by Max Overton
"Son of Re, when they heard you were visiting the Place of Truth, they asked to be allowed to greet you." For the first time, Kenhirkhopeshef looked uncertain. "I gave my permission."
Seti nodded. "See that they make up the time they have had off. My tomb is behind schedule as it is."
"There is a reason for that, Son of Re," explained the Scribe. "Acting Foreman Paneb can explain better than I."
"Stand forward, Paneb."
The young man shuffled forward, his truculent expression fading as he confronted his king. "It were better I show you, Great One," he muttered. "It be hard to put inta words what make sense."
"Let this man and the other foreman accompany us up to the tomb then. Commander Merenkhons, I put these men in your charge."
The royal party continued past the workers' village and into the dry valleys that housed the tombs of the kings and queens of Kemet. The sun rose higher, reflecting off the sheer sandstone cliffs and piles of rubble that littered the dry valley beds, dazzling the eyes and causing waves of heated air to wash over them. They turned off the main valley into a smaller side valley that ran in a southwest direction. Dust that had previously blown away in the light river breezes now hung about them in a choking cloud as they travelled deeper into the Great Field, but fell away when the chariots at last stopped.
"This is it?" Tausret asked. "I do not see a tomb, just piles of rubble and a few holes in the ground."
"A tomb should not appear to be a tomb, your Majesty," Kenhirkhopeshef explained. He wiped the dust-caked sweat from his brow. "There are men who do not fear the righteous anger of the gods and would rob tombs if they could." He pointed up at the surrounding cliffs. "There are guards up there who watch day and night, but they are not always successful."
"So where is my tomb?" Seti asked.
"There, Son of Re," Kenhirkhopeshef said, pointing at a hole at the base of the cliffs.
"And what is wrong with it?"
"Please allow Foreman Paneb to explain, Son of Re. See, he approaches now."
The soldiers trotted up, sweating and dusty, with Paneb and Hay among them. The Scribe beckoned Paneb forward and instructed him to tell the king what was holding up the excavation of the tomb. Paneb nodded and started toward the hole in the cliff face. Seti and Tausret followed and Merenkhons barked out orders to his men. Some formed a cordon round the site while two ran ahead. These two picked up oil lamps from a niche beside the tomb entrance and, striking a spark, coaxed one of the wicks alight. By the time the king was ready to enter, several oil lamps were lit and casting a pale glow in the harsh sunlight.
"Follow me, your Majesty," Paneb said. He stooped and walked ahead of the king into the vestibule of the tomb.
"You might like to stay out here," Seti said to Tausret.
"Where you go, I go, husband," she murmured in reply.
"I fear I must stay up here, majesties," Kenhirkhopeshef said. "My infirmities will only allow me one more descent into a tomb."
Seti nodded. "May that day be long delayed. Send Remaktef instead."
One after the other, they stooped and entered the passageway, each holding a lamp. Hay followed, the junior scribe and two of the soldiers, all with lamps of their own. The sputtering wicks released thin curls of smoke, but cast a small pool of golden light over the rough walls and floor. Soot smeared the ceilings where men had worked with oil lamps in the past, and the atmosphere was close and oppressive, though the heat of the valley floor had been left behind in the bright sunlit world above.
"Why is the passage so cramped?" Seti demanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "This is not the tomb of a king."
"Early days, Majesty," Paneb said. "We carve out the form of the main corridors and rooms first, then go back and enlarge and then tidy up. By the time we finish, everything will be smooth and spacious. Then Foreman Hay's team take over, decorating the walls."
"How long will that take?" Tausret asked.
"A few years, Majesty. The plans are fairly simple, a northeast-southwest axis, gradually descending to a well, a pillared room and burial chamber. Side rooms will hold the furnishings and treasury." Paneb stopped his stooped descent and turned to face his king. "We knows our business, Majesty. We'll get it done for you."
"Show respect for the king," Remaktef snapped from the rear. "You can be replaced easily enough."
