Dirty thief. The words were like hot wax on his skin. How dare she deride him so? They had an agreement, after all. A pact. People who made pacts did not hurl insults.
He had left the torch behind, but it was of no matter. He could find the sealed entrance to the main chamber by touch alone. Ah, there it was—the place where the plastered wall gave way to bricks, their mortar still moist. He did not need to see them to know they would be easy to destroy—and he needed to destroy something. He set his chisel and landed his first blow.
How dare she suggest he was anything like Bay? The man who had bankrupted Egypt? It was like comparing a puff of wind to a dust storm. Intef was a thief, yes, but a worthy thief, a necessary thief. Had they not already agreed on that?
He tapped his chisel against the topmost brick until it crashed to the floor. He felt better already.
Why did it matter what she thought of him anyway? She could consider him the filthiest jackal in the meanest desert in Egypt. As long as her considerations did not include a plan to kill him, they should not matter to him at all. Besides, he did not wish to make friends with the woman he was going to betray.
He continued to strike his blows, hoping that the false chamber was as large as the true one, for there were now two people breathing the air inside the tomb, and, instead of nine days, they now had only four or five to reach the surface.
Why had he not done this hours ago, when the bricks were softer still? If he had gone to work the moment he awoke, he probably would not have even needed a chisel.
But hours ago, Aya was deep inside her night vision and he had not wanted to wake her.
As he had watched her slumber, he considered the possibility that at any moment she could have sat up and slid a blade across his throat. Deep in his heart, however, he knew she was not going to attack him again. He had watched her all night because he could not help himself.
Her appearance fascinated him. It was not just that she was Libyan, it was everything about her. Her nose, for example, was too long and seemed to have a personality of its own. Whenever she scolded him for cursing, it would twitch slightly, as if she had just inhaled a bad scent. When she was angry, her nostrils would flare like an angry bull’s. It puzzled him that he could find such a nose attractive, yet just the thought of her angry nostrils made his skin flush.
Her lips were even more of a conundrum. Their shape was too curved, too opinionated. It was as if they had been perfectly fashioned to soften the delivery of her stubborn arguments. The Asiatic threat indeed! It was not right that such troublesome lips should be so lush and red. Worse, they often colluded with her eyes to assault him with intensity and colour.
Finally, there was the problem of the gap in the middle of her front two teeth. On the rare occasion that she smiled he could not take his eyes off it, as if it were some kind of door that might welcome him to paradise. It made him make her want to smile again and again.
He had watched her for hours and, as each desirous idea arrowed into his mind, he had lifted his mental shield, reminding himself that not only was she part Libyan, but that she was also murderous and imperious and entirely above him in rank.
She was also a ‘Most Beloved Advisor’ to a most disastrous pharaoh. The woman represented everything that was wrong with Egypt, or so he told himself as he had gazed at her mouth, wondering what it would be like to kiss again.
The last brick went tumbling to the ground and he felt a pulse of cool, fresh air. He breathed it in and reminded himself of his duty. Perhaps that was the problem: the stuffy air inside the main chamber had muddled his thoughts. He had forgotten the reason he was here.
Another memory surfaced...
‘Remind me, which one is this?’ General Setnakht asked.
‘This is Intef, son of Sharek,’ answered the officer. ‘The archer, my lord. He fought with Amenmesse at the Battle at Aniba.’
‘This is the Assassin of Aniba?’
‘The very same,’ averred the officer.
‘Do you know why you are here, Assassin?’ the General asked Intef.
Intef kept his gaze carefully averted. ‘No, General,’ he said, though the reason was always the same. Someone, or many someones, needed killing.
‘Because there is going to be a great battle,’ said General Setnakht. He stepped back to address the dozen other soldiers assembled in the room. ‘The North against the South, Egyptian against Egyptian, one last time. The pretender Tausret has finally died and she has left our Great Egypt without an heir.’
There was a collective gasp as the men absorbed the news. Intef watched a fly fall out of the air and on to the floor. He was so tired of fighting.
‘As I speak, thousands of men march south to join the High Priest right here in Thebes.’ The General ran his hands through his greying hair. ‘The High Priest means to defeat us and seize the double crown.’
There was a spate of hisses and angry shouts. ‘Just let him try!’ shouted one officer.
‘He will eat the tips of our spears!’ called another.
The General motioned to a roundish young man standing with the officers. ‘Most of you know my son and heir,’ Setnakht continued. ‘Many of you have fought alongside him in our raids in Nubia. He is smart, strategic and does not shrink from a fight. Thus I have granted him a new name. All hail Rameses the Third.’
Intef saw the men’s eyes flash with surprise as they made their collective salutation. General Setnakht could not claim a single drop of royal blood, nor could any of his wives. His son was not a Rameses. To name him thus was not just a lie, it was heresy.
