The Spies of Sobeck

by Paul Doherty

Genres: Historical Fiction; Historical Mysteries; Traditional Mysteries

Synopsis

The dangerous underbelly of Ancient Egypt grows ever more powerful... The Spies of Sobeck is the seventh novel in Paul Doherty's acclaimed ancient Egyptian series, featuring Amerotke, Chief Judge in the Hall of Two Truths. Perfect for fans of Brad Geagley and Wilbur Smith. 'Choked with bloody killings, confrontations, and betrayals, the story is gripping' - Kirkus Reviews Amerotke, Chief Judge of the Hall of Two Truths, is once again summoned to the Imperial Palaceo: Tekreth, Guardian of the Door of Sobeck, has fallen to his death from the roof of his stately mansion. According to all evidence, it was an accident but Pharaoh Queen Hatusu is not convinced. Increasingly worried about reports of mysterious disappearances along the Sobeck Road, the imperial highway stretching south, she believes that Tekreth's death could be part of a far greater problem. Amerotke, aware of the reports from the Sobeck Road, has also heard rumours about the Shemai, a cult devoted to death, based along its borders. Before Amerotke can start to consider either of these matters though, a gruesome mass murder occurs at the Necropolis. The funeral party for revered scribe, Ptulimis, has been poisoned and Amerotke must immediately investigate the abomination. As Amerotke probes further, he suspects that all these events may be connected and that dangerous forces are at work in Pharaoh Hatusu's realm. Will Amerotke be able to uncover the truth before Egypt is overrun by its sinister and dangerous underworld? What readers are saying about Paul Doherty: 'When reading this book on the underground I got so absorbed that I nearly missed my stop' ' A perfect read! ' '[Paul Doherty's] books set in Egypt are astounding '

Release date: September 25, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 304

Sample

The first dynasty of ancient Egypt was established about 3100 BC. Between that date and the rise of the New Kingdom (1550 BC, Egypt went through a number of radical transformations, which witnessed the building of the Pyramids, the creation of cities along the Nile, the union of Upper and Lower Egypt and the development of Egyptian religion around Ra, the Sun God, and the cult of Osiris and Isis. Egypt had to resist foreign invasion, particularly by the Hyksos, Asiatic raiders who cruelly devastated the kingdom.

By 1480 BC, Egypt, pacified and united under Pharaoh Tuthmosis II, was on the verge of a new and glorious ascendancy. The pharaohs had moved their capital to Thebes; burial in the Pyramids was replaced by the development of the Necropolis on the west bank of the Nile as well as the exploitation of the Valley of the Kings as a royal mausoleum.

I have, to clarify matters, used Greek names for cities, etc.; e.g. Thebes and Memphis, rather than their archaic Egyptian names. The place name Sakkara has been used to describe the entire pyramid complex around Memphis and Giza. I have also employed the shorter version for the Pharaoh Queen: i.e. Hatusu rather than Hatshepsut. Tuthmosis II died in 1479 BC and, after a period of confusion, Hatusu (daughter of Tuthmosis I; half-sister to Tuthmosis II), held power for the next twenty-two years. During this period, Egypt became an imperial power and the richest state in the world.

Egyptian religion was also being developed, principally the cult of Osiris, killed by his brother Seth but resurrected by his loving wife Isis, who gave birth to their son, Horus. These rites must be placed against the background of the Egyptians’ worship of the Sun God and their desire to create a unity in their religious practices. They had a deep sense of awe for all living things: animals and plants, streams and rivers were all regarded as holy, whilst Pharaoh, their ruler, was worshipped as the incarnation of the divine will.

The Egyptians also had a great reverence for life, which had to be enjoyed both before and after death. They expressed this in exquisite paintings and poetry. Their existence was bound up with the life-giving Nile, that broad, turbulent ribbon of fertility that cut through the searing heat of the eastern and western deserts. They had a fascination with the sun, its rising and setting, which, for them, were mystic events to be watched and worshipped in awe. Such occasions were to be celebrated and described in poems and hymns. This balance of sun and water, the fount of life, was embodied and worshipped in the form of their pharaoh, appointed by the gods to keep human affairs in harmony.

