Tutankhamun: The Book of Shadows rr-2

by Nick Drake

  I walked beneath the carved stone image of our standard, the Wolf, Opener of the Ways, and entered the Medjay headquarters. I was instantly assailed by chaos. Men of all ranks hurried about, yelling orders and counter-orders, and generally demonstrating their status and appearance of purpose. Through the crowd, I saw Nebamun, Head of the Thebes Medjay. He stared at me, obviously annoyed to find me here, and gestured bluntly in the direction of his office. I sighed, and nodded.

  He kicked the door shut in its shoddy frame, and Thoth and I sat patiently on our side of his not very neat low table, covered with papyrus rolls, half-finished snacks and dirty oil lamps. His big face, always shadowed with bristles, looked darker than ever. He glanced disdainfully at Thoth, who gazed back at him undaunted, as he pushed the various documents about with his stubby fists-he had the wrong hands for a bureaucrat. He was a man of the street, not a papyrus man.

  He and I had avoided speaking directly to each other, but I had tried to show I bore him no resentment at his promotion over me. His was not the job I desired, despite my father’s disappointment, and Tanefert’s wish. She would prefer me to inhabit the safety of an office; but she knows I hate being trapped in a stuffy room mired in the tedium and nonsense of internal politics. He was welcome to it all. But now he had power over me, and we both knew it. In spite of myself, something rankled in my guts.

  ‘How’s the family?’ he asked, without much interest.

  ‘They are well. Yours?’

  He gestured vaguely like a bored priest waving away a troublesome fly.

  ‘What a mess,’ he said, shaking his head. I decided to keep quiet about what I had seen.

  ‘Who do you think is behind it?’ I asked innocently.

  ‘I don’t know, but when we find them, and we will, I am personally going to rip their skin from their bodies in long, slow strips. And then I will stake them out in the desert under the midday sun as lunch for the bull ants and the scorpions. And I will watch.’

  I knew he did not have enough resources available to investigate any of this properly. In these last years, the Medjay budget has been cut again and again, in favour of the army, and too many ex-Medjay were now unemployed or else working-for better remuneration than they had ever received within the force-in private security operations for rich clients and their families, at their homes or their treasure-filled tombs. It created an uncomfortable circumstance in which to run the city force. So he would do what he usually did when faced with a real problem: he would arrest some likely suspects, invent a case against them, and execute them for show. Such is the process of justice in our time.

  He lolled backwards, and I saw how his belly had expanded since he had been appointed to his new role. Fat, with its implication of wealth and ease, seemed to be part of his new self.

  ‘It’s been a while since you had one of your big projects, eh? I expect you’re sniffing around for a place in the investigation…’

  The way he eyed me made me want to walk out.

  ‘Not me. I’m enjoying the quiet life,’ I replied. He looked offended.

  ‘So why the hell are you here? Sightseeing?’

  ‘I examined a dead body this morning. A boy, a young man, under interesting circumstances-’

  But he didn’t let me finish.

  ‘Nobody gives a fuck about a dead kid. Write a report, file it…then do me a favour and go away. There’s nothing for you here today. Next week I might be able to find you a few bits and pieces to mop up, when the others have finished. It’s time to let the younger officers have their chance.’

  I forced myself to smile, but it felt more like the teeth-baring of an angry dog. He saw this. He grinned, stood up, walked around the table and with mock officiousness opened the door. I walked out. It slammed shut behind me.

  Outside, hundreds of unfortunate men and women of all ages were crowded into the courtyard, crying out their innocence and their petitions, or yelling abuse at each other. Many thrust out offerings of anything they possessed at this moment-jewellery, rings, clothing, even an occasional message scratched on to a shard of stone-to try to secure freedom from the guards. No one took any notice. They would be held arbitrarily, for as long as required. Medjay officers methodically and mercilessly bound the wrists and ankles of any not yet trussed up.

  I passed through the low dark entrance to the prison block, and immediately smelt the hot, stable stench of fear. In small cells, shackled prisoners were being tortured, their feet and hands twisted, or struck with hard blows, while their confessors quietly repeated the same questions, over and over, as a father might address a lying child. The prisoners’ pitiful laments and pleas went unacknowledged. No one could endure such pain, and fear of pain; and so of course long before the cutting knives were produced, and their sharp blades shown to the victims, they would say anything they were told to say.

  I saw her in the third holding cell. She was crouched on the fetid ground in a dark corner.

  I entered the cage. The prisoners made way for me, fearfully, as if I would kick them. She kept her face hidden under her black hair. I stood before her.

  ‘Look at me.’

  There was something about her face, when she raised it-perhaps its pride, perhaps its anger, perhaps its striking youth-that touched me. I wanted to know her story. I had a feeling that the kind of injustice that deforms a whole life had been visited upon her.

  ‘What is your name?’

  She maintained her silence.

  ‘Your family will be missing you.’

  She sagged a little. I knelt down closer to her.

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  Still nothing.

  ‘You know there are men here who can make you say anything they want?’

  She was shivering now. I knew I should report her. But I realized in that moment I could not do it. I could not deliver this girl alive into the hands of the torturers. I could not have lived with myself.

