Tutankhamun: The Book of Shadows rr-2

by Nick Drake

  ‘His conduct and security are your responsibility,’ he said.

  I have heard of people who return in dreams to the same situations and dilemmas. The tormenting images of their fears and horrors are repeated night after night: nightmare chases down endless tunnels; or the swift rippling of crocodiles unseen but sensed in deep, black water; or glimpsing the beloved dead, unreachable in a vast grey crowd. And then the haunted dreamer wakes sweating and weeping uncontrollably for something or someone lost over and over again to that Otherworld of visions. This palace, with its long corridors, and many shut doors, and hushed antechambers, reminded me now of something like that. I imagined each closed chamber might contain a different dream, a different nightmare. And yet I did not feel fear; excitement had me once again in its monstrous and glorious grasp. Something unexpected had happened. And so I was as happy as I could ever be.

  We passed through the guard station, and entered the royal quarters. Somewhere, a door slammed in the dark, and a young man’s light voice called out a tremulous command. Lowered voices, insistent and persuasive, tried to calm him. Another slam of a door, and all returned to the tomb-like silence. Khay, alert to the meaning of these signs and wonders, hurried forward on his costly and immaculate sandals, until we arrived once more at the great double doors into Ankhesenamun’s chamber. Khety glanced at me, his eyebrows raised, amused at the situation in which we found ourselves. Then the doors suddenly opened to admit us.

  Inside, nothing had changed. The lights burned in the same places. The doors remained opened to the courtyard and its garden. Ankhesenamun, guarded by a soldier, was sitting very still, staring at a small, closed wooden box that was set on a low tray on the far side of the room, as if she was mesmerized. When we entered, she turned slowly to look at us; her hands gripped each other tightly, her eyes glittered.

  The box was no bigger than that which might contain a wig. It was tied with a cord knotted to a complex, interwoven design. Interestingly, it seemed more like a magical knot than a practical one. The conundrum of it-the maker’s fascination with frustrating, perhaps demented puzzles-seemed alarmingly all of a piece with the strange mysteries of the last days. Instead of unknotting the cord-for it was evidence, and the meaning of its design might be recognized by Nakht-I cut it. I lowered my head to the lid of the box, and caught the faintest of sounds; within, something was moving, toiling almost, on the very edge of the audible, even in the hush of the chamber. I glanced at Khety and Khay, and then very carefully lifted off the lid. The sweet stench of rotting meat billowed into the room. Everyone backed quickly away, holding their linens over their noses.

  I forced myself to look into the box. White maggots moved through the eye-sockets, nose, ears and jawbones of a human head. I saw a pair of collarbones, some vertebrae knotted together on another length of cord, and some much smaller skulls, belonging to birds or rodents. Bones of all sorts-clearly animal bones as well as human ones-had been jumbled together to create this vile death mask. Death masks are usually made from precious gold to represent the dead to the Gods; but this one had been deliberately composed as a kind of anti-mask, made of the butcher’s leftovers. But there was one piece of gold here: a necklace on which a name had been inscribed in a royal cartouche. I plucked it out with some tongs that stood nearby. The hieroglyphs read: Tutankhamun.

  I examined the box itself; around the lid, inside and out, strange symbols, curves, sickles, dots and sharp lines, like a kind of nonsense writing, had been carved and then painted in black and red. I did not recognize the language at all. It looked like the language of a curse. I thought I would not want to hear such words spoken aloud. I would not want to meet the man whose speech these signs represented. I imagined a monster. And there at the centre of the inside surface of the lid was carved an image I recognized at once: a dark circle. The Sun destroyed.

  Khay, holding a linen cloth fastidiously over his nose and mouth, approached reluctantly, glanced at the contents of the box, and then slipped away as if the ground was suddenly uneven. The soldier walked determinedly over and gazed at it with military self-discipline. He moved aside for Ankhesenamun. Khay tried to dissuade her from looking inside, but she insisted. Standing close to me, she struggled with her reaction to the smell, and then bravely her eyes plunged into the shambles in the box. She could take no more than a few moments.

