I can't tell
you something like that.’
Helen twisted
his ear. ‘Do you know what was in that tomb?’
‘No.’
‘They took a
small casket. The priests claimed it contained an elixir.’
‘For what?’
‘Immortality.’
‘And you still
want it after seeing me?’
‘Now I want it
even more.’
‘Why?’
She gave
Ahmose's ear a final twist that made him yelp, then released him. ‘Because
Dinan and I have suddenly become immortal!’
By the tears
Helen's thuggery had brought to the priest’s eyes, Ink realised that he wasn’t
a kindred spirit after all. ‘Coward.’ The cat sloped away.
Ahmose rubbed
his ear. ‘I don't understand?’
‘Every scar on
our bodies has disappeared.’
‘Then why are
you angry?’
‘Because I
don't know why.’
‘I thought you
said that you were now immortal?’
Ahmose
suddenly found himself looking into an expression that would have intimidated
his High Priest. ‘If our body tissue can renew itself so rapidly, it stands to
reason we might never age, be fatally injured or contract any disease.’
The animal
keeper backed away. ‘Why should that be my fault?’
‘Because we
were only mere mortals before you arrived!’
Dinan dropped
the scrolls and placed himself between Helen and Ahmose before real damage
could be done. If the mysterious priest had given them immortality, it seemed
reasonable to assume that he could do far worse if he put his mind to it.
Ahmose
carefully peered round his large body at the alchemist. ‘Surely you can find a
cure?’
‘Rumour claims
that the answer is in the casket the robbers took,’ Dinan explained. ‘The fact
that you exist, must mean the priests did know about immortality.’
Ahmose
recalled the unfathomable mysticism of his friend, the High Priest of Amon Ra.
If anyone could have discovered immortality, it would have been him. But that
was centuries ago?
Before the
others became suspicious, he quickly asked, ‘Why don't you want to live
forever?’
‘Do you?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Immortality
is for the unscrupulous and the fool, priest!’
Dinan
compensated for the Greek’s scowl with a moonish smile. ‘Helen Maat's right.’
The alchemist
kicked some scrolls out of the way. ‘I want to understand the meaning of life,
not cheat death. Do you want our help?’
Ahmose’s
resolve stiffened. ‘Not at the price of robbing a tomb.’
‘It's already
been robbed. We just need to know where the thieves put their hoard. What's the
matter with you, man? Your priestly brethren already do a lucrative trade in
grave goods. They would have let the highest bidder take this casket if they’d
known where to find it.’
Dinan gathered
up the precious scrolls. ‘Why won't you help us Ahmose?’
The animal
priest removed his amulets. ‘These are solid gold.’
‘I am already
wealthy,’ Helen reminded him icily. ‘I don’t need to rob minor priests.’
‘He's not
going to tell us.’ Dinan pushed the amulets back onto Ahmose's arms.
‘He doesn't
like pain.’
The priest
flinched, then glowered back at Helen Maat.
‘Don't pay any
attention,’ said Dinan. ‘She usually mends more than she breaks.’
‘Where did you
learn to talk to animals, anyway?’ she demanded.
‘I've always
had the ability.’
‘All animals?’
‘Not
crocodiles. The only thing they can remember is their last meal.’ Ahmose pulled
his robe tight about him. ‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘Before or
after I dissect you?’
‘Stop
frightening him,’ scolded Dinan. ‘You're as subtle as a hippo in a mud wallow.’
‘No,’
disagreed Ahmose. ‘I can understand the river horse.’
‘Are you
calling me a crocodile?’ Helen would have menaced his other ear if the servant
girl hadn’t come in carrying a bowl of honey cakes and pomegranates. ‘Who's
that for?’
Green eyed and
innocent, she placed the food before the animal priest.
Dinan gave a
girlish giggle. ‘She's been talking to the cat.’
‘She'd better
not,’ snarled Helen.
Green Eyes
smiled fearlessly and left.
Ahmose looked
at the food hungrily.
‘Well, are you
going to let him eat it?’ asked Dinan.
Helen knew he
was inferring that her presence could have spoilt the appetite of a ravenous
camel. Casting a disconcerting glare at the priest, the alchemist swept out.
Dinan would
have followed if Ahmose hadn’t caught his arm.
‘What's the
matter?’
‘I don't want
to be left alone.’
‘You're safe
here.’ Dinan righted the stool Helen had kicked over and sat beside him. ‘We're
really all harmless. This house is the logical habitat for any misfit who
drifts up the Nile.’
‘You aren’t
afraid of your mistress?’
‘Only men who
have an ego to defend run from Helen Maat. I am the husband she will never
have.’
‘How did you
come here?’
‘My ancestors
must have managed to get past all six cataracts.’
‘Little Green
Eyes?’
