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He earns occasional debens of copper or silver from the patrons, which he stashes away with a view to eventually gaining his freedom, when he hopes to acquire a smallholding where he and Yunit will plant vegetables for the market. He does not know I am aware of this, but Pharaoh must know whereof his servants dream. Dreams can be dangerous.
    “Tell me.”
    “The Great Commander Thutmose prepares for a major campaign,” he said, echoing what Khani had told me. “The soldiers are getting their gear ready. There is much admiration for the Commander. They are saying he is strong, he is aggressive, he is a lion whose roar will be heard as far as the Euphrates.”
    “Go on,” I said, thinking: This is bad news. If there is already this kind of talk in the taverns, the plan must be well advanced, and other than Khani’s message this report is the first I have heard of it. “What else are they saying?”
    The discipline of the army is strict and Thutmose, he who would be King, is a stern commander who punishes loose talk. Yet in their cups men will let things drop, and Bek can make himself invisible; he crawls beneath tables and nobody notices him.
    “They are saying the Great Commander is decisive. They are saying he will not hesitate to do whatever is necessary to defend the Black Land. They are saying he would not be attending to building operations and gardens while our enemies muster on our borders,” he said. He avoided my eyes as he whispered, staring down at his sandals, from which his small toes protruded like a row of olives.
    He knew what he was reporting was serious in the extreme. It was criticism of the Pharaoh; implied, oblique, but criticism nonetheless. It was treason.
    I sent him away with a deben of silver for his trouble. He who would be King is moving in on me. It is time for me to gather my resources.
    Here endeth the second scroll.                      
    It is true that there is much admiration for the Great Commander Thutmose. His soldiers and officers revere him, but the general populace admire him also. I have seen him myself, for although he is stationed in Memphis, where the army undergoes training, he comes to Thebes for the festivals. Indeed, he was here only three months ago, for the Celebration of Nehebkau, when all Khemet rejoices in the rebirth of Osiris. The festivities rivalled those of the New Year, with grand processions, marching bands, dancing, singing and roistering, and there was beer and food aplenty supplied to everyone from the Pharaoh’s stores.
    Commander Thutmose took part in various athletic games and competitions, winning almost every time – and there were no allowances made for his status. His physical strength and abilities are truly extraordinary. I was present for the archery competition on the last day, in which several officers of the army and some younger nobles pitted their skills against each other. In the final round, there were three targets instead of just the one, set up a few strides apart, and the test was to shoot at them from a military chariot moving past at speed.
    It was a demonstration of the high level to which the soldiers have been trained, for quite a number were able to hit all three. But then the targets were moved further back and at last only Thutmose and one other, a standard bearer from the Division of Horus, were left. The standard bearer, one Metufer, was taller than Thutmose by almost a full head, slender and lithe, and it was a delight to watch him draw his bow to loose off one arrow after another with smooth and practised grace. A cheer went up from the watching crowd as his arrows struck home.
    Then the chariot bearing Thutmose came thundering along the circuit. His charioteer was driving it at an even faster pace than Metufer’s, whipping the sturdy brown horses into a tearing gallop, the white plumes streaming from their heads. In comparison with the taller man, Thutmose looked almost squat, but one could see