By 1480 BC, the Egyptian civilisation joyously expressed its richness in religion, ritual, architecture, dress, education and the pursuit of the good life. Soldiers, priests and scribes dominated this civilisation, and their sophistication is expressed in the terms they used to describe both themselves and their culture. For example, Pharaoh was the Golden Hawk; the treasury was the House of Silver; a time of war was the Season of the Hyaena; a royal palace was the House of a Million Years. Despite the country’s breathtaking, dazzling civilisation, however, Egyptian politics, both at home and abroad, could be violent and bloody. The royal throne was always the centre of intrigue, jealousy and bitter rivalry. It was on to this political platform, in 1479 BC, that the young Hatusu emerged.

By 1477 BC, Hatusu had confounded her critics and opponents, both at home and abroad. She had won a great victory in the north against the Mitanni and purged the royal circle of opposition led by the Grand Vizier Rahimere. A remarkable young woman, Hatusu was supported by her wily and cunning lover, Senenmut, also her First Minister. She was determined that all sections of Egyptian society should accept her as Pharaoh-Queen of Egypt.

Egypt’s foreign policy was built along the Nile. Sea invaders from the north, landing in the Delta, could easily be repulsed, whilst Egypt often sent chariot squadrons across the Horus Road into Canaan. The country’s real fear was a war on two fronts: a hostile force in the north occupying the Delta and a revolt in Nubia. Nubia was an independent kingdom until annexed by the Egyptian pharaohs. It was the source of gold, silver and precious materials. If Egypt lost Nubia, it would not only lose its treasure house but also expose itself to attacks from the south. A great deal of evidence exists from Hatusu’s reign to indicate that the Pharaoh Queen placed great importance on retaining Nubia as part of the Great House of Egypt. However, the danger always remained. Nubia not only wanted its independence, an end to the export of its treasures; it also dreamed dreams of counterattack against Thebes, and the expansion of Nubian power. Conspiracies and revolts in Nubia were commonplace. Hatusu had to face her fair share of them. This novel concentrates on one …

Netch: almond tree

Kaemas, a leading Medjay scout attached to the Anubis regiment, licked his dusty sunburnt lips and crouched on the hillock of sand. He squinted his eyes, searching the horizon for any sign of life, and tried to ignore the strange pulling sensation in his belly as he scratched his curled, oiled hair. He went back to searching, looking for any movement here in the Redlands, the haunt of the Seth creatures and the devourers from the Amduat, Egypt’s macabre Underworld. The sun was setting, playing tricks with the colours of the dying day. Kaemas stared. Was it the sunset or something else? Everything seemed red and tinged with black, even the birds swooping swiftly against the sky. In the distance, a black herd of wild camels were weaving their way around the mastabas, derelict tombs and memorials, those dry desires of long-dead men. Kaemas glanced up. Soon the sky would turn pale and the sun disappear, leaving nothing but a bar of red with a hint of brown, and Ra would sink into his nightly voyage through the darkness of the Underworld. Kaemas sipped from his water bottle, then, fingering the pouch on his belt, took out a small natron pellet and pushed it between his lips to keep his mouth fresh and wet. The desert truly was the house of fire. The ground was hot, as if heated by a fiery glow from the earth’s bowels. In the far distance to his right curled the Nile, the life-giving river. Kaemas peered in that direction, unaware of the death seeping through him. He glimpsed the twinkle of water, the movement of lush yellowing grass bowing under the evening breeze. He fingered the necklace of agate pebbles circling his neck, then the black horn brooches around his wrist. He felt so strange, a light-headed sensation, as if he was dreaming, yet he was very much awake.

Kaemas glanced to his left and glimpsed his companions, scouts sent out from the camp to search for any signs of the Arites, the killers from the slaughterhouse. He wondered once again what was really happening. He was of the Medjay, a tribe that had eaten the Pharaoh’s bread to become Egypt’s police, spies and bowmen. The Medjay had nosed the ground before the Horus in the South, Pharaoh, the God Incarnate. They had been gathered into the Great House, and yet now? Kaemas fought against the growing discomfort in his belly, the tingling along the muscles at the back of his neck. All was changing. The Nubians had risen in revolt, taking advantage of the Divine One’s absence in the Delta and along the Great Green. A treacherous, malevolent conspiracy fired by Seth creatures from the blackness. The Nubian rebels had driven Hatusu’s viceroy back to the fortress of Buhen, near the Second Cataract. They had seized the other cataracts further south as well as the Sobeck roads through the oases, or so said Chief Scout Hennam. Worse, the Arites, dedicated to the great destroyer Nema, their hyaena goddess, had also joined the revolt, slipping out of their hidden fortress at Bekhna. Killers to the bone, the Arites! A secret religious sect devoted to strangling their enemies with so-called sacred red cloths blessed by their hideous goddess. Rumours about these and other frightening events had swept General Omendap’s camp like desert breezes.

