‘Ah! Your woman!’ Zahur exclaimed, waving a finger in the air before dipping his hand down for another honey cake. ‘Such a pretty black thing.’

  Piay nodded, gritting his teeth to stop himself from telling Zahur exactly what he thought of his description of the woman he loved.

  She’s got more brains in her little finger that you have in your fat head, he thought.

  But if he was to have any hope of saving her, he could not afford to antagonise the two most powerful men in Memphis.

  ‘How did this happen?’ Harrar asked, though he seemed more intent on brushing the crumbs from his robe than hearing Piay’s tale.

  ‘A small group of us went to the Pyramid of Djoser last night to begin the work that Lord Taita instructed me to do.’

  Harrar sighed. ‘You went to examine the pyramid in the middle of the night – when you couldn’t see a thing? That sounds like complete madness to me.’ He tilted his head towards Zahur. ‘Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Zahur replied, though the word was muffled by the cake in his mouth. He swallowed, burped and then added, ‘The act of a madman or a fool, if you ask me.’

  ‘We went under cover of the night in the hope that we would not be spotted by our enemies.’

  ‘Another foolhardy notion!’ Zahur smacked his lips. ‘Cut-throats skulk everywhere beyond the walls. Shrikes, too, now, I hear.’

  ‘I’ve already met them,’ Piay said.

  ‘On another of your grossly irresponsible attempts to win personal glory, no matter what the cost to others.’

  Piay had had enough. Trying to keep his counterblast polite and not overtly insubordinate, he replied, ‘With great respect to your lordship, in my time with the Shrikes, I gained an enormous amount of valuable intelligence that I would be happy to share with you both at your convenience. And I can now give you detailed information about the Hyksos warlord Akkan, whose men attacked us last night.’

  ‘So you let your woman be captured, but saved your own skins,’ Harrar said, with venom. ‘What splendid warriors you are!’

  Zahur giggled. ‘Very droll, Lord Harrar,’ he said. ‘Such wit!’

  Piay ignored Zahur and kept looking at Harrar.

  ‘My lord, we need the Blue Crocodile Guards. They’re our only hope of getting Myssa back.’

  ‘We cannot risk seasoned fighting men in battle for one woman.’

  ‘My lord, I know you require protection against the Sons of Apis – you have made your views clear on that – but if the gods are with us, we will be back before nightfall, and during the hours of daylight the palace guards will be able to keep you safe.’

  Harrar tossed aside his honey cake, his face taut with irritation.

  ‘Any fight with Hyksos warriors will be fierce. We cannot afford to lose a single soldier, and certainly not for a woman.’

  ‘A man was stabbed last night,’ Zahur explained through another mouthful of cake. ‘Stabbed for a loaf of bread – in Memphis! The people are restive. The war . . . the siege . . . It has all taken a terrible toll. The people want the comforts they enjoyed during the long years of peace under Hyksos rule, and we cannot rest easy until we fill the grain warehouses and get the river trade moving again. That requires order to be restored and maintained.’

  Confounded, Piay looked from Zahur to Harrar, and then to the heap of honey cakes and the slaves bringing in yet more tasty morsels for their delectation.

  ‘The Blue Crocodile Guards will stay garrisoned here in case they are needed,’ Harrar said. ‘That is my final word. And as for this scheme of Taita’s, to map the monuments and to return them to the glory of ancient times . . . What on earth is the point? And how could we ever afford such vast expenditure?’

  ‘Lord Taita said—’

  ‘I know what Taita said. But he is just a man, do you hear me? He is not always right.’

  He’s right a lot more often than you, Piay thought.

  Once again, he restrained himself and instead said, ‘In any event, my lord, he specifically ordered the Blue Crocodile Guards to protect me and my colleagues while we were carrying out our work here in Memphis.’

  ‘The necropolis is not actually in Memphis,’ Harrar observed, provoking another snort of amusement from Zahur. ‘And, in any case, he did not inform me of any such arrangement.’

  ‘No, my lord, because Lord Taita had already left Thebes by the time Lord Azref was . . .’

