The Year of the Cobra Read online

  THE YEAR OF THE COBRA

  PAUL DOHERTY

  headline

  Copyright © 2005 Paul Doherty

  The right of Paul Doherty to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  eISBN : 978 0 7553 5045 2

  This Ebook produced by Jouve Digitalisation des Informations

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette Livre UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachettelivre.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Letter to the Reader

  About the Author

  Also by Paul Doherty

  Praise for Paul Doherty

  Dedication

  Principal Characters

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Historical Note

  History has always fascinated me. I see my stories as a time machine. I want to intrigue you with a murderous mystery and a tangled plot, but I also want you to experience what it was like to slip along the shadow-thronged alleyways of medieval London; to enter a soaringly majestic cathedral but then walk out and glimpse the gruesome execution scaffolds rising high on the other side of the square. In my novels you will sit in the oaken stalls of a gothic abbey and hear the glorious psalms of plain chant even as you glimpse white, sinister gargoyle faces peering out at you from deep cowls and hoods. Or there again, you may ride out in a chariot as it thunders across the Redlands of Ancient Egypt or leave the sunlight and golden warmth of the Nile as you enter the marble coldness of a pyramid’s deadly maze. Smells and sounds, sights and spectacles will be conjured up to catch your imagination and so create times and places now long gone. You will march to Jerusalem with the first Crusaders or enter the Colosseum of Rome, where the sand sparkles like gold and the crowds bay for the blood of some gladiator. Of course, if you wish, you can always return to the lush dark greenness of medieval England and take your seat in some tavern along the ancient moon-washed road to Canterbury and listen to some ghostly tale which chills the heart . . . my books will take you there then safely bring you back!

  The periods that have piqued my interest and about which I have written are many and varied. I hope you enjoy the read and would love to hear your thoughts – I always appreciate any feedback from readers. Visit my publisher’s website here: www.headline.co.uk and find out more. You may also visit my website: www.paulcdoherty.com or email me on: [email protected].

  Paul Doherty

  About the Author

  Paul Doherty is one of the most prolific, and lauded, authors of historical mysteries in the world today. His expertise in all areas of history is illustrated in the many series that he writes about, from the Mathilde of Westminster series, set at the court of Edward II, to the Amerotke series, set in Ancient Egypt. Amongst his most memorable creations are Hugh Corbett, Brother Athelstan and Roger Shallot.

  Paul Doherty was born in Middlesbrough. He studied history at Liverpool and Oxford Universities and obtained a doctorate at Oxford for his thesis on Edward II and Queen Isabella. He is now headmaster of a school in north-east London and lives with his wife and family near Epping Forest.

  Also by Paul Doherty

  Mathilde of Westminster

  THE CUP OF GHOSTS

  THE POISON MAIDEN

  THE DARKENING GLASS

  Sir Roger Shallot

  THE WHITE ROSE MURDERS

  THE POISONED CHALICE

  THE GRAIL MURDERS

  A BROOD OF VIPERS

  THE GALLOWS MURDERS

  THE RELIC MURDERS

  Templar

  THE TEMPLAR

  THE TEMPLAR MAGICIAN

  Mahu (The Akhenaten trilogy)