Kaemas heard a whistle and turned. The desert heat shimmered, twisting and distorting shapes. Kaemas could see Hennam beckoning to him. Kaemas rose and stared up at the sky. Why was it turning blood red, with black clouds? Would the arrows of the god, the lightning shafts, be hurled? Kaemas felt both hot and cold. The blood drummed in his ears; his stomach was bubbling like a fiery pot. He could feel the sweat on his face, the beat of his heart. Colours shot up from the ground. A whirl of light caught his eye and he stared in horror. The jackal god Anubis, a black and gold mask hiding his face, was striding towards him like a warrior harnessed for battle. He was dressed in a leather kilt with a silver and gold medallion gleaming on his breastplate. The god wore the brilliant red gloves Pharaoh always bestowed on her Maryannou, the Bravest of the Brave. In one hand he carried an oval-headed mace and in the other a curved scimitar drenched in blood. The jackal god rose in stature as if to black out the garishly coloured sky. A chariot rattled. Kaemas turned. The god Seth, garbed in crimson, horses of the same bloody colour, was thundering towards him. The chariot was of gleaming purple electrum, the harness black and silver, whilst fiery standards flowed from its pennant poles. Was he dreaming? Kaemas wondered. The horizon had disappeared, replaced by walls of writhing cobras. The sand was now a torrent of blood flowing across a black meadow of twisting scorpions and snakes. Pains flared up from Kaemas’ belly. He was trapped. Anubis to his left, Seth to his right. He spread his hands. He turned and twisted, the terrors gripping his body, until he collapsed lifeless to the ground …

‘Hatusu, Mighty of Amun-Ra, She of the Two Ladies, Flourishing in Years, Golden Horus, Divine of Diadems, King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Lord of the Two Lands …

The voices of the massed temple choirs in the holy of holies, Ipet-sut, the most perfect of places, rang out across the Nile. The powerful words glorified Hatusu, Pharaoh, the Pride of Montu. She sat like the war god incarnate on her Throne of Glory beneath a gold-blue awning at the centre of the massive war barge The Power of Amun. The craft moved majestically, its curving prow cutting the water. The rowers along each side and the rudder men in the high stern paid careful heed to the shouted cries of the skilled imperial steersmen and pilots. The Power of Amun rocked gently against the strong pull of the Nile, a glittering mass of wood, metal, precious stones and all the weapons of war. The sunlight picked out the armour, jewels, rings, bracelets, the ostrich plumes and awnings across Pharaoh’s great war craft. On either side of the prow the Wadjet, the ever-seeing eye, made the barge even more ominous. From the mast floated coloured pennants. On the top of the prow the carved lioness head of Sekhmet the Devouress lunged in a fierce snarl. On either side of the prow, head down, hung the struggling naked bodies of eight chieftains of the Sea People whose power Pharaoh had shattered in the Delta and along the Great Green.

Hatusu sat, her beautiful eyes hard as flint, her lovely face under the blue war crown carefully painted. She was clothed in the finest linen, carefully starched and gauffered, her sleeves projecting slightly beyond her hands. Over her shoulders hung the brilliantly bejewelled Nenes, the Cape of Glory; around her waist was the golden cord of Isis. Her impeccably manicured feet were enclosed in gilded leather sandals, and circling her neck was a heavy collar of glittering jewels, lapis lazuli and carnelian. Pharaoh’s purple-gloved hands tightly grasped the flail and the rod. On either side of her, stiffened pennants displayed the Uraei, the spitting cobras who protected the Crowned One, the Golden Horus, the Beloved of Osiris. Had they failed her now? Hatusu gazed unblinkingly; her sensuous eyes, carefully ringed with black kohl, did not reveal her doubt. Despite her agitation, she hardly moved, except for her mouth as she quietly dissolved the natron pellet her lover, the Grand Vizier, and First Minister Senenmut, had provided to wet her mouth against the sand-tinged spray and salty breezes.

