But he had a terrible feeling that it was already too late to call the army for help.

  Piay hurried from the chamber and searched all the rooms until he finally found Harrar cowering in the kitchens. Unlike Zahur, the nobleman was wearing a stained kilt that looked as if it had once belonged to one of the slaves. He was taking the opposite route to Zahur: setting his grandeur aside and hoping that the angry mob would ignore him if he looked like a lowly toiler in the hot kitchens.

  But one look at Harrar’s soft, clean hands, and one sniff of his perfumed skin, would be enough to dispel any idea that he was a common working man.

  ‘You’ve got to go out and meet the citizens when they arrive,’ Piay said. ‘Tell them their demands have been heard. Put every scrap of food in the palace storerooms onto carts and send it out to them. They’re starving. If you do something about that, it may calm the situation.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ Harrar blustered. ‘I am not taking one step outside the gates under any circumstances.’

  ‘That’s the only hope we have of calming the situation.’

  ‘If anyone should do it, it is Zahur.’

  ‘Zahur is a lost cause. His nerves have gone completely. In any case, the people see him as the cause of their problems. They don’t know you, or blame you as much.’

  ‘No! I will not risk my own neck! This is not my problem!’

  ‘Pharaoh sent you to—’

  ‘Pharaoh did not send me to die!’

  Piay could see there was no point trying to convince Harrar. His mind was made up, his cowardice confirmed.

  The most powerful men in Memphis had abandoned the city and their own people, too.

  T

  he sun was setting, but the air still boiled. Sweat soaked the band of Piay’s white kilt as he watched purple shadows pool around the sycamore trees. Would the oppressive heat never pass?

  He breathed in the rich scent of the yellow roses clumped around the pool. The gardens had been designed as an oasis of peace. No more. A never-ending roar thundered over the entire compound, like that of a ravenous beast stirred from sleep.

  Around the gardens, men stood like sentinels at the head of their lengthening shadows. Everyone there was bracing themselves for what was to come. There were a few members of the Blue Crocodile Guards keeping watch atop the walls on either side of the palace gate. Small clusters of palace guards and frightened slaves, armed with whatever weapons they could muster, were dotted around the perimeter in case anyone tried to breach the walls.

  The rest of the Blue Crocodile Guards, the palace guards and their respective commanders were waiting in the middle of the garden, ready to rush to where they were needed if the walls were breached.

  They are pathetically few in number, Piay thought as he slowly turned, surveying the defences. He prayed they would not be needed.

  He had sent Myssa and Ankhu to the latter’s house in the corner of the compound. If the worst should happen, and the palace were invaded, the little building might just go unnoticed as the attackers headed for the main palace buildings and all the food, drink and loot they contained.

  ‘Aren’t you giving me anything with which to defend myself?’ Ankhu protested, when Piay told him where to go. ‘I’ve not survived this long without knowing how to look after myself, you know.’

  ‘My knife alone will not be enough,’ Myssa said.

  ‘All right then,’ Piay said. ‘Come with me.’

  He led them to the palace armoury and gave them a sword each and a bundle of spears.

  ‘I’ll be there with you,’ he said. ‘If the time comes.’

  ‘Not if, but when it comes, dear boy,’ Ankhu said. ‘I felt the mood of the city as we walked through it this morning. They won’t stop at the gates.’

  Piay had seen Myssa and Ankhu safely installed in the house. Then he returned to the garden and spent the last of the daylight talking to the guards’ commanders and encouraging their troops. Then he went to all the defenders scattered along the wall, offering up words of encouragement, ensuring that they had food and water to sustain them.

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ the guards captain said, as the sun finally set beyond the western horizon. ‘No one would blame you if you just saved yourself.’

  ‘Well, I’m still hoping to do that.’ Piay grinned. ‘But in the meantime, there are people here who are frightened and need someone to keep their spirits up, and we both know Harrar and Zahur have no intention of doing that. So . . .’

  Piay shrugged. The guards captain said nothing. They both knew how bad things were. What more needed to be said?

