The dust that he had seen to the south might have been nothing more than another traveller. Nevertheless, he had to check, just in case. Pulling his horse behind him he stumbled down from his vantage point and made chase. Ipay galloped as fast as his horse would allow him. The dust was so far away, he might never catch up in time. And if it were not the prince, then he would have to turn once again and go back. His panic grew all the greater. His mind wheeling, Ipay jabbed his heels into the horse’s flanks. Then, all of a sudden the animal faltered, pitched headlong, and fell to the ground. Ipay was thrown forward and came to an inelegant stop face down, spread-eagled across the desert gravel. The startled horse leapt up, cantered off a short distance, then stopped and began grazing on the spare desert scrub.

Ipay looked up. He was sore. He turned over and examined himself. What a sorry sight. His palms, his forearms and his chin were grazed and bleeding where he had connected so unceremoniously with the coarse gravel. He removed the cloth that he used to shield his head from the sun and dabbed at the bloody scores on his arms. The grit partly came off with the congealing blood but not all of it. He lamented his disfigurement and began to worry about possible infection – he had always had a personal tendency towards hypochondria. He yielded up a quick prayer to Isis.

Ipay drew himself up to a seated position and, for the first time, looked back at what had caused his headlong tumble. It was a broken spear – a freshly broken spear. His preoccupation with his personal well-being was immediately extinguished. The icy chill of deep fear descended on him. He looked all around. To his horror, there were the bodies of soldiers, three of them, scattered about in the dust. To the left lay a dying camel, a pike through its neck, still struggling for breath. Its decorative saddleware lay crushed under the weight of its own body.

Ipay stood up and limped over to the animal. He was no longer conscious of the pain from his injuries. In his worst fears he knew what he would find inside the broken canopy. He raised one of the decorated curtains. A dark skinned youth – half of him trapped under the beast, his upper body only showing from beneath the belly of the camel, a virtual mat of congealed blood covering his neck and chest, the fear still showing in his open eyes – lay frozen in death. By his clothing the young man was clearly a person of some importance and definitely not Egyptian. Ipay at once knew he had failed. His future was sealed in the drying blood of the young, dead Hittite. So was Ankhesenamun’s.

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An excerpt from Tutankhamun Uncovered, by Michael J. Marfleet.
Copyright 2009-2010 Michael J. Marfleet. All rights reserved.
Published by Apex Publishing Ltd.