Senenmut stood slightly behind the Throne of Glory, his burly body garbed in the finest robes, his shaven head and rugged face gleaming in the sun as his dark eyes carefully scrutinised the approaching quayside. Senenmut was tense. He could feel the same from his imperial mistress. She’d journeyed north beyond the bend of Dendera, up to Memphis, then further north to crush the seaborne invasion. A triumphant display of military power. They had surged solemnly along the Nile, watching the banks on either side change in both colour and texture; the arid desert where the Sheshu, the sand-dwellers, roamed giving way to open countryside fringed with acacia, tamarisk, sycamore, date and fig trees. They had docked along quaysides thronged with boats of every description, packed with fruit, cedar and pine from Lebanon, barrels of oil, precious goods and cages of exotic birds. In the evening they’d sometimes moored off villages from where the people hastened down, splashing through the papyrus groves and sedge that flourished along the banks: they’d left their cranes, listless above the precious wells, to greet their all-powerful Pharaoh. Images and scenes! White-walled Memphis with its mysterious ancient temples. Further north the pyramids and mastabas of long-dead pharaohs towering above the huddled villages of the poor as well as the gorgeously walled, cedar-wooded mansions of the wealthy. Ships, boats and barges, punts, galleys and rafts had turned to greet them. Now and again they would catch sight of the rolling dust of their regiments marching alongside, their standards brilliant in the sun, and beyond these the sparkling flashes of the chariot squadrons.

Eventually they’d entered the Delta to deal out judgement and death by sword and fire. Hatusu had turned the camps and ships of the Sea People into their funeral pyres. Now she was returning home, crowned with victory by Horus of the Red Eye. Or was she? Senenmut shifted to steady himself as The Power of Amun began its final turn. He looked swiftly over his shoulder at the other war boats taking up their positions. He moved his gaze and glimpsed Khufu, high priest of the Temple of Nubia, that sprawling fortified complex of black stone to the north of Thebes. Beside Khufu, the high priest’s lovely-faced wife, Busiris, and her equally appealing principal heset or handmaid, Mataia. Senenmut caught Khufu’s eye and smiled, even though the land of Nubia, and everything about it, now threatened Hatusu. Khufu and his party had joined the royal barge earlier in the day so as to affirm the loyalty of their temple as well as explain what was happening in Thebes. The Arites were on the loose, threatening even the Divine One, leaving their cursed scarabs as a warning of impending dangers around the gold-plated obelisk raised to Hatusu’s glory in the centre of Thebes. The Divine One was impatient to return. Senenmut blinked and licked his lips. Thebes, the Waset, the Many-Gated City, its basalt-paved thoroughfares lined by brooding sphinxes, lions and winged wyverns carved out of stone, waited to greet them. It would be good once again to walk the city streets.

Senenmut glanced again at the quayside where the music of the lute, lyre, zither, oboe, drum, tambourine and castanets abruptly stilled at the blowing of horns, the shrill cry of bronze trumpets and the lowing of battle horns that heralded Pharaoh’s imminent arrival. All was ready. The fragrance of incense floated across to mix with the frankincense, cassia, aloes, myrrh and kiphye that billowed from the costly robes of the courtiers. The Power of Amun turned sideways to the clash of cymbals. Small punts appeared manned by Medjay scouts in their leather kilts and baldrics, bare chests sheened with sweat, crimped hair decorated with ornaments fashioned out of ostrich eggshells. These craft now clustered on either side of the prow, cutting down the prisoners who were to be sacrificed a short while hence, their brains smashed out by the ever-victorious Pharaoh Queen in the Place of Victory at the top of steps of the Temple of Montu. Other moon-shaped boats appeared, thronged with Nubian mercenaries. Senenmut’s eyes clouded, he watched these warily. They and their province had provoked Hatusu’s dark mood, for rumours, soon proved to be true, had swept up the Delta. Nubia was in rebellion! A dark stormcloud of menace troubled Pharaoh’s heart and sent her hurrying south to confront new perils closing in like scavengers for the kill. The Arites, that secret religious sect of Nubia, were truly on the hunt. They were even in Thebes! Little wonder this day’s glorious victory of eternal jubilee was greatly dimmed. Already the House of War was busy, with General Omendap assembling the regiments at Farinal – the Field of Mustering.

