‘This was always her favourite place,’ Piay said.

  They were both standing up, a couple of paces apart. He longed to cross the space between them, take her in his arms and . . .

  Myssa frowned. ‘There have been times when I felt I almost knew you, and about us . . . Just flashes of memory, fragments of feeling . . . like a dream that vanishes the moment you awaken . . .’ Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, as if the task of remembering was too great.

  Piay absently dipped a hand into the pouch where he kept the blue lotus pellets his father had given him. As he rolled them around in his fingers, he remembered the instructions Asil had given him to break the spell. He pulled the pellets out of the pouch and held them in his clenched hand.

  ‘There’s something I need to confess to you,’ Piay said.

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘Something I planned to do . . .’ Piay opened his hand. ‘These are blue lotus pellets.’

  Myssa started, and stepped away from him. ‘No, you can’t do that to me! Not now . . . when I’m trying so, so hard . . .’

  Piay had no idea what she was talking about. He closed his fist around the pellets and held out his other hand in supplication.

  ‘Wait . . . Please . . . let me finish what I want to say.’

  Myssa looked at him with a suspicion, even hostility that seemed to undo all the good things that had been starting to happen between them.

  ‘My father gave me these pellets. He said that if I gave them to you and spoke to you as the Cobra must have done . . .’

  Piay could see that his words were only making Myssa even more tense. At any moment she might scream at him to get out, and all would be lost.

  ‘Please,’ he begged her again, ‘I swear that there’s no harm in what I’m going to say. Because, you see, I was planning to do that, and try to reverse all the spells he’d cast on you . . . But I’m not going to do that. Just watch.’

  Piay strode to the window and threw the pellets out into the garden. Then he turned back to Myssa and said, ‘There – all gone. I was wrong to even think of doing anything to you. That would make me no better than the Cobra. He twisted your mind one way, I’d be twisting it another. But you would have no say in either of them, and that would be totally, utterly wrong. You must make your own choice, one way or another. And whatever that choice is, I swear to you that I will accept it.’

  Myssa looked calmer now, but still far from happy.

  ‘You know that I’ve been ill?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s because I haven’t been taking the lotus potion Tallus used to give me.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Piay frowned. ‘Why would you feel worse when you don’t take it than when you do?’

  ‘I don’t know. It just makes you feel wonderful, and then you feel terrible without it, so you want more . . . and then you become its prisoner.’

  ‘Which you, of all people, could not bear.’

  Myssa nodded. ‘If you had tried to feed me those pellets, I would have killed you. But you didn’t do that – and you were also honest with me, even though you must have known that your words would not please me.’

  ‘I had no choice.’

  Myssa smiled, ‘Very well then, Piay of Thebes . . .’ There was a faint hint of a smile as she said those words, as if the formality of his full name might one day become a private joke between them. ‘I am going to stay here and consult with my wise cat. We will consider you, she and I.’

  So there was still a glimmer of hope. Piay had to restrain himself from cheering.

  ‘But,’ Myssa said, ‘I am making no promises. So, don’t go boasting to that hairy little friend of yours just yet.’

  M

  yssa’s moods had become unpredictable to Piay. At times she seemed lost to him forever, but then she would edge closer, only to shut herself off again. There was absolutely no certainty that he would get Myssa back in his life again. Sill, his exhaustion seemed to have disappeared and there was a spring in his step as he left the palace. He stopped off at a now-familiar tavern, discovered what he needed to know, and then headed towards the quarter of Memphis where the very poorest people lived.

  The streets there were narrow and shadowy, but still sweltering in the heat of the day. Most of the homes were little more than one-room hovels, constructed from crumbling mud bricks only one layer thick and unpainted. Through the doorways, Piay glimpsed nothing more than a bed, a bench, a few pots and tools for grinding wheat. The air choked with the reek of human waste from the middens that almost dwarfed the shacks.