  But suddenly the great doors were thrown open, with a cry of frustration, and a young man, with a beautiful, almond-shaped face and small, delicate features, burst into the chamber. He hobbled slightly, leaning for light support on an elegant walking cane. A dazzling gold pectoral hung over his slim shoulders. Fine linens clothed his body, which was slim, but wide around the waist. A small, chattering monkey on a golden chain scampered at his feet.

  ‘I will not be treated like a child!’ shouted Tutankhamun, Lord of the Two Lands, Image of the Living God, at the silent chamber.

  Khay and the soldier moved in front of the box, and tried to persuade him not to approach it, without actually daring to touch his royal body physically. But despite his slight infirmity, he was too quick for them; he moved as deviously and quickly as a scorpion. He gazed at the carvings, and then down at the rotting image. At first he seemed mesmerized by what he saw-by the corruption of it. Then as he began to interpret it his expression changed. Ankhesenamun took his hands in hers and, speaking softly and carefully to him, more as an older sister, perhaps, than a wife, persuaded him to move away. He glanced up at me, and I saw he had his father’s eyes, almost feminine, but with an expression that was both openly innocent and potentially, vicariously, vicious. He saw the necklace with the royal name, and snatched it from my hand. I lowered my gaze quickly, remembering the protocols of respect.

  As I waited, my eyes trained on the floor, I thought how much more interesting Tutankhamun looked from close quarters. From a distance he had seemed as insubstantial as a reed. But at close quarters, he was charismatic. His gleaming skin evoked the life of someone who rarely appeared in the open air, in harsh sunlight. He seemed more a creature of the moon. His hands were exquisite and immaculate. And something about the long proportions of his limbs seemed to be all of a piece with the burnished elegance of his gold collar, his gold jewellery and his gold sandals. In his presence I felt earthbound; he seemed like a rare species that could only survive in a carefully protected environment of shade, secrecy and utter luxury. I would not have been surprised to see beautiful feathered wings folded beneath his shoulder blades, or tiny jewels among his perfect teeth. I would not have been surprised to hear he only sipped water from a divine source. But I would also not have been surprised to hear he lived in a child’s nursery, with the doors shut firmly against an outside world whose demands he refused to acknowledge. I could see at once how terrified he was; and I understood then that the man behind both ‘gifts’ knew this very well. Tutankhamun threw the necklace aside.

  ‘This abomination must be removed from our sight and destroyed by fire.’

  His voice, although quivering, was airily modulated, with a delicate timbre. Like many who speak quietly, he did it for effect, knowing he created the circumstances in which others strained to hear his every word.

  ‘With respect, majesty, I would advise against its destruction. It is evidence,’ I said.

  Khay, the ultimate guide to etiquette, gasped at my breach of protocol. And I wondered if the King was going to scream at me. But he seemed to change his mind. Instead he nodded, lowered himself on to a couch, and sat hunched over. Now he looked like a haunted child. In my mind’s eye I saw the world from his point of view: he was alone in a palace full of shadows and terrors, of threats and secrets and conflicting strategies. The temptation was to pity him. But that would not do.

  He motioned for me to approach. I stood before him, my eyes lowered.

  ‘So you are the Seeker of Mysteries. Look at me.’

  I did so. His face was unusual; delicate planes and structures, with wide cheekbones that seemed to frame the so
ft but persuasive power of his large, dark eyes. Lips full and sensuous, above a small, slightly receding chin.

  ‘You served my father.’

  ‘Life, prosperity and health, lord. I had that honour.’

  He observed me carefully, as if making sure I was not being ironic. Then he motioned to Ankhesenamun to join him. They glanced briefly at each other, with a look of tacit understanding.

  ‘This is not the first threat against my life. But, with the stone, and with the blood, and now this…’

  He looked at the others in the room, untrustingly, and then leaned closer to me. I felt his warm breath, sweet as a child’s, fluttering across my face, as he whispered: ‘I fear I am being haunted and hunted by shadows…’

  But at that very moment the double doors opened once more, and Ay entered the chamber. The air itself seemed to turn cold with his presence. I had seen how everyone treated the King like a marvellous child; but Ay merely glanced at him with a contempt that would wither a stone. Then he examined the contents of the box.