The newly stamped Rameses the Third stepped shamelessly forward. His corpulent face and large mouth belied no expression, but his small black eyes darted warily about the room, never resting.
‘As my father said, you men are being considered for a special mission. If it is successful, we will have the wealth we need to purchase mercenaries for the battle against the High Priest. The South will defeat the North for once and for all, and Egypt will be united beneath a strong pharaoh—my father, Setnakht!’
The men erupted in cheers, though Intef remained unmoved. He had heard a similar speech when General Amenmesse had rallied his southern rebels against Seti only twelve years before. He had heard the speech again when General Setnakht’s rebel warriors—Intef among them—had ridden out against Tausret at the Battle of Memphis. Now he would ride out again—against the High Priest. When would it end?
Intef turned to the soldier standing next to him. ‘I wonder how many Egyptians will need to die this time?’ he muttered.
Rameses paused. ‘Excuse me, soldier, what did you say?’
Intef drew a breath. ‘I said, my lord, that I wonder how many will die in order to achieve success?’
Intef braced himself for a scolding, but Rameses only smiled. ‘Why, none,’ he said. ‘That is the reason for the mission.’ He placed his arms behind his back and began to pace. ‘My father and I will choose four men from among you—three ants and one beetle. The beetle will be sent beneath the earth into a tomb full of riches. If he can survive, he will forge the way for the ants. The treasure they extract will pay for mercenaries—enough to defeat the High Priest.’
The men resumed their excited talk, but Intef remained puzzled.
‘Why do you shake your head, Assassin?’ Rameses asked.
‘You said that if the mission is successful, none will die,’ said Intef. ‘But if the treasure is meant to purchase more soldiers, how is that possible?’
‘The answer is simple,’ said Rameses. ‘If we can purchase enough men, there will be no battle at all. The High Priest will simply stand down. No lives will be lost.’
Something stirred deep inside Intef—the echo of some long-abandoned hope. He had never been to a battle in which the armies did not fight. He yearned to see it.
Rameses stepped next to the man standing beside Intef. ‘Tell me, soldier, what do you know of the afterlife?’
‘I know that when I reach the Hall of Ma’at, my heart will be weighed against a feather and that I will be judged pure, for I follow the rightful King!’
There was a barrage of cheers, but Rameses ignored them. He stepped before the next man in the line. ‘And what do you know, soldier?’
‘That the Hall of Ma’at is just the beginning,’ the man said eagerly. ‘That there are lakes of fire and gates guarded by demons and you must know the spells to pass through them.’
Rameses nodded absently, then returned to face Intef. ‘Tell me, Assassin, what do you know of the afterlife?’
‘I know nothing, my lord,’ said Intef.
‘Nothing?’
‘My heart is heavy. Why stalk a festival to which one can never be admitted?’ Several of the officers laughed.
‘Any family?’ asked Rameses.
Intef cringed. ‘Not any more.’
‘Is that why your heart is heavy?’
‘I...failed to do my duty once. But never again.’
General Setnakht whispered something into his son’s ear. ‘No wife, no mistress?’ Rameses asked.
‘Why complicate things?’ More laughter.
‘Then what do you desire, Intef, son of Sharek?’
What did he desire? That was simple: ‘I desire peace, an end to the wars for the double crown, no more cursed fighting,’ he said.
‘If you are chosen for this mission, you may discover something worse than fighting. Worse even than death.’
Intef only shrugged. ‘There are many things worse than death, my lord.’
‘What things? Give an example.’
‘Well, life, for example,’ he said, expecting more laughter. But this time no one laughed and it occurred to Intef that he had spoken from his heart.
Rameses glanced at General Setnakht, who gave a small nod. ‘If you work for my father and me, we will work for Egypt.’
Intef looked into the men’s eyes. A father and a son, working together. No more war. His broken heart throbbed, wanting to believe. He bowed his head.
Rameses grinned. ‘Men, I think we have our beetle.’
Intef kicked the fallen bricks aside and stepped out of the main chamber into the dark corridor. Now he would begin again. He would cross the long hallway and break through to the false chamber and start chiselling through the ceiling within the hour.
He could no longer afford to indulge in his strange fascination with Aya. He had made an agreement with the future Pharaoh of Egypt, after all—a Rameses who was not a Rameses. But it was no matter. The lack of a blood connection to the throne was of little importance when the unity of Egypt was at stake.
Intef’s father had given his life towards achieving such a goal and it was Intef’s duty to see it through. He needed to think of this woman for what she truly was: a dangerous distraction from that purpose.
She did not even like him, and thank the gods for that. Although her insult had stung, he was also grateful for it, for it helped him see her for what she was: a mosquito—a noisy and sometimes bothersome presence to ignore and to swat away when necessary.