  AN EVIL SPIRIT OUT OF THE WEST

  THE SEASON OF THE HYAENA

  THE YEAR OF THE COBRA

  Canterbury Tales by Night

  AN ANCIENT EVIL

  A TAPESTRY OF MURDERS

  A TOURNAMENT OF MURDERS

  GHOSTLY MURDERS

  THE HANGMAN’S HYMN

  A HAUNT OF MURDER

  Egyptian Mysteries

  THE MASK OF RA

  THE HORUS KILLINGS

  THE ANUBIS SLAYINGS

  THE SLAYERS OF SETH

  THE ASSASSINS OF ISIS

  THE POISONER OF PTAH

  THE SPIES OF SOBECK

  Constantine the Great

  DOMINA

  MURDER IMPERIAL

  THE SONG OF THE GLADIATOR

  THE QUEEN OF THE NIGHT

  MURDER’S IMMORTAL MASK

  Hugh Corbett

  SATAN IN ST MARY’S

  THE CROWN IN DARKNESS

  SPY IN CHANCERY

  THE ANGEL OF DEATH

  THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS

  MURDER WEARS A COWL

  THE ASSASSIN IN THE GREENWOOD

  THE SONG OF A DARK ANGEL

  SATAN’S FIRE

  THE DEVIL’S HUNT

  THE DEMON ARCHER

  THE TREASON OF THE GHOSTS

  CORPSE CANDLE

  THE MAGICIAN’S DEATH

  THE WAXMAN MURDERS

  NIGHTSHADE

  THE MYSTERIUM

  Standalone Titles

  THE ROSE DEMON

  THE HAUNTING

  THE SOUL SLAYER

  THE PLAGUE LORD

  THE DEATH OF A KING

  PRINCE DRAKULYA

  THE LORD COUNT DRAKULYA

  THE FATE OF PRINCES

  DOVE AMONGST THE HAWKS

  THE MASKED MAN

  As Vanessa Alexander

  THE LOVE KNOT

  OF LOVE AND WAR

  THE LOVING CUP

  Kathryn Swinbrooke (as C L Grace)

  SHRINE OF MURDERS

  EYE OF GOD

  MERCHANT OF DEATH

  BOOK OF SHADOWS

  SAINTLY MURDERS

  MAZE OF MURDERS

  FEAST OF POISONS

  Nicholas Segalla (as Ann Dukthas)

  A TIME FOR THE DEATH OF A KING

  THE PRINCE LOST TO TIME

  THE TIME OF MURDER AT MAYERLING

  IN THE TIME OF THE POISONED QUEEN

  Mysteries of Alexander the Great (as Anna Apostolou)

  A MURDER IN MACEDON

  A MURDER IN THEBES

  Alexander the Great

  THE HOUSE OF DEATH

  THE GODLESS MAN

  THE GATES OF HELL

  Matthew Jankyn (as P C Doherty)

  THE WHYTE HARTE

  THE SERPENT AMONGST THE LILIES

  Non-fiction

  THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF TUTANKHAMUN

  ISABELLA AND THE STRANGE DEATH OF EDWARD II

/>   ALEXANDER THE GREAT: THE DEATH OF A GOD

  THE GREAT CROWN JEWELS ROBBERY OF 1303

  THE SECRET LIFE OF ELIZABETH I

  THE DEATH OF THE RED KING

  Praise for Paul Doherty

  ‘Teems with colour, energy and spills’ Time Out

  ‘Paul Doherty has a lively sense of history . . . evocative and lyrical descriptions’ New Statesman

  ‘Extensive and penetrating research coupled with a strong plot and bold characterisation. Loads of adventure and a dazzling evocation of the past’ Herald Sun, Melbourne

  ‘An opulent banquet to satisfy the most murderous appetite’ Northern Echo

  ‘As well as penning an exciting plot with vivid characters, Doherty excels at bringing the medieval period to life, with his detailed descriptions giving the reader a strong sense of place and time’ South Wales Argus

  In memory of Caroline Mary Fox, a remarkable and

  gifted woman, who died on 18 April 2004

  PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

  THE ROYAL HOUSE (OF AMENHOTEP III)

  CHILDREN OF THE KAP (ROYAL NURSERY)

  THE AKHMIN GANG

  Introduction

  The Eighteenth Dynasty (1550-1323 BC) marked the high point, if not the highest point, of the Ancient Egyptian Empire, both at home and abroad; it was a period of grandeur, of gorgeous pageantry and triumphant imperialism. It was also a time of great change and violent events, particularly in the final years of the reign of Amenhotep III and the swift accession of the ‘Great Heretic’ Akenhaten, when a bitter clash took place between religious ideologies at a time when the brooding menace of the Hittite Empire was making itself felt.