‘Green Eyes?
You mean Lilia. She never talks, though we're sure she can. Left on our steps
when she was three. I brought her up and taught her what I could, but she never
talks.’ Dinan shook his head. ‘Yes, we're all misfits here.’
‘I was brought
up by the priests.’
‘I'm not
surprised you're a mess.’
‘I felt safe
when I was a bird, knowing the Aton would always protect me, but now...’
‘Eat your
food.’
‘I can't stay
like this. If I go outside I would be seen for miles.’
‘Tell Helen
where that casket is and she might help you.’
‘No, I
couldn't.’
Dinan knew
Ahmose wouldn’t change his mind.
Eventually
Helen grew tired of being dazzled and tried to find the cure for his goldness
all the same. Having decided that the priest was more closely related to a
mouse, Ink treated him with contempt. She was too well behaved to eat
houseguests, so Ahmose's principal company was Lilia when Dinan was assisting
the Alchemist.
CHAPTER 14
One morning, while he sat braiding
Lilia's hair, Ahmose saw the black sail of a bireme pass on the river below.
Many ships, dhows, barges and ferries filled the Nile, but there was something
incongruous about this sea going vessel. A large hand gently pulled him away
from the window.
‘It's a pirate,’ warned Dinan. ‘If you
can't stop glowing, keep out of sight. Some of the tyrants and satraps about
the Aegean would pay generously for a golden deity.’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, even
if we can't cure you, we can at least stain you a more civilised colour. You'll
still glow a little, though not like the Pharos.’
Lilia mimed that she wanted to help.
‘No, it would mark your skin. I'll do it.
Mine can't be stained any darker than it is.”
Helen's laboratory was filled with the
acrid smell of pulverised bark. Hay, a servant, was stirring a bubbling
cauldron while the alchemist tossed chunks of an evil looking substance into
it.
She flashed Ahmose a satanic smile. ‘Your
bath is ready.’
The priest had become used to her wicked
humour and merely cast her a reproachful look.
‘Oh, if only I could alter the expression
in those eyes as well.’
‘Is the first batch cool yet?’ asked Dinan.
‘On the south sill.’
Dinan sat Ahmose down by a table then
brought over the bowl of warm fluid. He dabbed the sticky substance onto the
back of the priest's hand with a sponge. Much to the patient's disappointment,
the gold didn’t disappear, merely ceased to sparkle.
‘Good.’ Dinan started to apply it to the
rest of his body.
Ahmose wondered if it would have been
easier just to turn back into a bird. ‘How many times will you have to do
this?’
‘No idea,’ said Dinan. ‘You will have to be
scrubbed after each coating.’
‘Why?’
‘The skin reacts by creating an oily film
that prevents the next coat going on. Could take weeks.’
‘Weeks?’
‘Thinking of going somewhere?’ asked Helen.
‘The dye will be permanent,’ Dinan
promised.
‘I didn't mean to be ungrateful.
The alchemist gave a wry smile. ‘Oh, we're
going to be a little mouse again, are we.’
‘Better than a crocodile,’ muttered Ahmose.
CHAPTER
15
Though still gold, Ahmose ceased to
gleam after several days, and was cleaner than the pharaoh's favourite
concubine.
In between the repeated stainings, he would
sit in the courtyard and talk to a couple of friendly mice, until Ink ate them.
He tried to persuade Lilia to talk but she wouldn't, or couldn't, speak.
Perhaps she knew that all the world would demand of her were explanations and
thought that the world should work things out for itself.
One night, Ahmose lay on the flat roof of
the large house sleeping in the cool air. Below, a large black sail billowed
darkly in a thermal. Ink was out in the reeds hunting, so never heard the soft
footfall on the outside steps.
Woke by the faint splash of oars, Lilia ran
up to the roof.
Across the flagstones were several wet
footprints, silver in the moonlight. Ahmose's thin mattress lay in a tangled
heap and some woken pigeons were warbling in confusion.
The whole household heard Lilia scream.
When Dinan reached the roof she was pointing
to the black sail silhouetted against the starlit sky.
Helen's voice was next to slice through the
night air. ‘They must stop in Alexandria! Tell Hay to follow them and find out
where they're going!’
Lilia dashed downstairs.
Dinan was surprised. ‘We're going after
him?’
‘Why not?’
‘You were forever saying what a nuisance
the priest was.’
‘I wouldn't wish what could happen to him
on a demon from Hades. He's still gold enough to make a tyrant reach deep into
his coffers, and all the tyrants I‘ve encountered were not renowned for their
intellect or altruism.’
‘Where are we going to find a galley crew
willing to take on a pirate?’
‘We don't need to. They're not likely to
harm Ahmose and bring down his price. What was the ship?’
‘A bireme.’