  With every step into this poverty and degradation, Piay’s good mood dissipated. Finally, he came to a cramped square where a crowd had gathered, spilling out into the side streets. Men and women called out to whoever stood in the centre of the throng, waving what poor possessions they had – old, damaged items of jewellery, pots that looked like they had been handed down the generations, rusty tools, and the carcasses of birds that must have been hunted along the banks of the river.

  Looking around, Piay spied his father standing to one side, watching the proceedings. Muscular men stood either side of him, as they always seemed to do in public, their arms folded, their eyes searching the crowd for any hint of trouble.

  When Asil saw Piay, he beamed and pushed his way through the crowd.

  ‘I went to your home and they said you would be here,’ Piay said.

  Asil heard the less than friendly tone and cocked his head.

  ‘Is something wrong, my son?’

  At the centre of the square, a tall man with a broken nose clambered onto the block and in a slow, loud voice began to list what was available: bread, cheese, beer.

  ‘But not much, not much. Make your offer!’

  ‘There’s no more need for pretence, Father,’ Piay said. ‘I know what you are.’

  Asil frowned. ‘I don’t understand, my son.’

  ‘You belong to the Guild of Thieves. And since you seem to be the only man apart from Zahur who walks around Memphis with his own troop of guards, I’d say you might just be the leader of the guild.’

  Asil’s face hardened, his eyes flashing. Though he tried to force his puzzled, little-old-man smile back onto his face, Piay saw the truth revealed. In that instant, Asil looked years younger, a hard man used to facing down enemies.

  ‘You’re mistaken—’

  ‘Don’t lie to me. I’m your son. I’ve got a right to the truth.’

  Asil’s mouth was a slash among the wrinkles. ‘We all do what we must to survive. I told you that.’

  ‘Survival, yes. But profiting from the misery of others? That is a different matter.’ Piay glanced towards the square, where the broken-nosed man was waving a flatbread while the crowd bartered away what little they owned to feed their bellies. ‘Your men stole the food from the caravans delivering supplies to the labourers at the great monuments. They murdered the mule-drivers. And now you’re taking all the food that should have been given to the poor and you’re selling it to them instead – to profit only yourself.’

  ‘You’re soft, boy.’ The lilting tone in Asil’s voice had long gone, as if it had never existed. ‘You’ve had it too easy with Taita and all that palace life. Don’t judge me until you’ve suffered like I’ve suffered.’

  ‘You know nothing about my life,’ Piay said. ‘As for Taita, he taught me about sacrifice, duty, and one thing above all – honour. No remotely honourable man would ever profit from the misery of the poor.’

  Asil’s eyes blazed. ‘You’re saying I am not honourable?’ He caught himself and looked away, struggling to find the mask that had served him so well. ‘My son, let us not argue, not now when we have found each other after so long.’

  Piay studied his father with new eyes. This was not a man reduced to crime by hardship. It was his nature to take advantage of other people, rather than to work hard for himself.

  ‘Let’s set aside our differences,’ Asil said. ‘Join with me. Together we can achieve great things. We are blood, after all, and blood is the most important thing.’

  Piay shook his head. ‘No . . . A man’s actions count more than his blood, and I hope and pray that I will be judged to have been a good man when I stand before Osiris.’

  The old man’s mouth twitched into a sneer. ‘A good man, eh? A better man than me, you mean.’

  Piay said nothing.

  ‘Very well.’ Asil surveyed him with narrow eyes. ‘Then let us do business. You owe me two debts – one for telling you the location of the Shrikes, the other for providing you with the blue lotus you needed to win back your woman.’

  Piay shook his head. ‘I have no need for the blue lotus now.’

  ‘Whether you use them or not is your choice. Nevertheless, they have been provided and a price will have to be paid.’

  ‘I’ll pay no money to common criminals.’

  Asil looked at Piay. ‘Let me teach you a lesson about the real world, boy. What I did for you was no small thing. The men who gave me that potion do not easily forget a debt. So now you owe them as well as me. But . . .’ Asil smiled. ‘I have a way in which you can satisfy your debts to both them and me. So . . . you have been digging for lost treasure. Just give me half of everything that you find and all your problems will be solved.’

