All of the commanders of the military units detailed to take the first shift as guardians of Khufu's tomb had already been subverted; by the leaders of the robbers' cult of Set. The cult already claimed a few of those officers as members. The others, long impoverished on soldiers' pay, when made aware of golden opportunity, had agreed to keep their men at a convenient distance.
As for Dedefre, the Pharaoh to be, it was whispered within the Palace that he would not be greatly saddened to know that his father would be unable to keep all his treasure with him for eternity.
"It is time," said Ptah-hotep to Thothmes softly. "Let us go down to the docks and select a boat."
Like almost all the other subjects of Pharaoh Khufu, Sihathor the stonemason, the son of an ancient and respected line of quarry workers, masons and tomb-robbers, had piously observed an extended period of ritual lamentation. But that was over now. Like many another busy workman across the land, the stonemason had shortened his formal mourning because of practical considerations. Two days ago Sihathor, accompanied by half a dozen carefully chosen assistants, and well equipped with tools and supplies, had started downriver from his home village.
Now, shortly before sunset on the day of Khufu's burial, Sihathor was docking his boat at a deserted landing on the west bank of the Nile, close to the land of the dead that sprawled across the desert west of Memphis and the Palace.
Whenever the expert robber undertook an expedition to this great burial ground, he began by transporting himself and his working family downstream. Sailing his borrowed fisherman's boat back upstream when the job was over occupied him for a few more days, depending on the wind. He and his crew of helpers always engaged in some actual fishing en-route, which not only provided them with some fish but helped to allay suspicion.
Of his two professions, the secret one was by far the most profitable. For that reason, as well as for secrecy, the forty-year-old patriarch Sihathor much preferred to use family members, both male and female, as his helpers. Every one of the six assistants disembarking with him this evening was related to him by blood or marriage. There were three young men, two of them his sons and one his son-in-law; two young women, daughter and daughter-in-law respectively; and one half-grown boy, Sihathor's youngest son. The two young couples had left their own small children in their home village, in the capable care of their grandmother, Sihathor's good wife.
The day was waning fast as the family of Sihathor tied up their boat and left it behind them. But night had not yet come; the sun still glowed above the western land of graves and death as they lifted their burdens of tools and provisions and made their way along a path that threaded its way between irrigated fields toward the nearby desert. Around them was heat, silence and stillness, all field workers having been excused from labor on this day of Pharaohs burial.
Thus far the way was familiar to Sihathor, and to several of his helpers who had come with him on previous expeditions. The patriarch and leader of the band of robbers advanced alertly, moving in advance of the others. Secret messages had reached him at his village, assuring him that tonight he would find no soldiers in his way. Yet sometimes he had received misleading messages from the cult-leaders. Soldiers who were thought to be safely bribed did not always stay that way. And it had been said for a long time that the Chief Builder, and certain of the high-ranking priests of the sun-god Ra, had committed themselves with the most fanatical vows to the protection of Khufu's mummy.
There had been no devotees of Set among the officials at the pyramid during Sihathor's last tour of duty there as a conscript laborer, almost a year ago.
No one in authority had been there to put the final secrets of the tomb's construction before his eyes, and he had been unable to get near those secrets on his own.
Since that one day years before, when he had been allowed one glimpse into the pyramids unfinished heart, the stoneworker's thoughts had often returned to it. In his memory he had gone over and over the arrangement of traps and blocks and barriers. The design might well have been changed since then, of course—there had been rumors that Pharaoh, however decisive on other matters, had been chronically unable to make up his mind on this one.
But as yet Sihathor had said nothing to anyone, not even his family, about these matters. None of the helpers with him tonight were aware of the true goal of this expedition. None of them, not even his wife at home, dreamt that he had been chosen to lead the actual entry into the tomb of Pharaoh himself, or that the operation might begin tonight. He had instead told his helpers that their objective was a much more modest tomb. Not until the last moment, if everything went well, would he reveal even to his own sons the true objective of this journey.
Having progressed less than a thousand paces inland from the bank of the Nile, Sihathor and his followers came to the abrupt boundary of cultivated land. The path went on visibly for a few score paces into desert soil, before fading with the hardness of the ground.
Now, a few hundred paces farther in the same direction, and the sand grew softer underfoot; and they were moving on a circuitous route through the City of the Dead, the vast burial ground within a mile or two of Memphis, and of the pyramid.
As they passed among the first graves, Sihathor and his co-workers were carrying with them a good supply of food, mostly figs, dried fish, and bread, enough to sustain them for some days inside the pyramid. No one had expressed surprise at the amount of the provisions; he wondered if any of the young people were wondering about it silently. It would be necessary to emerge at night for water. The young men were also carrying, in slings of papyrus and cord, their heavy dolerite hammers, egg-shaped rocks bigger than fists but smaller than human heads, and harder even than granite. They carried the pounders in the businesslike fashion of workers going to a quarry.