‘Then we'll hire a trireme.’
‘How will Hay find out their destination?’
‘No ship leaves Alexandria without telling
the port authorities where they're going, and Hay has a list of bribeable
officials.’
‘So what happens when Ahmose is sold to
some power-mad satrap who wants him to explain immortality?’
‘I'll think of something.’
Helen went downstairs to pack.
‘You always do,’ muttered Dinan.
THE TYRANT
CHAPTER 16
On a desolate peak, where the shimmering desert merges
with the sky, there glints a statue of gold. Now immobile as marble, it once
lived. Some have tried to reach it, a few out of curiosity, many for avarice.
One or two came close enough to see the features of the mirage’s gaunt, mean
face. As they reached out to touch it, the statue briefly joined with the sky
to become a fretwork of sunbeams against a fierce blue backdrop. Once he had
been called king, now few remembered that Pylas had ever lived. Like
Ozymandias, there was no one left to quake at the mention of his name. His
legend had disappeared because no one wanted to remember the man who had
enraged the sun.
Pylas had a
lust for gold that turned to madness, and a craving for power that became
tyranny. Having murdered his brother, married his widow, and usurped his crown,
that alone should have been enough to condemn him to eternity on a remote peak,
frozen between heaven and hell. That was not the reason, though. This curious
crime was a minor misdemeanour compared with the many other outrages he had
committed.
As the
province fell into poverty to feed Pylas's greed, the palace walls grew higher.
They were faced by the stones from the temples he had sacked, and filled by the
pebbles of a whole beach. In his small kingdom fortress surrounded by the sea,
cliffs and vast inland desert, nothing could threaten the tyrant.
Then a ship
with a black sail appeared on the horizon.
CHAPTER 17
The cliff paths were narrow and overlooked sheer drops
to sea worn rocks, so the pirate captain wouldn’t trust his precious parcel to
the hands of his fumble-fisted men.
The town they
passed through once possessed a wall. Now there was nothing left to defend
since Pylas pillaged the place to quell its rebellious population. Its bricks
had been scavenged to build the small hovels where the survivors cowered.
Those not
privileged to live in the palace complex were compelled to pick their livings
from the rubbish tip not even the sea breezes could purge the stench from.
Small plots of arable land were cultivated for the needs of Pylas's entourage,
and the sunken wells that had not cracked supplied only brackish water. No
merchants came this way. Given the opportunity, this tyrant would trade in
hostages.
The pirate
captain was a frequent visitor. His party was allowed through the
fortifications to the palace where the wealth of the plundered town had been
carelessly scattered about its corridors and courtyards. Even the tyrant's
favourite horse had a stable lined with rich carpets and was fed on the
precious vegetables farmers managed to grow in the thin topsoil.
Pylas was a
man forever fidgeting. Some said - though not out loud - that it was part of
his madness, others, that the gods had cursed him with perpetual movement.
Tall, lean and stooped, Pylas resembled a vulture about to delve into the
entrails of his next victim. Features that might have been distinguished were
distorted by cruelty, and that thin, crooked mouth had never raised a smile.
The captain
entered carrying a rolled carpet on his shoulder and the tyrant's fingers
danced a greedy tattoo on the arm of his throne. ‘Well, well. What have you
got? Show me! Show me!’
As his
acquisitive frenzy increased the captain knew that, if he was careful, he could
get a good price for this booty.
The pirate
laid the rolled carpet before Pylas. ‘In here is the rarest, most mysterious
treasure to be stolen from the inner sanctum of an Egyptian temple. When the
great Amon Ra whispered the secrets of immortality to the mystics who built the
pyramids, his sacred breath enveloped a mortal.’
The tyrant was
beside himself. ‘Let me see! Let me see!’ He ordered his servants to open two
caskets. One contained raw gems of amethyst, tiger's eye, beryl and garnet. The
smaller had in it polished and cut amber, sapphires, turquoise, topaz and
emeralds.
The captain
frowned.
‘What more do
you want? Do you want!’ snapped Pylas.
‘There is
something else as well.’
‘What? What?’
‘The creature
won't admit it.’
‘Admit what?
Admit what?’
‘He knows how
to make gold.’
The mad
monarch halted in mid fidget. The jewelled fingers reached up to scratch his
waxed beard. ‘Then why part with him? Part with him?’
The captain
shrugged. ‘He is stubborn...’
‘Let me see
him, see him!’ Pylas was now dangerously agitated.
He waved
another casket forward. It contained a dagger with a hilt and sheaf encrusted
in sapphires, two rock crystal goblets, a ruby pendant with strings of seed
pearls, several lapis lazuli figurines, an onyx cameo and bowl of carved
tiger's eye.