"Go on, Paneb," Seti said. "Show us the rest of the tomb and where the problems lie."
Paneb turned away and started back down the gently sloping corridor carved through the solid rock. "Behind us lies the first corridor; we are now in the second and soon...yes, here is where the third corridor starts. Doorways will divide the corridors, and of course there will be niches for funerary objects, statues, and other things." He stopped and delineated an area just beyond the third corridor. "Here is where the well will be dug, and beyond, Majesty, you can see where we have started the pillared room. Between the pillars, still only roughed out, we will start the steep corridor down to the burial chamber itself."
"All very good, Foreman Paneb, but where is the difficulty that is threatening to hold up work?" Seti asked.
"Here, Majesty, in the pillared room." Paneb crossed to the right-hand wall and held his lamp up to shed golden light on the rough sandstone. "You see this slight crosswise stain or discolouration? I believe it is a thin fissure, a crack in the otherwise solid rock."
"And why is that of importance?"
Paneb grimaced. "If we excavate further in this direction and it indeed turns out to be a fissure, it could wreck the whole tomb. We would have to start again elsewhere."
"Why?" Tausret asked. "It is a tiny crack, hardly visible."
"Indeed, Majesty, but a crack can channel water and water is the enemy of the tomb builder. Say we excavate in this direction and enlarge the crack, the next rains could bring a flood of water into this room and thence down into the burial chamber. If that was to happen while we were making the tomb, we could repair it, but what if it happened after his Majesty was buried here? Long may that day be delayed, of course."
"Of course," Seti said, "but I fail to see the problem. If excavating this side could cause a problem, then don't do it."
Paneb looked at Remaktef. "They are your grandfather's plans."
Remaktef cleared his throat. "Er, yes, Great One. My grandfather drew up the plans on the recommendations of the priests. Well, er, Great One, the pillared chamber is in the heart of the mountain of Asar, and the chamber itself represents the stomach of Hut-hor, from whence regeneration takes place. The priests insist that a chamber, an annexe, must be carved on the right-hand side."
"Why?"
"Why, Great One? Er, because the priests say so."
"Why must it be on the right-hand side, Remaktef? Is there some significance to that side? Does some god or goddess require it?"
"I don't know, Son of Re. The priests told my grandfather to put it in the plans. He did so, and the Servants of the Place of Truth carried out the work, but now..." Remaktef's voice trailed off and he pointed at the wall.
Seti sighed and shook his head. "For this all work has stopped? The solution is simple. Put the annexe on the other side." The king pointed at the left-hand side of what would become the pillared chamber.
"But...but the priests, Son of Re...and the plans."
"Alter the plans. I am the High Priest of every god in Kemet. I think that if the gods forbade it, they would have told me. Plaster over the crack and start work on the other side."
Remaktef looked at Paneb and Hay. Both foremen shrugged their shoulders, so the junior scribe nodded and said, "It will be done, your Majesty."
They emerged squinting into the bright sunshine of the valley floor, taking lungfuls of fresh air after the stale air of the tomb passages. Seti looked around at the stark landscape and the crumbling cliff face above and around his own tomb. He called his Queen to his side and pointed to an area of smooth rock a little to one side, where the cliff faced almost due east.
"I am minded to build a tomb of your own for you there, my love, so we can be as close in death as we are in life."
Tausret gasped. "My lord and husband, that...that is a great honour. I thought that I might have a small tomb in the valley where the queens reside, or at most a small niche within your own tomb, but to be close to you in a tomb of my own...thank you."
"Kenhirkhopeshef, you heard? Good. See to it. I want plans drawn up immediately and work is to start as soon as possible. And...are you listening? You will not skimp on it. I want this to be a grand tomb, one that will reflect the love I bear for my Queen."
"As you command, Son of Re." Kenhirkhopeshef and his grandson Remaktef walked to one side to discuss the matter with foremen Paneb and Hay, while the royal couple crossed to their chariot and the soldiers of the guard formed up around them to escort them away from Ta-sekhet-ma'at.
