by K. T. Tomb
“Wa-alaykum salaam,” was the response.
As he made his way along Kabasakal Road back to his apartment, the cloaked man was smiling to himself. So many years of watching and waiting seemed to be coming to an end. In a way, their mission had failed since the Book never made it back to a royal house of Egypt, but on the other hand it would be going home after all. Maybe they could trust that Chyna Stone would ensure it was used to enhance the knowledge of people who were as passionate about the history as they were. If that alone was achieved, he would be able to die in peace.
Safely home, he hung his cloak in the hallway closet and removed his shoes. He was glad to be home, the city was always dark and cold at night. It was not often that he and the Guardsmen were all together in one place and the feeling of brotherhood he had enjoyed with them that night was priceless to him. Soon there would be no need for them to gather; maybe after they disbanded some would leave Turkey all together. It was well known that the Western Guard was getting increasingly homesick; he had gotten engaged recently and was ready to return to his home in Tennessee. There would be no need for him to apply for another tour in the Middle East when his current assignment was up, probably he would even retire from the Army all together.
As for the Northman, for years he had wanted to take his newspapers fully digital and return to Sweden where he could retire to the life of hunting and fishing he enjoyed so much.
The rest were already home, having either been born in Turkey or immigrated there permanently years before. It was why they sympathized with the Northman and the Westman so much. Being uprooted from ones’ home and past was painful for any man of value. But now their legacy was at an end. Their little secret society had existed for over three thousand years but now would no longer be needed. He marked it solemnly as the end of an era, but even as profound as the implications of their decision tonight were, Rashid Imhotep Abdullah could feel nothing but relief as if a great weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders.
Chapter Six
When the caravan arrived at Qena, Ankhesenamun was finished crying for her country; all she wanted was to get out of it and out of harm’s way.
She was hungry and thirsty and she knew the orchards and date trees in the Qena Oasis were always in fruit. Melia and her other servants were anxious to leave the wagon and explore; they were also quite famished. Ankhesenamun made the first move, throwing back the curtains and stepping down onto the warm sand. There was a tribe of Bedouins on the oasis preparing to make the long trek back across the desert to the Red Sea.
In the shade of the palm trees and tall bushes, the Djoser oasis was a true wonder. A steady stream of clean, cold water flowed from the aquifer, running over the black rocks into the pool below. The girls drew water from the pool in leather buckets and washed their faces, hands and feet; then they spread a cotton veil over a stone and helped the princess to sit. The women joined their veils together and held them up around the princess while Melia, her handmaid, stripped the dirty dress and wig from her body and washed her from head to toe. Clean clothes were brought and Melia dressed her, replaced and combed her hair and placed jewelry about her neck, wrists and ankles. Fruit was brought from the orchards and dates were picked from the palms. The women washed them and paced them on platters and they all sat to eat. Melia brought a platter to Ankhesenamun and kneeled to serve her.
“Eat with me, Melia,” she said quietly. “We are all fugitives here, and we are all the same.”
A little girl approached them carrying a large flat basket on her head. When she neared the princess, she kneeled and gave the basket to Melia. The women of the Bedouin tribe had sent them food. There was flatbread, still hot from the stove and pieces of dried meat and fish. A bowl of green olives and another of pickled cucumbers completed the meal. Melia called the others over and shared the food among them. When they were finished, Melia washed the bowls at the pond, gathered up the basket and started over to return them.
“I will come with you and thank the women personally,” the princess said.
She went to the wagon and took out a small bundle wrapped in cloth, then she took two buckets to the pond and filled them with water. One of the servants came to help her put the straps over her shoulder and she stood shifting the weight of the buckets until she was comfortable. With the bundle in one hand and the two buckets over the other shoulder, Ankhesenamun walked with Melia across the oasis to where the women sat in their little camp.
She set the buckets and her bundle down and filled the camp cistern with the water before turning to the women and lowering her head in respect to them that they may touch it. She knelt with them on the grass and placed her package in front of her, and then she spoke.