  I was very fortunate in being given access to an ancient document which alleges to be, in the words of a more recent age, ‘the frank and full confession’ of a man who lived at the eye of the storm: Mahu, Chief of Police of Akenhaten and his successors. Mahu emerges as a rather sinister figure responsible for security – a job description which can, and did, cover a multitude of sins. This confession seems to be in full accord with the evidence on Mahu that has been recovered from other archaeological sources – be it the discoveries at El-Amarna, the City of the Aten, or the evidence of his own tomb, which he never occupied. A keen observer of his times, Mahu was a man whose hand, literally, was never far from his sword (see the Historical Note here).

  Mahu appears to have written his confession some considerable time after the turbulent years which marked the end of the Eighteenth Dynasty. He kept journals, which he later transcribed, probably during the very short reign of Rameses I (c.1307 BC). Mahu’s original document was then translated in the demotic mode some six hundred years later during the seventh century BC, then copied again during the Roman period in a mixture of Latin and the Greek Koine. His confession, which I have decided to publish in a trilogy, reflects these different periods of translation and amendment; for instance, Thebes is the Greek version of ‘Waset’, and certain other proper names, not to mention hieroglyphs, are given varying interpretations by the different translators and copiers.

  In the first part of the trilogy, An Evil Spirit Out of the West, Mahu described the rise and fall of Akenhaten: that Pharaoh’s mysterious disappearance, the attempt by his Queen Nefertiti to seize power, and her brutal and tragic end. In the second part, The Season of the Hyaena, Mahu reflected on the mysteries surrounding such dramatic events. He and others of the Kap, now Lords of Egypt but bound by the close ties of childhood, were still haunted by what had happened and fearful of what might come. Mahu’s fears were more than justified. A great usurper, pretending to be Akenhaten, appeared in the delta to raise the spectre of civil war. Mahu had to deal with this as well as search for the true fate of his former Pharaoh. In doing so, he discovered secrets which were highly dangerous to Egypt’s future, as well as scandals about Khiya, Akenhaten’s second wife, and was drawn into a deadly political rivalry with the cunning Lord Ay. In the end Mahu paid the price for such opposition, being placed under house arrest for years. He was recalled to court for very sinister reasons: the young Pharaoh, Tutankhamun, was suffering from a serious mental illness . . .

  The Year of the Cobra now resumes Mahu’s tale: Tutankhamun is unwell, but there is no heir apparent. Egypt’s enemies, the Hittites, are advancing through Canaan, and Ay still plots, like the spider he is. The web is woven, the traps set . . .

  Aakhu-t: the fiery cobra on Pharaoh’s crown

  Prologue

  She who lights the fire to stir the embers

  with sharp flames, quick in killing without hesitation.

  She against whom there is no protection.

  She by whom no one can pass without harm;

  the one that rears up towards her Lord.

  She sharp as knives,

  Mistress of the Two Lands,

  who destroys the enemies of the tired heart,

  who arouses trembling before the Sinless One.

  I often quote these verses from the Book of the Dead. They describe the soul’s progress through the Am-duat, the underworld, past the Devourers, the drinkers of blood, the gobblers of flesh. I don’t believe a word of it, yet I do like the poetry, its description of fiery lakes which lap desolate shores on which the cities of the dead rise in ghastly splendour. Why do I like it? Well, it seems to describe my life, or at least most of it. True, I have walked through the Fields of the Blessed where the blue and white lotus opens and shuts at your command, where the air is sweet with hyacinth and the fresh green smells of spring. Where the white ibis soars beneath blue, rain-washed skies, where the sun and moon, and all the blossoms of the night, hang in perpetual glory. Such blessedness is mine. I have drunk from gold cups heavy with precious stones, sipping the wine of Charou and Canaan. I have eaten the most succulent meats, the freshest honey-drenched bread and the choicest fruits. I have known the bodies of the most beautiful women with their perfume-drenched wigs and sloe-eyes, ringed with blue, green or black kohl, all bright and sparkling with passion. I have held them in my arms, their glittering jewellery flashing and tingling as they turn and twist in the Netchenet, the sexual paradise.