  Piay just managed to stop himself from saying ‘was poisoned’, but he had left himself open to Harrar, who leaned forward and said, ‘Was what . . .?’

  It was suddenly clear to Piay from the tone of Harrar’s voice, and the way he was daring him to finish the sentence, that his lordship knew exactly what had happened to Azref – and might even have played a part in his death. And with that realisation came another. Harrar was not as physically intimidating as Akkan. He had no powers conferred on him by the gods. But he was no less malicious, no less hateful, no less evil. And that made him, in his own way, no less dangerous.

  ‘Before he was eaten, my lord . . . by the crocodiles,’ Piay said.

  ‘Hmm . . .’

  Harrar gave Piay a look that signified that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. Myssa was lost. There was no way of getting her back. But the very act of thinking about her reminded Piay of something.

  ‘Excuse me, my lord,’ he said.

  He dashed out of the room, along a corridor, up a flight of stone stairs and into Myssa’s bedchamber. Piay just had time to notice that Bast was no longer curled up on her mistress’s bed, as she had been for most of the time since their arrival. Then he found what he was looking for and ran back the way he had come, pausing for a second to catch his breath before he walked back up to the two self-indulgent masters of this sprawling, suffering city.

  ‘Excuse me, my lords,’ Piay said.

  Harrar looked at him with bored, unwelcoming eyes. ‘What now?’

  ‘There’s something you need to see, sir. It’s proof of Lord Taita’s intentions.’

  Piay handed him the scroll on which Taita’s order to give assistance to Myssa was written.

  Harrar shrugged. ‘I fail to see the relevance of this.’

  ‘Surely it’s clear, my lord. Myssa the Kushite is to be given every possible assistance.’

  ‘But you are not Myssa the Kushite, are you?’

  ‘No, sir, but I want to give her vital assistance. I insist, on her behalf, that the Blue Crocodile Guards unit that was ordered to protect her should now be allowed to do so.’

  Harrar looked at Piay, and there it was: the same total absence of common humanity in his eyes as in Akkan’s.

  ‘I have never been formally informed of any such orders being given to our brave guardsmen. And in the absence, and by now, almost certainly the death of Myssa the Kushite, this document’ – he tore the scroll in two, and let the pieces drop to the floor – ‘is no longer of any relevance or authority. Lord Zahur and I are in charge here. And I have made my decision. I strongly advise you to abide by it, or you, too, may soon suffer the same fate as your woman.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Piay choked the words out, then he spun on his heels and marched away with Hannu close behind him.

  In the far corner of the garden, out of earshot of anyone in the palace, Piay let out a volley of foul-mouthed insults relating to the parentage of Harrar and his resemblance to various human body parts and excretions. It ended with the words, ‘He’s no better than Akkan!’

  ‘Huh!’ Hannu said. ‘That’s quite a statement.’

  ‘Well, if Myssa’s been killed, they’re both dead men.’

  ‘Hey, don’t go talking about Myssa being killed. You said it yourself – she’s smart, and she can make Akkan and that Cobra fellow feel like they’ve got to keep her alive.’

  ‘Maybe, but the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be for her. We’ve got to try to get to her today, even if it’s only just the two of us.’

  ‘It’s been that plenty of times before,’ Hannu said.

  He craned his neck up at the sky, and Piay knew he was looking at the position of the sun to judge how much time the two of them might have left.

  ‘Hang on,’ Piay said. ‘Maybe it’s not just the two of us. Maybe there’s a third . . .’

  O

  n the edge of the market, a cloud of dust billowed as two men fought like rabid dogs. Snarling and spitting, they threw each other across the ground, gouging, tearing and rending with dirty fingernails. A crowd swelled around them, roaring in support of one or the other.

  Piay glanced at the scuffle as he drifted past. He didn’t care to discover what had motivated either of the combatants. It was the third fight he had seen since he had walked out of the palace gates. The city was a bubbling cauldron of anger, a stew formed from want and despair. No one could understand why their plight was not being addressed or their suffering alleviated.