“Thank you for the food,” she started. “We were very hungry and we are grateful to you.”
Once they were over the initial shock, they welcomed her and reached out to touch her feet. It was plain to see that they knew who she was, but instinctively, they said nothing about it. They were astonished at Ankhesenamun’s humble demeanor. She and Melia sat and chatted with the women for a long time. Soon the other women of the princess’ household joined them and began to help them prepare their afternoon meal. As she sat watching them, a little girl approached Ankhesenamun. The princess noticed her immediately. She looked remarkably like the royal princess Neferneferure, when she was a child of that age. The girl came up to the princess, put her hand to her forehead and then to Ankhesenamun’s feet, in the common way for a young person to greet royalty. She hugged the little girl and picked her up, sitting her on her lap just as she used to do with her younger sister. The girl threw her arms around Ankhesenamun’s neck and whispered in the princess’s ear.
“Princess, they are coming to take you back to Luxor. You know what has to be done, so do whatever you must.”
Shocked, Ankhesenamun looked into the girl’s eyes questioningly just as a woman came and took the child from her.
“She told me that someone is coming for me. Tell her I would like to know who is coming,” she said to the woman.
But the woman shook her head in bewilderment.
“That is not possible, my princess,” the woman explained. “This child was born without making a sound; she cannot speak.”
“Where is the tent of your priest?” she asked the child’s mother.
She pointed to a tent at the edge of the camp, the only one that was decorated with the red, yellow and blue colors of the gods. Ankhesenamun stood up, smoothed out her dress, picked up the bundle and walked serenely to the tent. When she went inside, it seemed as if the priest had been waiting for her for a long time; he even seemed to be getting a little impatient.
“Princess, you don’t have much time,” he said.
“The child told me someone is coming for me,” she replied. “Who is coming?”
“Why, Ay of course!” he retorted. “Who else are you expecting? Did you bring the Book with you?”
She was visibly shaken by the question, How did he know why she had come to see him?
“Princess Ankhesenamun, if we stop wasting time wondering why this is and how I know, then we may actually be able to secure the Book before your caravan is ambushed and you are taken back to Luxor. There is no escape for you but we still have a chance to keep the royal records out of Ay’s hands.”
Stunned, she picked up the bundle at her feet and carefully handed it to the priest.
“What do you want me to do, Princess?” he asked respectfully.
“I cannot rely on the hearts of kings for my safe keeping or for protection for the Book. Many men have played me false, priest, but you are a man of the gods and I have never found the gods to be false. If we are truly going to be attacked then I would rather be separated from it so long as I know that I have ensured its safety; Ay’s men will be sure to search among my things for it. Take it with you priest, keep the Book among your people until you reach Hattusa. Secure it among King Suppiluliumas’ treasure and safeguard the knowledge of its w
hereabouts until the time comes. When royalty rules this land again, you must take it to the palace of that King. What is the name of your people?”
“We are the Hharazi, Princess; the watchers.”
“How appropriate,” she said. “My command is that you guard the Book well and watch for the Pharaoh to come.”
“Very well, princess, I will do as you have commanded.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“But what about you, Ankhesenamun?” asked the priest. “Will they call you princess until the usurper cuts your throat and casts you to Sekhmet?”
“What do you mean, Priest?”
“Your great mother was such a mighty woman. She ruled this country as well as any man could have. Why can’t you see that you have her strength, her passion, her wisdom? You are her child, Ankhesenamun, her only remaining daughter, and you are destined to rule this country. Go back to Luxor and stand before the people; if you do not know it yet, they will tell you that it is true.”
She stood and left the tent feeling exhausted. She was among a very mystical tribe of people. Everywhere, she could sense a certain power about them that couldn’t be explained. With Melia at her side again, they walked to the top of the aquifer and looked for the head stone from which the underground stream flowed. When they found it, Melia handed Ankhesenamun her stylus. She carefully carved the words of her message at the base of the rock.