Senenmut breathed in deeply as the war barge slipped along the quayside, its rowers bringing up their oars in salute. The gangplank was lowered, and members of the Nubian regiment, chosen as a mark of confidence, hurried on board to grasp and raise the palanquin bearing the Throne of Glory. Along the quayside the musicians and choirs fell silent under the blinding blue sky. Senenmut gazed at the throng of courtiers, flunkeys, administrators, generals, priests and scribes clustered to meet them, a field of white robes. Beyond these were the citizens of Thebes, rapturous to look upon the face of their Pharaoh. Senenmut felt uneasy, but the moment passed. They were committed. Hatusu had made it very clear that she would show no fear or apprehension in public. The palanquin was raised and taken off along the processional road towards Ipet-sut, lined either side by its row of awesome stone sphinxes and rams. As the palanquin left the quayside, the entire crowd fell to its knees and nosed the ground. A troop of Nakhtu-aa, together with the Maryannou, guarded the palanquin; all of these were veterans who’d taken a head in battle and cut off the penis of their enemy. These hand-picked warriors were garbed in snow-white kilts, their heads covered by the royal blue and gold headdress. They were well armed. A dagger, with its straight double-edged tapering blade encased in an embossed gilded sheath, was tucked into each of their waistbands; in one hand was a spear, in the other a long shield decorated with leopard skin.

Conch horns wailed, a sign that the people could look upon their Pharaoh, ‘Fair of Face and Lovely of Form’. The air became a blizzard of scented petals thrown from countless baskets. Officers in padded tunics and jerkins sewn with leather or metal scales walked ahead of the palanquin. Each of these was armed with a bronze mace carved in the shape of the head of a cobra, to keep the more enthusiastic spectators back. Hesets, dancing girls from the temples, swirled in front of the palanquin to the rattle of sistra, the clash of cymbals and the tune of flutes. Behind the palanquin thronged priests in their gauffered robes and leopard-skin shawls, chests and throats glittering with heavy necklaces, collars of gold and silver pectorals, festooned with jewels. After these came the court. Senenmut briefly glimpsed the sallow-faced Amerotke, Chief Judge in the Hall of Two Truths, then the judge disappeared in the sea of faces. Senenmut grimaced to himself. They would need Amerotke, but not just yet.

They entered a forest of stone, the temple complex of Karnak, the courtyards of pinkish-red limestone and black basalt broiling in the blistering heat. They passed through pylons stretching up like twin towers, their double gates thrown back; on the top soared long, slender gilded flagpoles adorned with narrow pennants painted with sacred emblems such as the ‘Ankh’ and ‘Sa’ and proclaiming ‘Peace and Protection’: these now hung limp in the dry, windless noonday air. Further along, rows of blood-red obelisks, capped with bronze, silver and gold, shimmered and gleamed above square pools of purity sprinkled with fat pink water-lilies. The procession entered the Mansions of the Gods, the hypostyle halls lined with columns, their tops decorated with capitals representing papyrus buds. On the rounded, squat columns the petals and buds were open; on the more slender ones they were closed. Light slanted through clerestory windows to illuminate the walls decorated with frescoes extolling the deeds of the gods, who were always depicted with blue-green skins, their hair of the purest lapis lazuli. Other paintings proclaimed the wonders of long-dead pharaohs, the memorials of mortal men who dreamed of being immortal. Torches flared. Ornamental lamps of calcite and alabaster glittered from countless wall niches. Oil stands carved in the shape of the blue water-lily gleamed through the murk. The light ebbed and flowed, sparkling in the cedar-wood overlaid with gold or inlaid with precious stones. Fans of ostrich plumes, mingled with those of palm fibre, wafted back and forth, all drenched with costly perfume, though this did little to mask the stench of spilt blood and woodsmoke.

The cortège entered the imperial robing room, its walls decorated with the most delightful pastels. The palanquin was lowered and Pharaoh stepped out; the bearers picked it up, then walked to the far doors, beyond which they would wait. Hatusu was now alone except for Senenmut and a few chosen advisers. Priests came out of the dark to greet her, their faces hidden behind masks of the jackal of Anubis, the hawk of Horus, the curved beak of Osiris and the lioness of Sekhmet. They brought the robes of glory, short skirts embossed with cloth of gold; a long gown of transparent linen. A beautiful pectoral was looped over Hatusu’s head, the blue war crown replaced with one displaying the spitting cobra. Around her neck the priests clasped a collar of gold and carnelian, along her arms bracelets of twisted pure silver. An acolyte anointed Hatusu with sacred water and perfumed her mouth with scented natron tablets pushed between her lips. The robing room remained silent; only the faint chanting from the choirs outside echoed through along the light-dappled hall.

At last Hatusu was ready. The doors at the far end were opened, the entrance to the central courtyards of Karnak a hymn in stone to the strength, vigour and power of Egypt. Hatusu once again took her seat on the Throne of Glory; the palan. . .