ow Akkan cast his eyes around the farmyard. He saw the desperation with which his men were fighting. But to what end? He had been sold a dream of a glorious victory, and now all he saw was a petty skirmish at the tail end of a terrible disaster. How in the name of all the gods could this have possibly happened?
The Hyksos advance on Thebes had gone perfectly to plan. On the very eve of the final battle came the finest news of all. Pharaoh Tamose, venturing out from his tent to inspect his troops, had strayed too close to the Hyksos lines. A volley of arrows had been loosed and Tamose had been struck by one. Some even said he had died. But whether wounded or slain, his loss seemed like the final blow to Egyptian hopes. The victory of the Hyksos was now a foregone conclusion.
Then the unthinkable had happened. The mighty forces of the Hyksos had clashed with the tattered remnants of Egypt’s army, and the battle had gone exactly as King Khamudi had planned. Victory was within the Hyksos’ grasp and then, at the very last moment, the cursed Egyptians had suddenly found allies – a whole army of scarlet-cloaked Spartans, and a monstrous troop of huge grey beasts with fearsome curved tusks, who charged through the ranks of the Hyksos, smashing their once-invincible chariots into kindling for Egyptian campfires.
Akkan and his men had played no part in the battle. Their duty was best served by keeping their captive alive and in their hands. They could only watch as triumph became disaster, and with Thebes still firmly in enemy hands, Akkan was forced to close his eyes and seek his master’s guidance. Through his divine providence they had been led to this farm, well away from the main line of the Hyksos retreat and the advance of the Egyptians.
The farmer, his family and his slaves had put up no resistance. Akkan had ordered the farmhouse to be set on fire, so that in the unlikely event of any forces from either side passing by, they would assume that it had already been looted and not stop to ravage it themselves.
That task completed, Akkan took his men, their chariots, their horses and their captive to a grove of date palms, out of sight of the track that ran past the farm. They would spend the night there, Akkan decided, and then, when dawn came, he would formulate a new plan of action.
The Egyptians had arrived out of nowhere, a company of them, emerging out of the night and coming directly to the grove.
They found us as easily as I found the tattooed man, Akkan thought.
But he was immediately too busy fighting to take that realisation, and its implications, any further. Now, for all the Egyptians he had killed, and for all his men’s skill and bravery, Akkan knew that this little skirmish was about to be lost, just as the great battle had been lost.
Akkan closed his eyes and called to Seth. He knew he was quite safe to lower his guard, for no matter how long he spent with the god, no time ever passed in the land of men.
Each man who could look upon the gods did so in his own unique way. Whenever Akkan gazed upon Seth, the deity came to him with the body, voice and language of a man, but with the head of a jackal. Now Seth spoke in a voice so deep and so powerful that Akkan could feel his very bones vibrate, giving instructions about what would happen and what had to be done, both now and in the days to come.
Akkan gave thanks to Seth, praised him and swore eternal obedience. Then he opened his eyes. Sure enough, it was as if he had done no more than blink. He stepped away from the fighting and walked quickly back to where the captive lay with his hands and legs bound and his head covered by a leather hood. He had not wanted any strangers to see his all-too-memorable face, and Akkan knew that his men preferred it to be hidden, too – they believed that the tattooed man was a demon in human form.
Akkan, however, knew the difference between a demon and a man, and he felt strengthened and reassured by all that Seth had told him. He was quite calm as he squatted down beside the hooded figure.
‘I’ve come to a decision,’ Akkan said, pulling out a knife. He put it to the captive’s throat, pressing down until a bead of blood appeared at the tip of the blade. ‘It’s time for me to disappear . . . but I won’t be far away. I will be watching you, wherever you go, and I will, in the end, uncover the secret that you are hiding.’
Akkan paused for a second, then in one swift movement he cut the drawstring that secured the hood around the captive’s neck. The confident, all-seeing eyes that lived within that death’s head looked back at him as he pulled the leather up and over the man’s shaven skull. Amid the chaos all around him, the tattooed man seemed absolutely at peace.
Standing, Akkan took one last look around the grove. The Egyptians were on the point of overpowering his men. One or two of the Hyksos were throwing down their swords and pleading for mercy.
Akkan made sure that no eyes were pointed in his direction, then he vanished from the scene, as if he had never existed at all.
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