When the stars came out and the guards began to smite their shields with their spear shafts to scare the people in the ruined alleys of the harbour, I said farewell to Muti and left the old copper founder’s house in the poor quarter of Thebes to return once more to Pharaoh’s golden house. As I walked along the streets toward the shore, the night sky glowed once more red over Thebes and the lights of the great streets shone out into the night — and from the centre of the city came a strong jingle of the instruments, for this was the night of Tutankhamun’s enthronement and a festival night in Thebes.

7

But that same night, the old priests were labouring with great zeal in the temple of Sekhmet and cleared away the grass that had grown up between the flagstones and re-erected the lion-headed image in its place and robed it in red linen, adorning it with the emblems of war and devastation. Since having crowned Tutankhamun with the crowns of both kingdoms — the red crown of papyrus and the white crown of lotus — Ay said to Horemheb:

“Now is your hour, son of the falcon. Let the horns sound and declare war. Let blood flow like a purifying flood over the land of Kem, that all may be as before and that the people forget the memory of the false Pharaoh.”

So on the following day, when Tutankhamen in his golden house was playing funeral with his dolls in the company of his royal consort and when the priests of Amun, drunk with their power, burned incense in the great Temple and incessantly cursed the name of Pharaoh Akhenaten to all eternity, then Horemheb ordered the horns to be sounded at all corners of the streets, and the copper gates of Sekhmet’s temple were flung open, and at the head of elite troops, Horemheb led the triumphal march along the Avenue of Rams to make sacrifice to Sekhmet. The priests had received their measure, and the stone masons’ chisels were breaking the stone in all temples, palaces and tombs to remove Pharaoh’s Akhenaten’s accursed name forever from all inscriptions so that even his memory would be forgotten. Pharaoh Tutankhamun had received his measure — for the royal building masters were already negotiating amongst themselves where his tomb would be located. Ay had received his measure,

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for on the right hand side of Pharaoh he ruled over the land of Kem deciding on the taxes, justice, gifts, favours and Pharaoh’s fields. Now came Horemheb’s turn to also got his measure, and I followed him to the temple of Sekhmet because he wished me to behold the greatness of his power when he finally got the war he had devised and worked for all his life.

Yet to Horemheb’s honour, be it said that in the hour of his triumph, he disdained all outward glory and sought to impress the people by the simplicity of his demeanour. For this reason, he drove to the temple in a heavy chariot, and there were no plumes waving above the heads of his horses nor gold gleaming on the wheel spokes. Instead, sharpened copper scythes slashed the air upon either side of his car, and behind him followed the ranks of his spearmen and archers in straight lines, and the thud of their bare feet on the stones of the Avenue of Rams was as steady and majestic as the roar of the sea against the cliffs, and the black men beat on drums fashioned of human skin.

Silent and terrified, the people beheld his tall figure that rose above the heads of all in the chariot and his troops who gleamed with welfare at a time when the whole country was starving. They watched Horemheb’s march to the temple of Sekhmet in silence, as if suspecting in their post-festival hangover that their sufferings were only now beginning. But Horemheb stepped down from his chariot before the temple of Sekhmet and entered the temple with his officers following him, and the priests came to meet him with hands and robes splashed with fresh blood, and they led him before the image of Sekhmet. The goddess was arrayed in a red robe, moistened with the blood of the sacrifice so that it clung tightly to her body, and her stone breasts rose from the garment proudly and dripping with blood. In the twilight of the temple, her savage lion’s head seemed to move, and her jewelled eyes stared down on Horemheb as if alive when Horemheb crushed in his hands the warm hearts of the offerings before the altar and prayed for victory from her. The priests leaped round about him, rejoicing and gashing themselves with their knives, and they cried out with one voice:

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