As he walked, Sihathor could hear behind him the quietly eager voices of the young people, speculating softly on the probable amount of loot they might obtain tonight. He smiled faintly to himself, thinking of their awe and delight when at last they learned the truth.
Sihathor's secret appointment with the two officials was not scheduled until midnight. That was hours away, too long to simply wait in idleness. If conditions and omens continued to appear favorable, he meant to improve the intervening hours by opening—partly for practice, partly for the almost certain profit—a much more modest tomb than that of Pharaoh. As for the pyramid itself, well, despite his eagerness Sihathor still had some doubts. He would be certain that the job was actually his only when he was actually at work inside one of those dark passageways.
Besides, though the loot extracted from Pharaoh's tomb would undoubtedly be fabulous, almost all of it would certainly go to the leaders of the cult of Set. Not that Sihathor was about to cross those leaders openly, but still he felt some resentment. Like the other powerful people of the world, they tended always to demand too much from the poor. Sihathor still considered himself a poor and humble man, though in fact, after a long and successful career, he possessed hidden wealth enough to rival the lesser nobility. As his secret career prospered, Sihathor and his wife had continued to live simply in a mudbrick hut but little bigger than those of the other inhabitants of his village. Two of his children, older than any of those with him on this expedition, were already living in Memphis, making their way in the world with social advantage, thanks to favors purchased by their humble fathers hidden wealth.
Many years ago Sihathor had established a working relationship with the lord of the villa to which his village was nominally attached. This arrangement allowed Sihathor's periodic absences from his home village and his ordinary work there to go unquestioned by any authority. Sometimes the lord of the villa fenced his stolen jewelry and other valuables for him. On other occasions the grave robber had himself paddled his borrowed fishing boat along the waterfront of Memphis to sell his treasures. A man who knew where to seek buyers could manage in this way to reap much greater profits, though Sihathor always took care to reserve some item of particular
value for his lord on his return to his village. That was of course in addition to the share that inevitably had to be set aside for the priests of Set.
Now Dhu-hotep, the older of the two sons of Sihathor who had come with him, asked his father to which part of the vast, sprawling cemetery they were headed.
"You will see presently." The fact was that Sihathor, as he continued to move in the general direction of his rendezvous, did not know specifically what small tomb he would shortly attempt to rob. He would not know until it materialized before his experienced eyes out of the heat-shimmer of late afternoon. There appeared to be no need to wait for darkness; the City of the Dead looked as deserted by the living as it could be.
Presently a tomb of suitable appearance came into Sihathor's sight. When this happened, the stoneworker blessed Set for guiding him to the proper place. Then he walked around the low, broad structure, considering it with professional attention.
The tomb was large enough to be that of some wealthy person, a little bigger than any peasant's house. But the portion above ground was so low that a man could easily see over its flat stone roof. Fresh stone chips and other signs of construction indicated that this was a recent interment, and therefore it was not very likely to have been robbed already. Reading the inscription on a stele, Sihathor saw that the burial had been that of the wife of some comparatively minor Palace official.
Now Sihathor moved closer, eyeing the details of the stonework professionally in the last rays of the sun. This was only a simple mastaba-tomb, presenting no real tricks or problems. But still, to get at the valuables that were certain to be inside was going to require some heavy stone-breaking.
Only now did Sihathor signal to his family that they had reached their destination.
Before settling down to work, even before prayers, he first established a lookout—that, in the active service of Set, always came first. Then he gathered the rest of his people together and led them in a few prayers to Set, a type of devotion to which all of them were accustomed.
The members of his family responded fervently. These were young people who realized and appreciated both the great opportunities and the dangers of their position.
Just as their prayers were finished, the moment of sunset came.
The lookout—Sihathor's daughter-in-law, named Sepet—had been stationed atop the tomb. At the moment when the sun sank below the horizon, she gave a sharp outcry.
Speaking together, her father-in-law and her husband demanded to know what was the matter.
"What have you seen?"
But only reluctantly did the young woman try to explain. "I was looking toward the sunset, and I saw…"
"What?"
"I saw the Barque of Ra."
The others members of her family stared at her in bewilderment.
Sepet gestured helplessly. "I do not mean simply the sun. I saw… the Boat. With oars, and sails like glorious clouds. And Ra himself, Ra-Harakhty, standing in the middle, with his countenance like flame."
There were no clouds, glorious or otherwise, to be seen in the western sky.
Still, though they all doubted, no one really scoffed at the vision. Some thought that it represented an omen unfavorable to any important undertaking, and advised immediate retreat.
But Sihathor, knowing much more was at stake tonight than this small tomb, refused to be easily discouraged. He sent two people to scout the cemetery in all directions, to make as sure as possible that they were not going to be disturbed. Then Sihathor selected the spot on the stone wall of the tomb where he judged it would be easiest to force an entry. In a new tomb like this one the surface of the stone had not yet had time to discolor, and this made the job of selection somewhat harder; discolored stone sometimes revealed its flaws, places where it could more easily be broken.
Then he motioned to his aides to get to work.