  T

  he moon of Khonsu filled the garden with silver-grey light. The crowd that now surrounded the palace had pressed up against the walls, but no attack had been made.

  Piay dared to feel just a little bit more optimistic. He turned to the captain of the Blue Crocodile Guards and said, ‘With any luck, the men out there may just become bored, hungry and thirsty enough to decide that their beds are better places to spend the night.’

  Before the captain could reply, Piay felt the ground beneath his feet tremble. He stooped and picked up a jagged piece of worked stone from a mason’s yard.

  ‘Watch out! Raise your shields!’ Piay shouted, but it was too late. Stones flew over the walls on every side, raining down from the sky, thumping into the hard ground, bouncing off the sycamore trees, splashing in the pool.

  One missile smashed against a soldier’s head, caving in his skull. His legs folded under him as if they were made of papyrus, and he sprawled across the ground, spilling blood and brains.

  ‘Take cover!’ the captain yelled, diving behind the trunk of a sycamore tree.

  Piay landed beside him an instant later.

  ‘Someone planned this!’ he shouted, over the shouts and cries of pain of men all around him.

  Piay saw another guardsman on the wall spin as a projectile hit him and topple backwards over the crenellations. The crowd below roared its approval.

  ‘I’m going to find out who’s leading them,’ Piay said.

  He dashed out from behind the tree and sprinted as fast as he could to the steps that led up to the battlements beside the gate, ignoring the projectiles falling all around him. There were even arrows embedding themselves in the ground now, alongside the stones and bricks.

  Piay hurtled up to the walkway that ran around the inside of the walls and crouched down, leaving as little of his head exposed as he could while he looked out across the crowd.

  Men everywhere were brandishing torches.

  They’re going to burn this place to the ground, Piay thought.

  For now, though, the light of the flames only served to illuminate the crowd. And it wasn’t hard to find what he was looking for.

  The Cobra towered over those around him. Beside him were faces that Piay recognised. They might be dressed as city folk, but they were the Hyksos warriors who had fought under Akkan – an island of calm amid the heaving, shouting, stone-throwing mayhem. As Piay watched, the Cobra moved among his men, talking to them one at a time, pointing out where they should go next. He could command the entire crowd, Piay thought, without the people of Memphis ever realising who was really in charge.

  The common folk might be longing for food and a chance to avenge the men who had oppressed them, but amid the havoc, the Cobra would concentrate on recapturing the Eye of Horus, the Disc of Ra and, above all, Myssa. She had been inside the pyramid. She, like Piay, knew where Imhotep’s trail led next.

  Tallus raised his right arm, and then brought it down. At once, a group of eight men, standing directly in front of the palace gates, formed into two orderly lines of four. The Hyksos warriors bent down as one, and when they stood again, they were holding a wooden battering ram, fashioned from a tree trunk. Piay ducked back behind the wall as a band of men with bows came forward to fire more arrows up at the walls.

  Around him, the slaves and soldiers scattered along the battlements were doing the same – they, too, had seen the bowmen moving into position and none of them would dare expose themselves. The men on the battering ram could go about their work undisturbed.

  The ram smashed against the gate. The wood splintered and bowed, but the bar across the gate held.

  Piay ran back down the steps, shouting at the guards to follow. When they reached the ground, they ran to their commander, who was lining up his men, and those of the palace guard, to meet the invaders.

  ‘Return to the garrison!’ Piay shouted.

  ‘We can hold them off for a little while.’

  ‘There’s no point. You’ve got no chance out here in the open. You’ll all be killed, and what good will that do? Just get as many people as you can inside the garrison and hold out there.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m getting out another way.’

  Before the captain could say another word, Piay was dashing for Ankhu’s house. Behind him, he heard the ram beating on the gates – two, three, four more times.

  A tremendous crack reverberated across the palace grounds. The gate shattered into pieces and the army of citizens flooded in with a roar, sweeping across the grounds like the unstoppable rush of Mother Nile during the season of floods.