Hundreds, even thousands, of men’s lives depended on Intef’s ability to do his duty now. He would not allow a woman to prevent him from doing it.
Aya needed to make amends for the insult she had made. She reminded herself of this purpose as she stepped into the corridor and stood beside Intef. ‘Pharaoh’s winged ba spirit will have a better chance of finding her now that you have broken the seal,’ she remarked in her friendliest voice.
‘That is not why I did it,’ Intef replied.
Aya gazed at the fallen bricks that had once represented her own doom. ‘Nevertheless, I am grateful for your efforts.’
‘I do not labour to earn your gratitude.’ He stepped out of the torchlight and soon she could hear his sandals slapping down the dark corridor.
‘Wait!’ she called after him. This was not going as she had hoped. ‘I did not mean what I said to you. Your desire to help your family is honourable and good.’
A mirthless laugh echoed down the hall. ‘Now I am honourable and good? Just moments ago I was a dirty thief.’
She hurried after him down the long hallway, rushing past him and stopping in the middle of his path. ‘You are in my way,’ he said.
‘Why must you always be so rude?’ She held up her torch and widened her stance, further blocking the way.
He sighed. ‘Would you please do me the kind favour of moving out of my way, my lady? You see, we have a tomb to burrow out of and very little time in which to do it. Millions of thanks.’
‘Your sarcasm rather undermines your efforts at good breeding.’
‘And you are an authority on good breeding?’ He stepped closer. She was overcome by an awareness of his height.
‘I ask merely to be treated with decency,’ she said. It was more than his height. It was his presence. She found herself leaning towards him, as if pulled by an invisible rope.
‘Decency?’ he replied, stepping closer still. The twin flanks of his chest now occupied the whole of her vision.
‘If you are trying to intimidate me, you are failing,’ she said, though her heart was beating as if she had just stumbled into a lion.
‘If I were trying to intimidate you, you would know it.’ She could feel his thick voice deep inside her belly.
‘Would I?’
He exhaled and his warm breath tickled her hair. ‘You would.’
She should have let the discussion end there, should have calmly stepped aside and let him pass. ‘How would I know it?’
He took her chin in his hand and she gasped. He squeezed her jaw just a little, then slowly tilted her face up to his. ‘You would know because you would feel fear.’
By all the holy gods. His musky breath poured over her face. His lips were so close. In truth she did feel fear. She was afraid of how much she wanted to kiss him. ‘I certainly do not feel fear.’
He bent closer still. ‘That is only because I do not wish for you to fear me.’
Was she mistaken, or was he closing his eyes? ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘No.’ His eyes flew open. He released her chin and lurched backwards. ‘Say what you wish to say and have done with it. We need to get to work.’
Aya could hardly remember why she had stopped him at all. ‘I have come to apologise for my bad behaviour,’ she managed to say. ‘I vow never again to insult you, or seek to do you harm.’
He grunted a laugh. ‘And I vow never again to believe a single word you say.’
‘I do not wish there to be enmity between us.’
‘Then please do not offer me any more friendly kisses,’ he said, ‘and kindly stay out of my way.’
He pushed past her, but she turned quickly and kept up with his pace. ‘I will not cease until you accept my apology. Please! I am sorry for what I said to you. You are not a—I did not wish to imperil our friendship.’
‘Friendship?’ He stopped again. ‘If you are such a friendly person, then why did the High Priest of Amun leave you inside this tomb? There are much easier ways to rid oneself of an enemy without endangering one’s holy ka!’
She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. She sensed that if she did not tell him the truth now, she would lose his confidence for ever.
‘The High Priest wished to torture me,’ she admitted.
‘For what reason? Punishment?’
She had to tell him the truth. If she lost Intef’s trust, it was possible that he would break their agreement. Tausret’s greatest riches would once again be a risk. ‘Information.’
‘What information?’
How could she do this? How could she deliberately betray Pharaoh’s dying wish? ‘Information that only I can give,’ she said, stalling for time.
It occurred to her that if the High Priest knew about the heir, then others did, too. Still, she needed a better reason to break the most important promise she had ever made. First and foremost, she needed to protect the heir. What if she could enlist Intef’s help in doing just that?
‘If I tell you this...secret,’ Aya said, ‘you must vow to help me when the time comes.’
‘Fine, I promise,’ Intef said. ‘Now tell me, what information was the High Priest trying to extract from you?’
Aya took a breath. ‘He wished to know the location of the heir to the Horus Throne.’
‘What?’ he said. His mouth hung open. Aya cast her eyes to the floor. ‘Apologies, but I am not sure I heard you correctly. Could you say that again?’
‘Tausret’s heir is real,’ said Aya. ‘And I know the city in which he lives.’