The pirate
tried not to marvel at the treasure in case Pylas realised its true value. He
accepted the third casket grudgingly while working out how he was going to make
it back to the bireme before the tyrant changed his mind.
The captain
unfurled the carpet with a sharp tug. Ahmose was sent spinning across the
mosaic floor in a flurry of gold and purple.
The court
couldn't believe their eyes. They didn't see a small, dazed Egyptian priest,
but a glittering deity. Pylas ordered his chief eunuch to try and rub the gold
from Ahmose's skin. That only burnished the priest and made him shine more
brightly. Until then, the tyrant had believed that there were no more marvels
in the world to plunder and was so mesmerised by the Egyptian that he allowed
the pirates to leave with the treasure.
Because of
drug-induced giddiness, Ahmose felt as though the Aton had clipped his wings in
mid flight and let him crash to earth. Then he realised that he wasn't a bird
any more, but a hairless, featherless mortal with a severe tyrant problem.
As his new
acquisition was in no state to come to him, Pylas left his throne to pinch
Ahmose's skin in spasms of excited cupidity. Annoyed, the priest shook the
shaking fingers off. He was promptly rewarded with a sharp blow. This helped Ahmose
collect his wits. Given his immediate situation, they weren't that much use. In
the tyrant's greedily glittering eyes, the animal priest saw the demon in the
man's soul. He got up and dashed away, only to find that he was totally
encircled by courtiers and guards. Once again Pylas closed in with all the
maniacal malevolence that went to make a tyrant. As Ahmose circled to avoid the
creature, other hands plucked at his purple robe and touched his skin.
‘You are mine
now, mine now,’ cackled Pylas. He pinched Ahmose's face and neck. Not wanting another blow from those gnarled
hands jagged with rings, Ahmose tried not to flinch.
‘I have paid a
fortune for you! A fortune!’ The tyrant obviously wasn’t open to negotiation on
that point. Just as Ahmose believed things could get no worse, Pylas insisted,
‘You will tell me how to make gold, make gold!’
It was a
demand, not a question.
Sheer terror
nudged the entity deep inside Ahmose and the expression in his eyes made Pylas
hesitate. At the back of the priest's pupils gleamed the flame of a very angry
deity. Even a tyrant had to think twice about having a god thrashed.
Pylas plucked
the air. At this signal, his chamberlain led Ahmose away to the women's
quarters, the best-guarded territory in the realm. Its residents found the
small priest a welcome change from the tyrant and bossy eunuchs. Ahmose liked
their company and thoughts that had seldom crossed his mind before started to
peep over its parapets. On learning that the eunuchs were the surviving suitors
of the tyrant's wives, they ducked back down again.
Drowsy from
the pirates’ drug and a fragrant bath, Ahmose did some illicit dreaming instead
before being summoned again.
Apparently
Pylas didn’t fidget so much in the afternoons and was less prone to repetition.
Ahmose was on
the verge of communicating with the tyrant when a messenger dashed into the
throne room. He whispered to a guard who whispered to the cup-bearer, who
whispered to the chamberlain. The laws about who could directly address Pylas
tended to slow the passage of information. The tyrant hadn't yet grasped how
many battles had been lost this way.
‘There is a
foreign ship standing off the headland, Sire,’ announced the chamberlain.
Pylas was
feeling unusually magnanimous. ‘Leave it for the pirate.’
‘He sailed
some while ago, Sire.’
‘Well leave it
for the gulls, the gulls! I'm not risking my ships unless it's carrying gold!
Carrying gold!’ Thinking Ahmose had dozed off; Pylas poked him with his staff.
‘You, Egyptian! You will tell me how to make gold, make gold!’
Ahmose begged
his wits to return but they insisted on dawdling. ‘Gold?’
‘Gold! Gold!’
echoed Pylas.
‘I'm just a
minor priest,’ explained Ahmose.
The tyrant’s
staff caught him such a blow he was winded. His hopes of holding rational
conversation with the creature had been premature.
‘You are gold,
so you must know how to make gold, make gold.’
The thought of
the yellowish metal was working Pylas into a frenzy, the like of which Ahmose
had never seen, even in a rabid hyena.
‘It was an
accident.’
‘Accident?
Accident?’
‘A curse.’ At
last the priest recovered his wits. ‘Some magicians cast a spell on me. They
are the ones who know how to make gold.’ Ahmose was surprised at how easily
lying came to him in the absence of any honest alternative.
Pylas squinted
in disbelief. He beckoned over a bodyguard. Ahmose looked up at the aquiline
features of a human predator and his spirit went limp. Judging by the locks of
victims' hair hanging from his belt, this man loved his work and he hardly
seemed disappointed that Ahmose didn’t have any.