  She turned her face away, waiting for her fate to be decided. I stared at her. What should I do?

  I pulled her up roughly, and took her out of the cell. I was well known enough not to need to show any of my identity papers to the guards. I simply nodded at them, as if to say-‘she’s mine.’ Then I pushed her before me along the stinking passage.

  We turned a corner, into my office, and fearing the worst, she began to struggle violently.

  ‘Be quiet, and be still,’ I whispered urgently. I quickly cut the ropes that tied her hands and feet. A look of grateful astonishment dawned on her face. She was about to speak but I gestured to her to remain absolutely silent. I cleaned her face as best I could, with a rag dipped into the water pot, and as I did so I questioned her.

  ‘Speak quietly. Who ordered this action?’

  ‘No one ordered it. We acted ourselves. Someone has to protest against the injustice and corruption of this state.’

  I shook my head at her naivety.

  ‘Do you think throwing blood at the King will make a difference?’

  She looked at me with contempt.

  ‘Of course it will make a difference. Who has ever had the courage to take a stand before? No one will forget this gesture. It is only the beginning.’

  ‘And for this you were prepared to die?’

  She nodded, convinced of her ideals. I shook my head.

  ‘Believe me, the real target you need is not this boy in gold robes. There are others, far more powerful, who deserve your attentions.’

  ‘I know what is done in the name of justice in this land, by men with power and treasure. And you? You are a Medjay officer. You are part of the problem.’

  ‘Thank you. Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Why should I tell you anything?’

  ‘Because if you don’t tell me, I will not do what I intend to do, and let you go free.’

  She stared at me in amazement.

  ‘My father…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘My father was a scribe in the offices of the former Kin
g. In Akhetaten. When I was young, he moved us all to the new city. He said the new regime offered him the chance of preferment, and stability. And so it seemed. We lived well. We had the nice things he had dreamed of giving us. We had some land. But when everything collapsed, we had to move back to Thebes with nothing. He was stripped of his work, and his land, and everything he owned. And it broke him. And then one night, there was a knock on the door. And when he opened it, soldiers were waiting for him. They put him in fetters. They wouldn’t even let us kiss him goodbye. And they took him away. And we never saw him again.’

  She couldn’t continue for a moment, but I saw it was rage not grief that gripped her.

  ‘My mother still sets a plate of food for him every night. She says the day she stops doing that is the day she knows he is dead. The men of this King did this to us. And you wonder why I hate?’

  It was not a new story. Many men of the old regime had suffered: enforced labour and dispossession and, in some cases, disappearance. Husbands, fathers and sons were arrested and removed in fetters, in silence, and never seen again. I have also heard stories of body parts washing up further to the north along the Great River. Of eyeless, rotten corpses fished up in the nets, missing fingernails, and fingers, and teeth, and tongues.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’

  At least now she looked reasonably presentable. I led her out into the courtyard. The great risk was that we would be noticed, but taking advantage of the general chaos, we hurried through the crowds, under the entrance with its carved wolf, and then out into the busy street.

  ‘I understand how you feel. Injustice is a terrible thing. But think carefully. Your life is worth more than a gesture. Life is short enough. Your mother has lost enough already. Go home to her now, and stay there,’ I whispered. I insisted she give me her name and address, in case I needed them for the future. And then, as if she were a wild animal, I let her go. She disappeared into the city without once looking back.

  5

  It was late when I returned to the house. Thoth and I passed through the gate. But instead of loping to his bed in the yard he stood poised, his tail up, listening intently. The house seemed unusually quiet. Perhaps Tanefert and the children had not yet returned from Nakht’s house. But the oil lamp was lit within the front room, where we never sit.

  I moved across to the kitchen door, soundlessly pushed it open, and stepped across the threshold. Another lamp was lit in the wall niche, but there was no sign of the children. I moved towards the door into the front room. Tanefert was sitting on a stool by the wall paintings that still, after all these years, we have not found the funds to complete. She had not yet seen me. She looked tense. I moved further and saw another shadow lying across the floor. Then the shadow’s arm moved, and I slipped quickly into the room and grasped the man’s arm behind his back.

  A goblet clattered to the floor. Wine spread in a small puddle. I was staring into the condescending face of an elite gentleman, of late middle age, expensively dressed, surprised but still composed. Tanefert stood up, as if to attention. It seemed my nerves had betrayed me.

  ‘Good evening,’ said the man, in a smoothly ironic tone.

  I let him go. He readjusted his impressive gold Collar of Praise-an exceptionally fine one-and then noticed he had spilt wine on his robe. He looked down at the red stain with disappointment. It was probably the worst thing that had happened to him in years.

  ‘This gentleman has been waiting to see you…for quite a long time.’ My wife looked less than pleased with me. I imagined there would not have been much conversation. She disappeared into the kitchen to fetch a cloth and water, giving me the eye as she passed.

  ‘I should apologize for appearing in this way. Unannounced. Unexpected…’ he said, in his grand, hushed voice.

  ‘And unexplained…’ I added.

  He looked around the room. He was not impressed by what he saw. Eventually his gaze returned to me.

  ‘How shall we continue this discussion? I find myself in a quandary. A dilemma…’

  ‘A predicament.’