Sihathor's eldest son and son-in-law, each holding a hammerstone in an easy two-handed grip, now lifted their implements of dolerite, and one after the other let them fall. With two hammers rising and falling steadily on the same spot, pulverized limestone began to trickle rapidly from the point of impact, and flakes of the same material flew thick and fast. The workmen were young and energetic, and it was possible to watch the hole in the tomb's flank deepen, moment by moment. If it had been a granite block here, such as they were certainly going to find in Pharaoh's tomb, Sihathor thought, progress would have been considerably slower. Added to that when they reached the pyramid would be the difficulties of working inside a cramped and almost airless passage. But somehow they would find a way; the power of Set would not desert them.
Tonight the men did not sing as they worked, as they ordinarily would have done during a normal job of mere stonework.
The women, not needed for any heavy tasks as yet, spread out to keep watch, each of them at a small distance in a different direction. Meanwhile Sihathor himself, aided by his youngest son, whose name was Temu, saw to the creation of a small fire. The fire had to be located in exactly the right place, and shielded by cloth screens, so that it would remain almost invisible at a distance while providing just enough light for the men with hammers to see what they were doing. As usual on his tomb-robbing expeditions, the robber had brought fire with him on the boat all the way from home, a smoldering punk of oily wood, hidden and protected in several layers of dampened skins.
As the younger members of his family labored and stood guard, the thoughts of Sihathor began to wander. Naturally enough they moved ahead to the time when he would have the honor of leading the way into the tomb of Pharaoh. Some, at least, of the masters of his cult would be there when the time came to enter the burial chamber. Already Sihathor was honored by being trusted by the mighty; Ptah-hotep himself, who had been Chief Priest for the construction of the tomb, whose name Sihathor knew but would never speak if he could help it, had spoken directly to the humble villager, who afterward had been summoned to take part in the greatest robbery ever planned or executed since the beginning of the world. The mighty men who were in charge of the enterprise knew many things that he, a poor peasant and stonecutter, would never know; yet, Sihathor told himself frequently, when it came to dealing with the rocks, the walls and doors and traps, he was the one man in all the land of Khem they called upon for help.
Dutifully Sihathor took time out from his musings to supervise the work. Then, as everything remained so quiet, he gave in to the soft pleas of Temu his youngest son, and allowed the lad to take a turn at pounding on the rock. The hole had already grown deep enough to allow only one hammerer to reach the bottom; after considering the advantages and disadvantages, Sihathor ordered that the hole be slightly widened. The work went on at high speed, the workers relieving one another frequently.
Listening to the quick hypnotic thud of the stone hammers, Sihathor went back to meditating about one of his favorite subjects, Pharaoh's gold. Or dreaming about it, rather…
When he looked up, it was with deep awareness that something was subtly off-key, although the thud of hammers went on as before, and the cemetery seemed as dark and quiet as ever.
But something was wrong. Sihathor's experienced instincts could not be mistaken in such a matter, though none of the lookouts had noticed anything as yet.
An owl, disturbed somewhere nearby in the cemetery, flew overhead in absolute silence.
Sihathor's shout of warning sounded only moments before torch bearing soldier-guardians of the necropolis came leaping upon his family out of the night.
Casting tools and provisions aside in a mad scramble, Sihathor and his people took to their heels. Even as they fled creeping soldiers without torches rose up to seize them, shouting to try to immobilize them with terror.
Sand flew from beneath Sihathor's pounding feet. Small tombs and large loomed out of the darkness and fell behind him as he ran.
Somehow, to his own astonishment, he avoided capture. After brief moments the shouts of the soldiers fell behind with the torchlight. Anothe
r pair of pounding feet gained on him. As they drew near he turned in fear to recognize the small form of his youngest son.
Presently Sihathor slowed his pace, then stopped. Drawing Temu with him behind a tomb, he settled in to regain his breath, to watch and wait. It was amazing. For the time being at least, the cemetery was quiet and dark again.
Soon another dim lone form appeared—not a soldier, or a ghost, but Sihathor's son-in-law. The three conferred in whispers, then started stealthily for their boat. It was a standing arrangement that survivors of a raid should meet there if possible.
Two others were already at the boat when they arrived; everyone but Sepet had managed to get away. The family looked at one another, half-frightened by such good fortune, and muttered prayers to Set. Exchanging stories, they learned that each of them had had a hairsbreadth escape from capture. Soldiers who had had them surrounded, almost caught, had vanished in the winking of an eye, their weapons and torches with them.
Huddled together round the beached boat, Sihathor's family heard the voice of a young woman calling to them through the night. Hesitantly they answered the call. In a few moments Sepet joined them. She was walking strangely, and when she drew near they saw that her arms were tied together behind her back.
Her tale of escape was stranger even than the others. She had been caught and bound by the soldiers. Then to her vast surprise she had suddenly found herself alone again; the soldiers had all abruptly vanished. After a while she had struggled to her feet and made her way, arms still bound behind her, to the boat.
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