CHAPTER 18
As Dinan carefully lowered the precious lenses and
mirror to the small boat bobbing on the night black waves, inquisitive faces
peered from the trireme's oar ports.
‘It won't
work, I know it won't work,’ Dinan cursed under his breath, anticipating the
tyrant's scepticism as well as his speech impediment.
‘Stop
muttering and let down the crucible!’ Helen called up.
‘Is she quite
sane?’ the captain whispered to Dinan.
‘Depends which
side of bed she falls out of.’
The captain
gave the eunuch a sideways glance. ‘If you two get into trouble, my crew can't
take on a tyrant's army. Pylas is mad
y'know.’
‘Let's hope
they get on then.’ After passing down the crucible, Dinan tucked the parcel
containing Ahmose's jewellery, robe and sandals into his satchel.
‘Is this
priest worth the fee for my ship and risk to your lives?’
Dinan wondered
for a moment. ‘Helen Maat would travel to the sun if helped explain that
Egyptian. If you don't see our signal in two days, sail without us.’ He stepped
over the side of the ship and descended the rope ladder like a giant on a stem
of columbine.
Helen and
Dinan were ferried ashore and left on the beach with their equipment. In the
moonlight they could see a small fishing boat being hauled ashore. The crew
quickly disappeared into the cliff's shadow with their meagre catch and were
lost from sight.
It was
impossible to pick out the path the men took, so Helen and Dinan gazed up at
the unbroken line of cliffs and wished for a sure-footed mule.
They were
still searching for a pass up the rocks when a massive dark man confronted
them. Beardless, with a stern expression, he wore a short tunic edged with
silver and Phrygian's conical cap. He would have looked absurd if he weren’t so
formidable. The man pointed at the weighty equipment on their backs and Dinan
instinctively reached for his sword.
Helen caught
his wrist. ‘It's all right. He's not a soldier.’
‘I know
another slave when I see one, and they're not all as sweet natured as me.’
‘Does he
understand Greek? He's not very talkative.’
The other
eunuch opened his mouth. There was no tongue to speak with. There was a scar
where it had been torn from his mouth many years before. The slave took
something from his pouch and laid it across his wide palm.
Helen
recognised the earring. ‘That's Ahmose's.’
‘It's probably
a trap.’
The slave
shook his head and pointed upwards.
‘We've got to
trust him.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we
don't have a choice.’
The stranger
nodded.
‘Why should he
risk his life for Ahmose?’
Helen asked
the mute eunuch, ‘Is the golden man still alive?’
The slave
nodded then, giving Dinan a wary look, lifted the lenses and box of equipment
from her shoulders. He sure-footedly led the couple up a winding pass and
through the foul smelling town beyond. They were being watched, but it was by
fearful eyes.
Noiselessly
the companions skirted the palace walls until they came to a finger wide crack
in its defences. The slave pulled aside a large buttress stone and revealed a
short tunnel. Dinan and Helen crammed themselves through it and entered a
small, silent courtyard. On the other side of it was a dimly lit room filled
with the aroma of cloves and jasmine. The furnishings reflected the refinement
of the Lydian court in the statuettes of winged genii, slender lamp holders and
a fan shaped array of curved bows - though a noticeable lack of arrows. An
elegant woman was sitting on a couch. As they entered, the slave bowed and she
beckoned Helen and Dinan to her.
‘I am glad you
found your way here safely.’ The woman spoke in halting Greek as though it was
a childhood language she was on the verge of forgetting. ‘I am the Queen of
this pathetic little realm, first wife to the even more pathetic man who
usurped its crown.’
‘Is this some
sort of trap?’ Helen asked in a tone too civil to suggest she believed it.
‘Had you
walked through the palace gates, you would have never left here alive. You are
friends of the small golden man, aren't you?’
‘Yes. How did
you know?’
‘Nothing
brings anyone to this place unless they are a brigand, hostage or rescue
party.’
‘Why would you
protect us?’
‘I am a
princess of the house ruling Lydia where there is much gold and a little more
civilisation. When this realm was contented, I was married to Pylas's brother.
You have seen what it is like now.’
‘What do you
want us to do?’
‘Pylas
believes that your mysterious friend can make gold. I have watched it being
sieved from the waters that flow from the mountains of my homeland and worked
by the best jewellers in the world. I have never seen it being created from
dross lead. That is impossible.’
Helen Maat
gave a sinister grin. ‘Oh no, not impossible.’
‘Helen...’
Dinan quietly warned.
She ignored
him. ‘Introduce me to your husband and I will show him how to make gold.’
The Queen
hesitated. ‘If this were possible, you would be giving a madman the keys to the
gates of the Underworld.’
‘The place I
have in mind for him needs no key. Where is Ahmose?’
‘We are not
sure.’
‘We have to
know before we can rescue him.’