Chapter 13
Year 1 of Userkheperure Seti
Unseen by Seti or the ones accompanying him across the river to the Great Field was a man of non-descript appearance who lounged near the docks in apparent conversation with a woman whose dress and heavily applied make up declared her profession. He watched the royal party attentively while she talked, and whenever a person passed nearby, spoke as if he was engaging in a business transaction with her.
"I would want to spend the afternoon with you. I am virile."
"That would be a pleasant change from my usual customers, but I've already told you I cannot. I have an appointment in an hour."
"You make appointments? I took you for a street whore."
The woman bridled. "I am better than you've ever had." She started to walk away.
The man grabbed her arm and drew her back. "I can pay in silver." His eyes strayed to where Queen Tausret was boarding the barge. "Silver is worth an afternoon, isn't it?"
Avarice gleamed in the woman's eyes. "Let me see it."
The king now followed his wife aboard the barge and the two moved off toward the prow of the vessel. "What?" the man asked, his attention fixed on one of the sailors near the rear of the barge.
"Prove to me you have silver."
"I show you my wealth and you'll snap your fingers to summon a pair of ruffians to beat me up and rob me. You'll get if afterward, if you please me." The Scribe of the Great Field and his junior boarded the barge and the soldiers started up the gangplank.
The woman laughed scornfully and waved her arms about. "Can you see these men? Would I try a trick like that with so many people around? Show me the silver. How do I even know you have it?"
"I have it, and you shall have it too after you satisfy me." A splash distracted the man and he glanced toward the dock but saw that it was only one of the mooring ropes that had fallen in the water. The barge itself was easing away from the dock as the slow current pulled it out into the river.
The woman grimaced and shrugged. "How much silver? It would have to be enough to compensate me for my missed appointment."
The man checked the progress of the barge and saw that it was well out into the stream and showed no signs of returning to the dock. The sailor in the stern of the vessel raised first one hand and then the other in his direction and the man nodded in satisfaction.
"Well? How much silver?"
The man grunted. "I've changed my mind. I don't want you after all." He started to walk away, into one of the streets that led toward the markets.
"Son of a diseased donkey!" screamed the woman. "How dare you proposition me and then walk away? I'll have the Medjay onto you."
The man grinned but did not turn or give any sign that he had heard, and soon lost himself in the crowds that filled the streets. He turned down a street that lay parallel to the Street of the Weavers, and paused to watch a group of youths battling it out with staves over some slight, moving on as the first Medjay arrived on the scene. Pushing through the crowd, he slipped into a narrow alley which opened out into a courtyard, and knocked on a door.
A man opened it after a few moments and stared through slitted eyes before nodding. "What news, Montu?" he asked.
"He's gone across the river, together with the Queen, the Scribe and Merenkhons. My contact on the Royal Barge confirmed their presence."
"What about the Tjaty?"
"No sign of him."
The second man nodded again. "Go back and watch. Let me know if they return unexpectedly." He started to close the door.
"What about my pay, Mose? I have expenses."
Mose stared, his lip curling into a sneer. "What possible expenses could you have? You stand on a street corner and watch."
"It's hot out there, Mose, thirsty work. And besides, I had to promise silver to a whore to maintain my cover."
"What you do with a woman is your own affair, Montu, and you pay her yourself. That's nothing to do with me." He hesitated a moment and then said, "Go to the Fighting Dog tavern and have a beer. Put it on my tab, but only one, you hear? If I find you've cost me more I'll fillet you."
* * *
Mose slammed the door and turned back into the darkened house. He wrote a few symbols on a piece of paper, then summoned a servant and gave him the paper and some instructions. "Go to the house of Ahhotep the goldsmith and give him this paper. Into his hands, mind, no others."
The servant bowed and left the house, hurrying through the streets in the direction of the goldsmiths and jewellers. He looked at the writing on the paper from curiosity but could make no sense of the lines, so tucked it into his wallet and concentrated on his mission.