  ‘If you like. A predicament. And the predicament is this: I cannot tell you why I am here. I can only ask whether you will come with me to meet someone.’

  ‘And you cannot tell me who.’

  ‘You see my predicament.’

  ‘It’s a mystery.’

  ‘But then one hears you are something of an expert at mysteries. A “Seeker of Mysteries.” I never thought to meet such a person, and yet here I am.’

  And he graced me with his most withering stare.

  ‘At least you could tell me your name and titles,’ I said.

  ‘I am Khay. Chief Scribe, Keeper of the Royal Household. Well, that is all I can tell you at this moment.’

  What was a very high official, at the heart of the palace hierarchy, doing in my front room, on this strange day of omens and blood? I was annoyed with myself for being so intrigued. I poured us each a fresh goblet of wine. He glanced at his, clearly unimpressed by its quality; but nevertheless he drank it as if it were water.

  ‘You are asking me to come now?’

  He nodded, almost casually, but I saw he needed me badly.

  ‘It is late. Why should I leave my family with no certain knowledge of where I am going, or when I will be back?’

  ‘I can guarantee your safety, of course. Well, I can guarantee my commitment to your safety, which I suppose is not quite the same thing. And I can certainly guarantee you will return home before dawn, if you wish.’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘Oh…It would be rather difficult…’ he trailed off.

  Then he reached into his robes and from a leather pouch brought out an object.

  ‘I was asked by my client to show you this.’

  It was a toy. A wooden man and a big dog with wide red eyes, worked by strings and pulleys. There was a peg. I knew if you turned the peg the man’s arms went up to defend him as the wooden dog rose to attack him. I knew this because I had seen it before, many years ago, in the nursery of the royal family. When the young Queen, who today had been spattered in blood, was a child.

  I explained everything to Tanefert in the kitchen. The girls crept out of their room now, and gathered in the safe circle of the lamplight.

  ‘Who is that man?’ demanded Thuyu.

  ‘He’s a high official.’

  ‘A high official of what?’ whispered Sekhmet, thrilled by the arrival of a real, live elite bureaucrat in our home.

  Tanefert shushed all their questions, and persuaded them to return to their bedrooms. Nedjmet, the Sweet One, stood there, hardly even looking at me. I picked her up, kissed her, and promised I would return in time for breakfast.

  ‘Where are you going? It’s dark.’

  ‘Out to see someone.’

  ‘Is it work?’

  ‘Yes. It’s work.’

  She nodded gravely, and I passed her to Tanefert, who gave me one of her looks.

  ‘I’ll leave Thoth on guard.’

  She kissed me carefully, and retired to our chamber.

  We arrived at the docks, at the place where the ferries cross. By day it is crowded with boats and ships of all sizes, from little reed boats and passenger ferries through to the large commercial ships of the kingdom, and the transporters of stone. The economy that keeps the city thriving and affluent, and supplied with luxuries, construction materials and food, is based here; deals are sealed or betrayed, and goods imported or smuggled. But by night it is quiet. No trade happens in the night hours because it is so dangerous to sail the Great River after dark; crocodiles cruise invisibly, disguising their predatory manoeuvres in the currents and swirls of the black water.

  But the sophisticated and beautiful vessel we boarded would need a herd of crocodiles to capsize it; we settled ourselves within the curtained privacy of the cabin and passed the brief crossing in silence. Khay offered me more wine, which I refused. He shrugged and poured some for hims
elf and sat down to drink. I played with the toy, turning the wheel so that the dog, with its crudely sawn ridge of raised wooden hackles and its red fangs, rose repeatedly up to the man. And I thought about the child who had said to me many years ago: Look! It’s you…! But I was not going to open the sealed box of those memories. Not yet. I gazed at the low rooftops and white walls of Thebes lit by the moon as we sailed towards the west bank. Most of the city’s multitudes would be asleep now, to prepare for tomorrow’s return to their perpetual labours; only those with wealth and liberty would still be up, at their private festivals of wine and pleasure, gossiping about the events of the day, and the politics, and the consequences.

  We did not dock directly on the western bank, but instead sailed past the guard stations, then up a long, dark channel between the trees and fields, now stirring with nightlife. The channel, built in the straight lines beloved of engineers, opened suddenly into the great T-shaped basin of the Birket Habu lake. Flocks of night birds squabbled on its flat, still surface. Ramps of hewn rock, which protected the surrounding complex of buildings from the inundation, hid the landscape from view. But I knew what lay beyond those ramparts: the Malkata Palace, a vast assemblage of buildings, where the royal family maintained their closely guarded royal quarters and those of the thousands of officials, officers and servants who work to make their strange life possible. It was known as the ‘Palace of Rejoicing,’ but there seemed little about the dark construction that now began to come into view to earn it such an optimistic title. It was famous for the elaboration and expense of its construction under Tutankhamun’s grandfather, and for its remarkable water system that, it was rumoured, supplied bathrooms, pools and gardens even in the heart of the palace. It was said the beds were inlaid with ebony, gold and silver. It was said the doorframes were solid gold. Such are the things people say about the dream palaces they will never visit.