  ‘Or what?’

  Piay felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten. He did not like to be told what to do, and he did not like to be threatened, by anyone, not even his father.

  Asil shook his head, feigning a show of sympathy that was so transparent it was laughable.

  ‘If you travel down that road, I cannot protect you, my son. I cannot protect your sullen little friend. And I cannot protect the woman you love.’

  Before Piay could respond, Asil turned and pushed back through the crowd to discover what profit he had made from that day’s misery.

  P

  iay strode away from the stink of the middens. He heard more loud voices ringing out across the city, this time from the direction of the western gate. Puzzled, he walked towards the source of the noise, among a growing throng of Memphis citizens, all wanting to find out what was going on.

  Along the street to the gate, Piay saw the diggers from the great monument, still streaked with the dust and sweat of their labours. Their kilts were filthy and they swung their mallets and chisels as if they were cracking rocks. On the long walk back to the city, their simmering anger had clearly burned deep into their hearts. Their faces were twisted, their fists bunched as they punched the air.

  ‘Zahur lied to us!’ one shouted. ‘He promised us food in payment for our work, but none was sent.’

  ‘Zahur cannot be trusted!’ another roared. ‘We are nothing to him, none of us.’

  ‘The time has come!’ another bellowed. ‘We must let him know our displeasure.’

  ‘The time has come,’ a fourth one echoed.

  And then all the people gathered around them took up the cry: ‘The time has come!’

  P

  iay dashed back to the palace. The wind had fallen, and the suffocating heat pressed down harder than on any other day he could remember, boiling the tempers of all those who gathered in the stifling streets.

  As he raced through the gate, Piay ordered the guards to bar it behind him. In the hall of the palace, Zahur and Harrar sipped wine, laughing together.

  Harrar scowled when he saw Piay.

  ‘I would have thought you would have learned your lesson. Have you come to make more false accusations?’

  ‘Muster the garrison, every man,’ Piay said.

  Zahur’s eyes widened in terror. ‘What is happening?’

  ‘The labourers have returned from the great monuments. They’re hungry, and angry, and they’re blaming you for their problems. And there are crowds of people listening to them and believing them.’

  ‘But that was not our fault!’ Zahur protested.

  ‘Maybe not this time,’ Piay said, ‘but the people don’t know that. There’s already been one riot. This is going to be much worse.’

  ‘We can throw open our stores.’ Harrar jumped up from his winged chair. ‘All the food we have will surely placate them.’

  ‘Don’t you understand? It’s too late. They’re coming for you – for all of us – so get ready to defend the palace. Every man at your disposal, the slaves, too. Arm them with anything that can be used. If we can just hold out for a few days, there may be hope.’

  Piay sprinted towards the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Harrar cried. ‘We need you!’

  ‘You had no use for me when you told Adon the taskmaster to choke the life out of me.’

  Piay turned a cold gaze on both men and then he ran out.

  At the garrison he found Hannu sipping beer.

  ‘The slaves are bringing us wine from the kitchens,’ Hannu said cheerily.

  ‘No time for that now.’

  Hannu’s face darkened when he heard what was happening.

  ‘I am not prepared to die here alongside Zahur or Harrar,’ he spat.

  ‘You won’t have to,’ Piay said.

  Piay hailed the captain of the Blue Crocodile Guards and said, ‘Lord Taita has gone back to Thebes, but the army’s still north of here, finishing off the Hyksos. Hannu, I want you to go down to the docks, right now, while you can still get out of the palace. Get a boat, any boat, steal one if you have to, and head north. You’ve got to get them to send a force south, at least a regiment, to come to our rescue. Captain, can you spare six men to go with him as an escort?’

  ‘Of course,’ the commander said.

  ‘Thank you. Tell them not to wear uniform, or they’ll never get across the city. Now, Hannu, if anyone questions the need for this, tell them the truth. Memphis is facing total anarchy. This will be the first great test of Pharaoh’s rule across the Lower Kingdom. The army has to restore order here, or none of the battles they’ve won will count for anything.’