‘Pylas would
never give you the chance if he believes he can make gold.’
‘Even a tyrant
should be granted a last wish.’
Dinan hadn't
come all that way just to commit murder. ‘Helen!’
The Queen had
never met a person like the formidable alchemist before and, against all
reason, believed that she could free the realm of its monster. ‘You can not
only make gold, but destroy kings?’
‘A new side
line I'm working on.’
‘No!’ snapped
Dinan. ‘Let's just grab Ahmose and run.’ Then he had to ask the unthinkable.
‘He hasn't been harmed has he?’
‘A fool like
Pylas would not be able to tell whether golden skin can bruise.’ The Queen
turned to Helen. ‘My husband is heavily guarded and has many food tasters. How
could you kill him?’
‘That depends
on how desperate he is to acquire gold - or immortality.’
‘Immortality?’
The Queen tried to see trickery in the alchemist's glittering smile, but the woman
meant it. ‘Yes, he would prefer immortality to a mountain of gold, but is that
possible?’
‘Trust me. I’m
an alchemist.’
CHAPTER 19
Even the Queen wasn’t allowed to approach her suspicious
husband, and the next morning she asked the chamberlain to arrange an audience
for Helen Maat. At the mention of alchemy, Pylas was bound to see the Greek. If
she could make gold for him, he might forget to ask how she had managed to get
into the palace.
The alchemist
wore as many gold amulets and necklaces as she could carry, a Babylonian
head-dress of turquoise flowers with beaten gold leaves and matching belt from
which hung small phials, scissors, a pouch of woven silver thread and a
carnelian plum bob. Being more easily aroused by the sight of gold than a
regiment of dancing girls, much to the relief of the region's nubile young
women, Pylas was duly impressed. Dinan just wondered how Helen managed to stay
upright under the weight.
With the
superiority of a true Greek, she ordered Dinan to set up the tripods on the
chequered roof of the palace. He aligned the mirror and lenses to direct the
rays of the rising sun into the crucible.
Trembling with
anticipation, Pylas demanded to know why they had chosen his palace's highest
point for the demonstration.
Helen
theatrically raised her hands to the sky. ‘The closer we are to the sun, the
more powerful becomes its magic.’
Dinan winced,
but Pylas was taken in.
‘How does it
work? Does it work?’ he rasped greedily.
‘Tell one of
your guards to fetch me a pebble.’
‘A pebble? A
pebble?’
‘An ordinary
pebble the size of a gull's egg.’
Pylas nodded.
His chamberlain delegated the task to the nearest guard who looked intelligent
enough to recognise a gull.
Helen took a
bottle of mercury from her pouch. She held it up. ‘Quicksilver. The element
that can transform and be transformed.’
As Pylas
fidgeted himself into an excited paroxysm, Dinan wondered how long Helen's
rational tongue could keep churning out such inanities.
When the guard
returned, the alchemist told him to examine the crucible then place the pebble
inside it. Not knowing what he was meant to be looking for, the man obeyed then
quickly withdrew.
‘How many
things can you turn into gold? Turn into gold?’ demanded Pylas.
‘With the
right spells - anything. Feathers, rocks, pottery...’
‘People?’
Helen gave a
sinister smile. ‘And people.’
‘Who? Who?’
‘I have
transmuted a foolish Egyptian priest who tried to stop me discovering the
ancient scrolls holding the solution to immortality.’
The effect on
the tyrant was electric. ‘Immortality? Immortality?’
‘That is
another matter, though.’
‘Who was this
priest?’ asked the chamberlain before the tyrant could leap from his throne and
choke the secret from her.
‘He was a
stupid creature of no more consequence than,’ Helen pointed to the crucible,
‘that pebble. He knew nothing but a few prayers to Amon Ra and how to feed
crocodiles.’
Pylas stopped
fidgeting for a moment. ‘He wasn't a magician? A magician?’
The alchemist
laughed. ‘He was one of many priests who have been trying to stop our heresies.
They believe that a Greek making gold and experimenting with immortality is
sacrilege, an offence against their precious Osiris. But then, they think they
have a monopoly on spells for the afterlife.’
‘Tell me how
to achieve immortality? Immortality?’
‘First -
gold!’
Helen poured
the mercury into the crucible. The focussed sun’s rays struck the pebble and it
glowed as though it was in a furnace.
Nothing
happened.
Pylas started
to fidget again.
Helen beckoned
to his chamberlain as Dinan adjusted the lenses so it was safe for him to stoop
down and take a sparkling golden pebble from the crucible. It was barely warm.
The chamberlain held it up for Pylas to see.
Dinan
whispered into the alchemist's ear, ‘How did you do that?’
‘Shut-up and
give me your sword.’
Worried about
what she was liable to do next, he nevertheless obeyed.