  The market was filled with citizens shuffling around as if their shoulders were weighed down by invisible bales, but the blocks where the merchants hawked their wares were mostly deserted. The bread vanished almost as soon as it arrived, and there were no olives at all, no honey, no dates.

  The temples were bustling, though. Desperate men and women queued at the gates to make offerings to the gods in the hope of divine intervention. Piay weighed up making a devotion to Khonsu, but there was no time. Right now, he needed mortal men.

  The fish market looked as depleted as everywhere else in the city. Piay could not think of any reason why there should not be fish to be caught in the Nile, or salted and transported from the great sea that lay beyond the river delta. But here, too, most of the stalls were deserted, and those that were still operating had only a pitifully small selection to tempt the few customers with the energy, or the means, to come and buy.

  Piay found the entrance to the lane that the guard had mentioned. It wasn’t hard to find the tavern – halfway down the alley, two drunks were lying flat out on the dirt. Even in the worst of times, there would always be those who had coins to spare for beer and wine.

  Just beyond the tavern, Piay saw what he supposed must be his father’s house. He’d half-expected a hovel – his father’s clothes had been worn, and his slumped shoulders and downcast eyes had suggested someone who had long suffered deprivation. Yet this was a modest but perfectly acceptable dwelling. Asil must be doing better than he pretended, which might also explain the broad-shouldered, unshaven, surly-looking young man who was leaning against the wall beside the door, constantly looking up and down the street for any sign of trouble.

  When he saw Piay approaching, the doorman stood erect and glared. He was doing his best to look fierce. But he still had a very long way to go to match Akkan or Khin.

  ‘I’m looking for Asil,’ Piay said.

  ‘What’s your business?’ the man demanded.

  Piay cocked an eyebrow. ‘He’s my father.’

  The man did not question the statement. He just nodded and stepped aside.

  So, he’s been expecting me, Piay thought.

  Piay stooped under the lintel and stepped into the cool, dark interior. Embers smouldered in the hearth. There was a low table, but little else.

  Asil stepped out of a room at the rear.

  ‘My son,’ he said. A smile sprang to his lips.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Piay asked, glancing back to the door.

  Asil shrugged as he gestured for Piay to sit on the floor.

  ‘The son of a friend. These are dangerous times. Since the siege, life here in Memphis has gone from bad to worse. There’s not enough to go round. People steal from their neighbours. I don’t have much, as you can see’ – he swept out an arm to indicate the bare room – ‘but I’m an old man, easy prey, and my friends thought it best to keep me safe. We look out for one another. That’s all we have now – friendship.’

  Piay slumped to the floor and leaned against the clay-brick wall. After the physical and emotional strain of the night and early morning, it felt good to rest. He closed his eyes for a moment and then immediately forced them open again. He had not slept for a full day and night, but he could not afford to give in to his fatigue.

  Asil slipped into the room at the rear of the house and returned with a cup of beer, which he offered to Piay. Piay sipped it and felt grateful for the kindness. He eyed the old man, weighing him up.

  ‘You seem troubled,’ Asil said, sitting.

  ‘That’s because I am.’

  ‘Surely there is no problem that the great Piay of Thebes cannot solve.’

  ‘Those are the words I’ve lived by all my life. But now . . .’ Piay shrugged. ‘These days I have something that I can’t bear to lose. It means more to me than life itself. And for the first time, I just can’t see a way to save it.’

  ‘A woman?’

  Piay nodded.

  ‘If you have chosen her, my son, she must be great indeed. Tell me about her.’

  Piay sank deep into his thoughts. He found himself talking about Myssa, hesitantly at first, but then the words flooded out of him and he was caught up in a torrent of feelings and memories. Once again, he was there in Sparta, seeing Myssa for the first time as she stood on the slaver’s block. Had he sensed then how much she would come to mean to him? A part of him thought that perhaps he had.

  ‘And now she’s gone,’ he said as he came to the end of his description. ‘Captured by a band of Hyksos.’

  ‘I had thought they’d all fled,’ Asil said, frowning.

  ‘This lot are searching for buried treasure. Their leader is Akkan, a demon in human form. He believes Myssa can guide him to its location.’