  I have strolled in palaces and been adorned with all the regalia of power as a servant of four Pharaohs. I have been spy, traitor and warrior. I have eaten the dust-clouds of battle as the chariot squadrons thunder in. The hideous clash of the Menfyt and Nakhtu-aa and Maryannou, the strong-arm boys, the braves of the king, as they fought with spear, sword, shield and club out in the Redlands or along the marshes of the Nile: such bloodshed is no stranger to me. I have fought in the cold blackness of the desert nights and under a sun so searing the rocks have splintered and cracked. I have wandered across battlefields where the dead bloat, burst and stink and the earth seems carpeted with feathery winged vultures. I have known the terror of being hunted by night prowlers, by assassins, the disciples of the redhead Seth, with blades snaking out of the darkness or the unexpected arrow whipping through the air. Why? Because I am Mahu of the Medjay, formerly Chief of Police under the great heretic, he whose name is proscribed for ever, Akenhaten.

  See, I have proclaimed his name. The Great Heretic! Now he is gone, him and the rest. I am an old man brought back to Thebes with my journals written in my own terf shta-t, secret writing. The Divine One, Rameses, Mighty Bull, Most Fitting of Forms, Horus in the South, Smiter of the People of the Nine Bows, wishes my life to be told, for his own secret purposes or, perhaps, not so secret. I am Pharaoh’s bridge to the past because the rest have all gone into the never-ending darkness. Only old Mahu remains from the glory days of Egypt’s past. I am to write what I know.

  I use my journals but I also call on the dead. The Ancient Chronicles describe how, many decades ago, before a Pharaoh died, he had a priest strangled and sent before him to prepare his journey. I heard of a similar story during my exile, which reminds me, I’ve met some eerie characters on my travels. One in particular springs to mind, a scholar from the kingdom of Punt, which borders on the Great Green to th
e East. He had wandered south, past the Cataracts, before turning west into the great jungles to meet the tribes who live along the far coast. He told me of one chief who, when he wished to communicate with his dead father, had a dozen slaves strangled and sent into the netherworld to ask for advice. I asked this scholar why the chieftain had a dozen slaves executed. The man smiled, wrinkling his face in amusement.

  ‘Just in case one of them got lost in the darkness; out of twelve, one of them was bound to find his or her way.’

  ‘And how was the advice brought back?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah,’ that teller of great lies replied, ‘the chief would have a dream, and if he didn’t, twelve more would be sent.’

  A droll story, yet all I can send into the eternal night is my soul, even though I doubt I might have one. If I have, will the other souls be waiting for me? All my companions: Huy, Maya and the rest?

  They have taken away what I have written, yesterday. The Chief of Scribes, Overseer of the House of Secrets, came down to interrogate me: a fat, arrogant fellow, puffed up with his own importance, like a cobra is with poison. He brought his personal secretary to take down the words from my mouth, a young fellow who stared at me in astonishment. He may well do so! My eyes are sunken, my teeth blunted, my skin yellowing and coarse. My black hair is now white as a lily pod. I suppose he hasn’t met many men in their eighty-sixth year who can recall so vividly the sterling days of the Great Heretic. The Chief Scribe, I forget his name, calls himself the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh. I was about to reply how blind and deaf his master must be, but I bit back the reply. He wants to summarise what I’ve written. He settled his fat arse on a cushioned chair and gazed sorrowfully at me. I lounged on cushions, half drunk from a goblet of wine, head slightly turned, as if I was more concerned about a rat-hole, the one the servants had tried to block with roasted cat fat mixed with snake oil.

  ‘You are Mahu of the Medjay,’ he began. ‘Your mother died when you were young? Your father was a colonel in the desert police? You lived with your aunt Isithia; you hated her and hired another to kill her?’