Before the
tyrant's astonishment could wear off, Helen held the weapon aloft. ‘As for
immortality!’ Before the awe-struck court the alchemist drew the sharp blade
across her arm and made a deep cut. There was a copious spurt of blood.
Immediately
the wound knitted itself together and healed. The chamberlain wiped away the
gore to discover nothing more than a thin whitish line on her copper coloured
skin.
Pylas was
beside himself. ‘Tell me! Tell me!’
‘I will make
you immortal,’ declared Helen. ‘But you must be closer to the sun.’
Consumed by
manic greed, Pylas never thought to ask what she wanted in return. His
chamberlain suggested it would be prudent to find out. Upsetting someone with
that sort of power could be a bad move.
‘I have no use
for gold,’ announced Helen. ‘I need another slave.’ She ignored Dinan's look of
contempt.
‘Take whoever
you want, whoever you want,’ said Pylas. ‘What will you do with them? Do with
them?’
‘Turn them to
gold.’
There was a
delicious moment of silent horror. His entourage knew what had happened to the
last person unwise enough to gleam in the presence of Pylas.
From a distant
balcony of the women's quarters, the alchemist saw the Queen signal with a
large fan. She had to move fast.
‘The highest
peak borders the desert.’ The chamberlain pointed to a jagged line of rose red
mountains behind the palace. ‘It is easy to reach.’
Dinan knew
that he was going to be the one to cart the equipment up there. Just then he
would have appreciated another slave to help, but everyone else had their minds
on higher things however.
An hour later,
under the glare of the tyrant's bodyguard, the African once again set up the
lenses and mirror.
Helen took a
small sachet from her pouch.
‘What's that?’
demanded Pylas.
‘The elixir.
You must swallow ten grains of it before entering the sun's rays.’ Helen
pointed to the coloured glass filters Dinan had placed before the lenses.
‘Those screens alter the substance of the sunlight. When you enter its rays,
immortality will surge through your body.’
So, the most
suspicious man alive was sold an absurdity. Though dubious, his chamberlain
remained silent.
Pylas's hand
shook too much to hold the precious grains so Dinan counted them out onto a
taper and dropped them onto the tyrant's tongue. Then the chamberlain, the only
courtier allowed to touch the body of the ruler, escorted him into the
spotlight of many colours.
The
concentration of his entourage was so intense, they never noticed that the sun
was changing colour.
Like a
cormorant drying its wings, Pylas bathed in the pink light. He felt immortality
course through his veins and raised his hands to the sun.
The sun
replied with the accuracy of a cosmic mathematician and hurled down a globe of
plasma that engulfed the tyrant. Everyone else was sent sprawling.
When they
could see again, Pylas had been transmuted. His skin, flesh, bone and robes
were solid gold. He now had immortality.
The
chamberlain reached out to touch him.
‘No!’ called
Helen.
Terrified, the
chamberlain pulled back his hand, picked up the hem of his gown and fled down
the mountain path after the tyrant's bodyguard.
Pylas once
again metamorphosed.
Trapped
between dimensions, he was no longer tangible. Like a quicksilver sandwich in
the ether, he became a pattern of light rippling against the sky.
No one could
guess what had happened to his soul. Most people wouldn’t have credited him
with one. The odd traveller who subsequently became lost in the pink sandstone
desert and ruins below swore that his unearthly sighs echo through the craggy
spires.
Helen looked
down at her shattered lenses, mirror and filters. ‘That priest has now cost me
my whole laboratory.’
Dinan tried to
gather up some pieces.
‘Leave them,’
she told him. ‘There isn't time. We have to find Ahmose.’
When they
reached the palace it was girdled by leaden silence and had started to crumble
as though struck by a hail of falling stars. There was no longer the clicking
of the guards' armour as they patrolled the walls, no strains of music from the
women's quarters, or monotonous thud on the smith's anvil. As though the soul
of the place had passed into another dimension with that of the tyrant who had
ruled it, sand was being blown against its buttresses and the banners tattered
by the rising breeze, heralding the anonymity of the once terrible ruler.
Looters had clambered
over the breached palace wall and desert antelope were skipping over the
rubble.
Helen and
Dinan followed. Some of the animals stopped to nibble at the food and
furnishings strewed everywhere. The human locusts who had looted the palace had
ripped bronze from plinths and doorposts in the belief it was gold. They
ignored goblets carved from garnet and sardonyx, bowls and fans inlaid with
lapis lazuli, turquoise and sapphire. Dinan and Helen wondered if they would
find the golden Ahmose in one piece.
The bolder of
the antelope trotted into the main courtyard where the mosaic floor was a
surreal jigsaw of small bonfires, smashed amphorae and overturned statues. The
herd was gathering about a roughly erected screen made from spears and
embroidered robes. Two figures knelt bedside the body it shielded from the
sunlight.