  Piay sought cover behind a sycamore, just a few paces from Ankhu’s door, and took one last look at the invaders. Two of the henchmen who always accompanied his father were leading the charge, whipping their arms in the air and bellowing to urge the other rebels into a frenzy.

  Piay was certain that his father would not be far behind. The Guild of Thieves would be free to loot the palace while Tallus and the Hyksos went after the means of solving Imhotep’s riddle.

  Asil can use Zahur’s gold to pay off my debts, Piay thought, grimacing at the irony of it all.

  Then he turned and, still unseen by any of the onrushing horde, dashed to Ankhu’s house. The scribe let him in and Piay was pleased to see he had been sensible enough not to light any torches – the fewer eyes that were drawn to this corner of the palace compound, the better.

  ‘Give me a hand with this,’ Piay said, pointing to a heavy wooden chest.

  Ankhu and Myssa helped him to shove it – and every other piece of furniture they could find – up against the door to barricade it. Then they closed the shutters over the ground-floor windows.

  ‘Upstairs,’ Piay ordered. ‘Get upstairs.’

  As Ankhu and Myssa made their way upstairs, to Ankhu’s observatory chamber, Piay began to look around for anything he could use to defend himself. Seconds later a terrible, high-pitched scream cut through the noise of the invasion. Piay knew that sound could only mean one thing.

  ‘They’ve found Zahur,’ he said quietly to himself.

  A

  sil, the father of Piay and master of the Guild of Thieves, gave the young man who normally served as the guard at his door a hearty slap on the back.

  ‘Your dad’ll be proud of you.’

  The young man held a bloody cleaver in his hand – he and Asil were staring down at Zahur’s severed head where it sat in front of them on the limestone flagstones of the garden room. The governor’s wide-open eyes conveyed a look of surprise – even outrage – at what had been done to him. His plump lips hung open to reveal a set of tiny brown teeth, and his jowls were like melted candle wax.

  Zahur’s body, dismembered by the knives and hatchets of hate-filled citizens, was scattered around the room like joints of meat in a butcher’s market.

  Another throat-rending scream echoed across the palace. Three members of the Guild of Thieves burst from the direction of the kitchens, laughing. They were dragging Harrar, who was howling in terror.

  His disguise had not helped him.

  The criminals shoved the nobleman to his knees in the centre of the room. Harrar cowered as his eyes registered that he was staring at the head of his old co-conspirator. Then he lowered his forehead to the stone, prostrating himself, begging for mercy, his body racking with sobs.

  ‘This is the man who denied you food, along with Zahur,’ one of the thieves shouted at the crowd of rioters who had forced their way into the chamber. ‘There will be no justice while he lives. Our hunger will never be assuaged. What shall we do with him?’

  The crowd hung back for a moment, their faces fixed as they stared at the prone man, and then, as one, they fell upon him.

  ‘Not bad work, for beginners,’ Asil remarked to one of his gang as Harrar’s screams fell silent.

  The men who had ripped him apart stepped away from the body, covered in blood.

  ‘Right, lads,’ Asil said. ‘Let’s see what we can find – and if you see anyone carrying anything valuable, just, ah . . . advise them to hand it over.’

  T

  allus was not fooled. He led his men straight towards Ankhu’s house. Piay and the others saw the Cobra coming. The Hyksos were behind him, including the battering-ram crew, still carrying their ram.

  Seconds later the first thunderous hammer of the tree trunk against the front door echoed around the house.

  ‘Get out!’ Piay shouted up the stairs at the other two. ‘Get out through the window. Go . . .! Go!’

  Again, the ram hit the door. It buckled and the impact pushed the hastily assembled pieces of furniture back across the floor: no more than the width of two or three fingers, but the makeshift barricade was not going to delay the Cobra’s men for long.

  Piay turned back to face the door and picked up an ancient spear that he had found wrapped up in an oil-stained carpet under the stairs. There were three more in easy reach.

  ‘I’ll try to slow them down.’

  The third impact of the ram smashed the planking of the door, and now the Hyksos were clearly visible on the other side. Hands were pulling at the wood. Piay threw a spear into the hole they had made and heard a scream of pain. He was caught up in the battle now, thinking of nothing but the next man he had to beat.