  Once the captain had hurried away to make the arrangements, Hannu grabbed Piay’s arm and said, ‘Come with me. If you wait any longer, you’ll never get out of here alive.’

  ‘I can’t leave,’ Piay said, shaking his arm free. ‘I’ve got to go back to the monuments and follow the trail to the Sphinx.’

  ‘How in Ra’s name are you going to do that?’

  ‘If we can just hold out till nightfall, Myssa and I can sneak out of here under cover of darkness. It’s not like we haven’t done that before.’

  ‘But the whole place could be surrounded.’

  ‘Yes, it could . . . but not by soldiers who know how to keep watch. These are untrained civilians. Half of them will be drunk. None of them will know how to organise a proper watch. Lots will just go home for the night. Do you seriously think that Myssa and I can’t get past them?’

  Hannu’s look told Piay that that was exactly what he thought, but he bit his tongue and instead said, ‘Well then, I wish you luck . . . and I hope this isn’t the last time you tell me your latest mad plan.’

  ‘It won’t be, count on that.’

  The commander came back into the chamber.

  ‘My men are ready,’ he said.

  ‘Then go,’ Piay said. ‘Now – while you still can.’

  He watched Hannu leave, then offered up a silent prayer: ‘Please, Lord Khonsu, just keep the palace secure till nightfall.’

  Now only the gods could decide their fate.

  T

  he bronze hills far to the west wavered in the heat haze. Within the city, the towering white walls of the Temple of Ptah glowed so brightly they dazzled the eye, and the fronds of the date palms along the canal hung limp in the dead air. On days like this, the citizens of Memphis would normally be sheltering in any shade they could find, praying for nightfall. Now every street throbbed with thousands of people, all of them pressing towards the palace with rage in their hearts.

  Piay looked out of the window across the baking rooftops, watching the mob’s steady progress. His ears rang from the din, and within the grounds the soldiers could barely hear the commands barked at them. Every man and woman in the city seemed to be roaring their fury.

  ‘They would not dare break into the palace.’

  Piay turned to see Zahur standing in the doorway to his chamber. His entire body trembled as if he had a fever. He had dressed in his finest robe, embroidered with gold thread and studded with jewels upon his chest. Piay thought him mad to show off his wealth so blatantly.

  Perhaps Zahur thought that his finery conferred some authority upon him. Did he dream that the rebellious citizens of Memphis would fall to their knees when they stood before him, and see the error of their ways? Plainly he had never been hungry for a day in his life, or he would know that starving people had no thoughts but relieving the ache in their empty bellies.

  ‘They are Egyptians!’ Zahur said, when Piay did not answer. ‘They live by the principles of the great goddess Ma’at! Honesty. Loyalty. Order. That is the only way to keep chaos at bay!’

  ‘Do you still not understand what life in this city is like?’ Piay growled. ‘Don’t you hear the babies crying for food that never comes . . . or the pleas of the old folk, too weak to lift themselves from their beds . . . or the desperation of husbands watching their wives waste away?’

  ‘You cannot blame me for that!’

  ‘You rule the city – who else is to blame?’ Piay turned back to the window. ‘But my opinion means nothing. The gods will make the final judgement.’

  Behind him, Zahur began to sob. Piay imagined those jowls shuddering, slick with tears that had come too late.

  ‘They must show obedience to Pharaoh!’ the governor wailed.

  ‘There are no pharaohs here,’ Piay said, ‘not yet. There are only the citizens . . . and you.’

  Zahur scurried from the room, and Piay focused his attention once again on the army of the dispossessed as they drew closer to the palace. Against the white walls of the grand buildings, the great tide of humanity surged forward, and Piay wondered whether any walls – or any fighting men – would be strong enough to withstand it.

  ‘Come on, Hannu,’ he muttered to himself, ‘just get to that boat.’