CHAPTER 12
THE DEATHI return to the city of the Aten, and am greeted at the quay as I step off the royal boat by one of my lector priests, white-faced and shaking. He tries to draw me aside, whispering incoherently that there is danger, and we must leave at once. But to do so is impossible. Already officials are crowding me, and I am caught up in the elaborate greeting ceremonial. But there is something wrong. I can see it in the eyes of the men who bow before me. I can see it in the faces of the crowds that the guards are holding back. I look around for the friend who tried to warn me, but he is now nowhere in sight. Is it my imagination or am I being treated differently from usual?
As I climb into my golden chariot, and acknowledge the muted greeting of the young groom who holds the re