  ‘One down . . .’ he muttered.

  ‘You stupid, headstrong young fool!’ Ankhu shouted, making his way down the stairs.

  A Hyksos warrior was prising the planks apart and forcing his way in. Piay threw another spear, but the door shifted and the spear tip hit wood, rather than human flesh.

  ‘Can’t you see? You’re the chosen one!’ Ankhu said as Piay cursed his misfortune. ‘You go! I’ve lived long enough . . . and Egypt needs you.’

  The Hyksos were clambering through the door now, and over what was left of the furniture on the other side.

  Piay threw a third spear and hit the Hyksos in the chest, but as he fell, others appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I’m not letting an old man do my fighting.’

  ‘Please!’ Ankhu was almost sobbing. ‘For the sake of your people, go!’

  Finally, the message got through – there was no more time to argue. Against all his instincts, Piay grabbed his final spear and fled, leaving Ankhu to face the Hyksos alone. When he got to the top of the stairs, Piay found the observatory empty. He dashed to the window but could see no sign of Myssa outside.

  Piay heard feet on the stone stairs and the guttural curses of the Hyksos. Once again, he fought his instincts. He did not follow Myssa out of the window, but instead turned to face the Hyksos. This time he did not throw his spear, but held it as he crouched, ready to keep his attackers and their swords at bay.

  The first of the warriors charged into the room. Two others were close behind.

  Piay jabbed his spear.

  The men fanned out, making it harder for Piay to deal with any one of them without exposing himself to the other two. Another pair of Hyksos arrived. One of them was the Cobra.

  Five against one, Piay thought. Tough, but not impossible.

  He readied himself for the fight. But then the looks on the faces of the Hyksos changed from hungry anticipation of a swift kill to alarm – panic, even.

  Piay realised that they were not looking at him, but past him. He turned his head, just for an instant, to follow their gaze . . . and looked straight into the eyes of the leader of the Sons of Apis.

  The tattooed man swung up the palm of his right hand and blew the heap of white dust upon it into Piay’s face.

  Piay staggered, the particles searing his nose and mouth. He thought he heard the Cobra shouting out in alarm, but then the darkness rushed in until there was only the grinning visage of the cult’s leader, and then nothing at all.

  T

  he moon blurred and the stars streaked by. Myssa floated on her back, hands carrying her aloft as she looked up at the sable sky. The powder the cultist had blown into her face had heightened her senses and stolen her strength, but it had not thrown her into the depths of her dreams, as it had done with Piay. Perhaps she was numb to its effects because of the concoction with which the Cobra had been dosing her for so long.

  Where am I being taken? she wondered. If the Sons of Apis meant to kill me, they could have done so at the palace. So, what other purpose do they have in mind?

  The edges of rooftops whisked by on the fringes of her vision. She felt her direction shift, and she floated between two columns. A limestone portico came into view, glowing in the light of a torch.

  Myssa glimpsed the mark of the bull on one of the pillars as she swept into the shadowed interior, and realised that she must be in the Temple of Apis. She heard a loud, grinding noise and then felt herself tilted, feet first, on a downward trajectory. Her skin prickled at a sudden chill. She breathed in dank, still air as suddenly her entire field of vision was filled with damp stones passing just above her. So, now she knew she was in a tunnel, but to where?

  Footsteps scraped on stone, and then the echoes faded and Myssa realised they had moved into a larger space. She could hear the sizzle of torches. Ruddy light washed over the ceiling, pushing the shadows away to the corners.

  Myssa felt herself lowered until she was standing, albeit unsteadily, on her feet. The effects of the dust had worn off a little now, and she was able to take in the glow of the torches and the glistening walls, slick with moisture. Ahead of her, the Sons of Apis gathered, tattoos stark against flesh the colour of bone, heads bowed slightly as they watched her with baleful eyes from under hooded brows. Behind them, a statue of Apis crouched upon a plinth in its attacking pose.