“Why do you make these cartouches, princess? I thought you wanted the Book to remain hidden but at the same time you are leaving directions,” Melia said.
“I have been tricked by so many men in my life, Melia,” she replied. “These messages are my security. If anything happens to me or this priest decides to betray me, then I can still hope that one day there will be someone who is clever enough to follow my trail and find these words. If they are wise enough, they will find the Book and do what needs to be done with it.”
When she was finished, they replaced the moss they had stripped away from the base of the stone and the caravan was packed up hastily and moved out of the oasis shortly after her return to the wagon. It had become obvious that they were now in a hurry to get out of the region. The oxen were whipped and the guards rode their horses up and down the line inspecting the road ahead and watching the desert around them, keen for any signs of approaching men.
They didn’t even pause to eat or sleep that night; food baskets were brought to the wagons by the guards on horseback along with skins filled with watered wine. After eating supper, the girls played hand games and guessing games to pass the time. Usually Melia and Ankhesenamun would be content to just watch them in their amusement but tonight they joined in. It wasn’t often that the princess could be reminded that she was really still a girl like they were, but tonight she felt young and happy. When they were too tired to play any longer, they all fell asleep among the cushions and furs.
When she awakened, the caravan was still on the move but all had become strangely quiet. She couldn’t hear the lowing of the oxen or the cracking of the whips which drove them. No horses whinnied or galloped past alongside the wagon; in fact, there was no sound of the other wagons. In a panic, Ankhesenamun threw back the curtains and was instantly blinded by the reflection of the sun on the white, parched desert sand. As her eyes adjusted she looked ahead and groaned loudly. The servant girls were now awake and scrambling in beside her to look out of the window. When they saw what lay ahead of them, they threw themselves to the floor of the wagon and wept loudly. Melia came to sit beside the princess and then she looked out the window as well. Sprawling out before them on the horizon were the walls of Luxor. The towering columns of the palace and the Temple of Amun-Ra were unmistakable. Melia caught Ankhesenamun’s head in her hands as the princess collapsed on her in tears.
Remembering the words of the mystical priest, she sat up suddenly and wiped the tears from her eyes. She straightened her shoulders and hushed the weeping servants.
“Shut up, you girls!” she said harshly. “Your wailing will only draw attention to us. If the guards know that we are aware of our whereabouts they will secure the wagon more fiercely. Be quiet.”
The princess reached for her cosmetics box and opened it. She took out her kohl, malachite and ochre. As if on cue, Melia held up the polished bronze mirror for her. Patiently, Ankhesenamun painted her eyelids with the green malachite, and then outlined her eyes with kohl. She applied a little ochre to her lips and then put everything back in the box. She put her veil over her head and wrapped it about her shoulders, so that her face was covered, and then she sat and waited.
“Melia and you girls,” she said quietly. “Do not follow me. Stay in the wagon and cry if you want to, but do not follow me. They will kill you if you do.”
Moments later, the wagon was making its way up the road which led to the temple, they would go past it and then a little further before arriving at the palace gates. The wagon slowed down as it neared the temple steps to allow the people to clear the way ahead of it. She waited patiently with her hand on the door and as soon as it came to a stop, Ankhesenamun threw the door open and jumped down into the street. She raced around the back of the wagon and up the steps of the temple, pushing past the people who were walking by and the priests who stood out front collecting offerings for the altars. She heard the guards dismounting their horses and chasing after her. It was all they could do; they would not fire arrows at the princess. She burst through the temple doors and ran up to the altar.
“Lock the doors, my lords,” she cried. “They are trying to kill your Queen.”
The priests pushed the heavy stone doors shut and formed a human wall in front of her as she knelt before Amun-Ra’s altar praying fervently. It wasn’t long before the guards forced the doors aside and stormed into the temple. They roughly threw the priests aside and cleared their way to where she knelt praying.