Dinan caught
Helen's arm.
‘What's the
matter?’
‘Look at the
sun.’
Helen wasn't
sure she wanted to. ‘What's it doing now?’
‘Changing
colour.’
Long, lurid
shadows were bleeding across the ground like the gore of a slain monster.
The alchemist
looked up.
This was not
the sun she was familiar with. Something had parasitised its golden hue with a
reddish pallor. It might have been recharging itself after hurling its might at
the tyrant. Helen suspected a more sinister reason.
In the small
gathering at the fluttering screen, the Queen was pouring drops of wine through
Ahmose's lips and her slave was wafting air over him with a broken fan.
The Queen
looked up at the alchemist. ‘We were too late. When the guards heard that Pylas
was dead they left your friend here then fled - The sun is angry.’
‘Damn the
sun!’ snarled Helen. ‘All this was the fault of his precious Aton.’
Dinan knelt
beside Ahmose and took the sandals, jewellery and robe from his satchel. ‘We
can't leave him here.’
‘You can't do
anything else. You'd kill him if you tried to move him.’
‘If he’s
immortal, surely his wounds must be able to heal like ours'?’
‘Don't be a
fool, Dinan. The bird was immortal, the priest isn't.’
‘Then you can
heal him.’
‘He is dying,’
the Queen gently told Dinan.
Helen took the
phial from her belt and handed it to her. ‘Pour this through his lips.’
The Queen did
as she said. A small antelope watched closely in bold curiosity. ‘Why are they
here?’
‘Perhaps
they've come to see the second keeper of the sacred animals of the temple of
Amon Ra.’ Helen laid the necklace across Ahmose's chest then shook out the robe
and spread it over him. She placed the sandals by his feet.
‘He's trying
to speak,’ said Dinan.
‘What is it?’
the alchemist asked Ahmose.
‘I am going to
die aren't I?’
‘Yes, little
priest. Your Aton is coming to collect you. We're the ones with the problem
now.’
‘I will ask it
to release you.’
‘After what
I've been calling it, you shouldn't bother.’
‘The Aton is
good.’
Helen bit her
tongue.
It gave Dinan
the chance to ask, ‘Is there any pain?’
‘I feel
sleepy. Let me see the sun.’
The slave
pulled the spears from the ground and the tent of robes collapsed.
Ahmose closed
his eyes and bathed in the warmth. ‘Will you bury me at Innu?’
‘In the inner
sanctum of Amon's temple,’ Helen promised.
‘No, no. That
would be sacrilegious. Just in the sand.’
‘I'll build
you a tomb.’
‘No, I'm not
important.’
‘If I want to
build you a tomb, I'll build you a tomb.’
Ahmose smiled.
‘Tell Lilia I changed back into a bird and flew away. Give her my jewellery and
let Ink make a bed of my robe.’
As Dinan
cradled Ahmose's head in his large hands, the priest's skin began to glow. That
golden complexion, the capricious whim of Ra, turned back to its natural warm
brown. On his forehead there remained a disc of gold as though the entity had
stamped its own eye over Ahmose's.
The alchemist
suddenly sensed what was going to happen. She leapt up and let out a stream of
abuse at the sun.
The Queen and
her slave unsurely backed away at the maniacal proceedings while Dinan
desperately tried to find the flicker of a pulse in Ahmose's body.
‘He's dead.’
Helen stopped
shouting at the heavens and jerked him back by the tunic. ‘Come away! Leave him
to his infernal god!’
‘What?’
‘Look.’ She
pointed at the sun. It was resuming its natural fiery hue.
Ahmose's body
became enveloped in a misty yellow cocoon. A glittering gold shape formed
inside it and there was the rustling of feathers. Huge wings spread themselves.
With one downward stroke, they launched the Aton Bird into the sky. As it rose
on the blustery Aegean thermals a beautiful, eerie song filled the realm.
Looters stopped their squabbling as the sky seemed to move, and the unearthly
sound percolated through it, mocking their mortality.
The antelope
darted back to the desert and the Queen picked up the purple and gold robe that
had covered Ahmose. It was no longer stained with blood. The sandals, jewellery
and white robe had disappeared with their owner.
Helen watched
the golden speck in the sky. ‘Damn you sun!’ Damn you Aton!’
The Queen was
baffled by her rage. ‘But he is transformed?’
‘He's cursed.
The sun had no intention of releasing Ahmose. It will go on using him like a
cosmic plaything until it cools.’ Helen set her jaw. ‘But I'm going to stop it.
If it takes eternity, I will find a way to defeat it.’
Dinan silently
nodded. If they were going to live forever, it would help pass the time.