The House of Ahhotep was a grand affair with many servants. Mose's servant was stopped by the major-domo who demanded to know his business.
"My business is none of yours," the servant retorted. "I have a letter to deliver to Ahhotep from my master Mose, so announce me."
The major-domo held out his hand. "Give it to me and I will take it to the master. He is too busy and too important for the likes of you."
The servant shrugged. "Then he will not get his letter and will be angry. I would not be in your sandals when he finds out."
"Wait here." The major-domo turned on his heel and stalked away into the house, returned after a little while with a scowl on his face. "Follow me." He led Mose's servant to a chamber where a portly man in rich clothing sat with a lean man over a jug of wine and some honey cakes.
"I am Ahhotep," the portly man said. "Give me the letter."
The servant bowed and handed over the piece of paper. Ahhotep looked at it and said, "You may go."
* * *
The servant and the major-domo departed and Ahhotep handed the lean man the scrap of paper. "They are out of the way. Merenkhons too, which is a bonus."
"Good, though it's a pity Neferronpet is still in the city. He'll be able to mobilise elements of the Medjay and Amun legion."
"Not enough to matter, Lord Sethi," Ahhotep said.
Sethi got up and straightened his kilt. "I'll set things in motion then."
"Er, you will make sure my property is protected, won't you? Mobs have a habit of getting out of control."
"No doubt you will be compensated for anything you or the other loyal traders lose," Sethi sneered. "It is a small loss anyway, a temporary inconvenience at most, but enormous profits once the true king is installed."
"Yes, yes, I understand," Ahhotep said hastily. "I am loyal, never fear, Lord Sethi."
"Oh, I am not afraid that you will be disloyal, Ahhotep. You have much more to fear in that regard."
* * *
Sethi slipped out the back of the goldsmith's house and made his way quickly along the streets to the Brothel of a Thousand Flowers. A brothel was a place where men could come and go without a second glance, and Sethi had already organised a meeting with the leaders of various gangs of toughs. All they needed was the signal to loose havoc on the city, and Sethi was about to give them that signal.
* * *
Several heavyset men fanned out from the Brothel of a Thousand Flowers shortly
after Sethi arrived. They sped to different areas of the city and, at a pre-arranged time, set their gangs into motion. One gang converged on the docks and set about throwing goods into the river, smashing holes in fishing boats and administering beatings to anyone who protested. Another gang targeted the markets, overturning stalls and smashing the crates containing wildfowl, opening the goat and cattle pens, driving the frightened beasts into the streets. Citizens were set upon in the streets, men being beaten and women molested, the perpetrators vanishing into alleys whenever the Medjay responded to cries for help. Fires were set, and soon the Medjay were kept busy fighting the conflagrations that sprang up all over the city.
The Amun legion was called out, but in the absence of its commander, achieved little. The Troop Commanders, lacking a central authority, could not decide on a course of action and limited itself to patrolling the streets in small groups but avoiding fights. Finally, Troop Commander Djau took it upon himself to report to the Tjaty.
"Rioting in the streets, sir. Commander Merenkhons went with the king, so there's nobody to issue commands."
"Who is responsible for the rioting?"
"Gangs, far as I can tell, sir. Setting fires and assaulting people. What should we do?"
"Why aren't the other Troop Commanders exerting their authority?"
"They only takes orders from Merenkhons, sir. In his absence, nobody wants the responsibility."
"So you came to me?"
"Yes sir. You is above Merenkhons."
"Very well." Neferronpet scribbled on a piece of paper, then inked and stamped his seal on it. "This is your authority. I'm naming you Acting Commander. Restore order to the city, without bloodshed if possible, but if you have to crack a few skulls then so be it."
There was some disagreement back at the Amun legion barracks, especially from Troop Commander Menkauhor, who argued that they should wait for the return of the king. It was well known, he said, that Merenkhons was in favour with Userkheperure and they should be cautious about doing anything without his express permission.