She stood regally, refusing to be dragged from the sanctuary like a beggar or a criminal. Before she took her eyes off the altar, Ankhesenamun formed her last plea to the god in the form of a curse.
“As long as a subject sits on the throne of Egypt, there will be nothing but war in the land. No more than nine harvests will pass before he will breathe his last and his house will be scythed from the earth as the wheat from the field. The seeds will be gorged on by the birds so they cannot take root.”
“The Queen has spoken,” said one of the priests, reciting the ritual favorable ending to a prayer of which they approved.
“Amun-Ra has heard her,” the others replied in chorus.
There was fear written on the face of every soldier when they heard the priests endorsing the curse Ankhesenamun had prayed. She looked around at them and saw the shame and anguish in their expressions, not one of them could meet her gaze. Satisfied, she turned and straightened her shoulders. Then she clasped her hands in front of her and walked, with her head held high, out of temple and up the street towards the palace gates. The people fell to their knees and reached out to touch her feet or the hem of her dress as she passed them.
“Ankhesenamun- Tasherit- Ma’at, our Queen!” they called out to her, as they lay down papyrus reeds for her to walk on.
They called to her loudly by her divine name, ‘Ankhesenamun, the younger, goddess-wife of Ra’, so the guards, and whoever were taking her back to the palace by force, would know that they had recognized her. She hoped that would prevent anything violent from happening later on in fear of inciting a riot. When she arrived at the palace steps, she turned to the crowd and waved to them. As they stood and watched, she sat at the door and her feet were washed by a servant, then she carried the basin down the steps and sprinkled the water over them with the papyrus brush. They had shown her that she was their Queen, so now she would have to act like a Queen.
The guards escorted her inside and led her to the royal apartments where she was locked inside. Melia and her other servants were already there, some of the girls showed signs of having been whipped; possibly for
information about the location of the Book. It was an infuriating situation for Ankhesenamun, but she remained silent refusing to breakdown in front of her servants who she knew must be in a much more fragile state than her own.
A guard came for her after supper and escorted her to the Pharaohs’ apartments. She entered as she would have when those rooms had been occupied by her beloved husband, Tutankhamun. Holding her head high, she walked into the presence chamber and sat in the chair on the raised dais at the front of the room. When her royal husband was alive there were two chairs there, one for him and another for her; she noticed that now there was only the one she was sitting in. She took up a cup from the table and lifted it for the servant to pour her some wine, which she drank with a passive look on her face. Ay watched her in disbelief for a moment, and then he jumped to his feet and shouted at her.
“Where is the codex?”
“Ay,” she said calmly. “Why do you behave like this? I always told you that you should be careful about your deportment, but look at you now. Are you jumping up and down and raising your voice at the Queen like a common virago? It should never be!”
She raised the cup to her lips demurely and drained it, holding it up to be filled again.
“Do not speak to me like that,” he retorted. “I am the King.”
“Really? I would think rather that you are the consort of the Royal Queen of Egypt.”
She turned to the wine servant and said, “Call the Vizier!”
Ay did not like the turn that the conversation was taking. He was beginning to realize that the modest, soft-spoken woman he had tricked into marrying him had changed drastically on her little excursion into the desert. This new Ankhesenamun was no third-born child-princess any longer; the person who sat in front of him was a woman, a Queen, and he knew that he had better tread carefully.
“Why do you want to see the Vizier?”
“It occurred to me as I was in the desert scurrying away from you like a three-toed jerboa, that if my great mother, Queen Nefertiti was alive to see how I was behaving she would have thrown me to her feet and whipped me until I bled. The shame she would have felt would have set the fields of Luxor on fire. So, when I realized what I was doing, I was not proud of myself. My Queen Mother ruled this country after my father died so that vipers like you would not throw us into the midst of civil war. She was strong and very popular among the people; she ruled well.”