  ‘And can she?’

  ‘If she told the truth, maybe. But she’ll be trying to deceive him. You know, to buy time for me to rescue her.’

  ‘So you’re here in Memphis searching for treasure.’ Asil sipped on his beer.

  Piay stiffened. Was his father thinking of how he might turn this information to his own advantage?

  ‘Among other things. That doesn’t matter now. All that I care about is Myssa. How do I get her back? There’s a detachment of the Pharaoh’s guards at the palace. They’re supposed to be helping me, but Lord Harrar and Governor Zahur insist on keeping the soldiers for themselves.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me. I saw them both when they paraded through the streets the other day. I don’t know how Zahur dares show himself before people who are starving when he’s flabbier than a fattened pig. He’s asking for an uprising.’ Asil smiled. ‘Sorry, got carried away. Let’s go back to your problem.’

  ‘It’s very simple. How do Hannu and I – two men – defeat a Hyksos warlord and his entire band of warriors before Myssa’s deception is discovered and she’s killed?’

  Swirling the beer in his cup, Asil stared into the depths.

  ‘You know, son, we knew you were special when you were barely more than a babe, your mother and me. When we looked into your eyes we saw something there, some spark that the other children didn’t have. When we heard of the great Taita, we thought perhaps he could shape you into a man who could achieve wondrous things. And then . . . And then, perhaps, you would return to us.’

  The old man sighed. Piay looked into his father’s face, still trying to decide whether his words were a display of sincere affection and regret, or just cold, hard, manipulative deceit.

  ‘Your mother never lived to see it,’ Asil continued. ‘But she would have been proud, my son – so, so proud – as I am proud of you. I have faith in you. There’s a solution to your problem and you will find it. I’m sure of that.’ He thought for a moment more, sipped on his beer and then said, ‘All right, why don’t I tell you what I think about your situation?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Right, then. You’ve got to attack this warlord to rescue your Myssa. But you can’t do that because you don’t have the numbers, owing to your so-called superiors being flabby-arsed cowards. So, you need to find someone else who will fight for you.’

  ‘Yes, obviously . . . but where am I going to find them? And even if I can find them, how can I pay them? I mean, I can’t see anyone risking their necks just out of the kindness of their heart. Why would they?’

  ‘Out of kindness, no, they wouldn’t. But they might just do it out of loathing.’

  Piay frowned at the old man. ‘What do you mean?’

  Asil drained the last of his beer and set the cup aside. ‘Hard times demand hard things of us. You can’t always be honourable or do what other people call the right thing. Not if you want to survive. Let me tell you, I wasn’t always a man you’d look up to, Piay. I did terrible things just to reach the next rising of the sun. I’m not proud of it. But I survived, and I’m here now to see my son once again, to praise him for reaching the heights I always knew he would.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Piay said, who for the first time since he’d met Asil felt that the old man was speaking from his heart. ‘But what has this got to do with me finding Myssa?’

  ‘It’s very simple. You are an honourable young man. You don’t do business with bad men. You fight them, because you believe in justice and helping those who can’t help themselves.’

  ‘You make that sound like a bad thing.’

  ‘Well, what if, in order to defeat one bad man, you had to enlist another one to help you?’

  ‘Why would I do that? And if I did, why would he agree?’

  ‘Because he hates your enemy even more than you do.’

  Piay suddenly realised where this was going.

  ‘Tell me, exactly, what you mean by that.’

  ‘I mean that there are two bands of Hyksos near this city, and they are led by two brothers. Both these brothers have taken Egyptian prisoners lately. One of them has taken your woman. The other captured a man, but then his band, who call themselves Shrikes, were ambushed and—’

  ‘Where did you hear this? Who is your spy?’

  Asil shrugged. ‘I don’t have spies. But I have friends who hear things in taverns, and others who pass on information for the price of a meal, or a flask of wine.’ Now his eyes hardened. ‘I told you, boy, I’m a survivor. And even now, with half the city in ruins and the people starving, I survive. Why? How? Because I make it my business to know more than my competitors. That way I stay ahead of them.