  ‘Come here,’ he said quietly to the King.

  The King moved reluctantly towards Ay.

  ‘This is nothing. Do not grant it an authority it does not possess.’

  Tutankhamun nodded, uncertainly.

  Then, swift as a hawk, Ay picked up the death’s head, crawling with maggots, dripping with worms, and proffered it to the King, who jumped backwards in revulsion and fright. Ankhesenamun approached as if to protect her husband, but Ay held up a peremptory hand.

  ‘Don’t,’ she said quietly.

  The old man ignored her, keeping his gaze focused on the King, the death’s head held out on his palm. Slowly, reluctantly, the young King reached out and, steeling himself, took the vile thing in his hands.

  The chamber was held in a tension of silence, as the King gazed upon the empty sockets and festering flesh of the head.

  ‘Is death no more than these hollow bones and this absurd ugly grin?’ he whispered. ‘Then we have nothing to fear. What will survive of us is far greater.’

  Then suddenly he threw the skull back to Ay, who struggled to catch the slippery thing like the solitary boy who is not good at ball games.

  The King laughed out loud, and I suddenly liked him for his audacity. He motioned for a servant to bring him a bowl and linen towel to wash his hands. He dropped the linen deliberately in front of Ay, and then left the chamber, followed by his nervous monkey.

  Ay, wheezing with fury, gazed after him without speaking, then dropped the skull into the box, and washed his hands. Ankhesenamun stepped forward.

  ‘Why do you behave with such disrespect to the King, in the presence of others?’

  Ay turned on her.

  ‘He must learn courage. What kind of a king cannot bear the sight of decay and death? He must learn to endure and accept these things, without fear.’

  ‘There are many ways to learn courage, and fear is surely not the best tutor. Perhaps it is the worst.’

  Ay smiled, his bad teeth showing between his thin lips.

  ‘Fear is a large and curious subject.’

  ‘In these years I have learned a great deal about it,’ she replied. ‘I have had a most accomplished teacher.’

  They stared at each other for a long moment, like adversarial cats.

  ‘This nonsense must be denounced with the contempt it deserves, not given prominence in the minds of the weak and vulnerable.’

  ‘I could not agree more, which is why I have assigned Rahotep to investigate. I will go now to the King, and leave you all to discuss a plan of action to prevent any further such events.’

  She left the chamber. I bowed to Ay and followed her. Outside, in the dark corridor, I showed her the ankh amulet I had found on the dead girl’s body.

  ‘Forgive me for showing you this. But, let me ask: do you recognize it?’

  ‘Recognize it? It is mine. My mother gave it to me. For my name and for my protection.’

  The ankh-Ankhesenamun…My hunch about the connection had been right. And now, as I was actually delivering the object back to its owner, the act itself suddenly seemed part of the murderer’s plan.

  ‘Where did you get it?’ She was angry now, and snatched the amulet away from me.

  I fumbled for an explanation that would not alarm her.

  ‘It was found. In the city.’

  She turned to face me.

  ‘Do not disguise the truth from me. I want to know the truth. I am not a child.’

  ‘It was found on a body. A young woman, murdered.’

  ‘How was she murdered?’

  I paused, reluctant.

  ‘She had been scalped. Her face was cut off. Her eyes were removed. In their place was a gold mask. And she was wearing this.’

  She was suddenly breathless. She silently considered the jewel in her hand.

  ‘Who was she?’ she said, quietly.

  ‘Her name was Neferet. I think she worked in a brothel. She was your age. For what it’s worth, I don’t think she suffered. And I will find out why your amulet was found on her body.’

  ‘But somebody must have stolen it from my private chamber. Who could have done that? And why?’

  She paced the corridor, anxiously. ‘I was right. Nowhere is safe. Look at this place. It is all shadows. Now do you believe me?’

  She held up the amulet, which twisted, shining in the dark of the corridor. I saw tears gathering in her eyes.

  ‘I will never be able to wear this again,’ she said, and walked silently away.

  As soon as I re-entered the chamber, Ay turned on me.

  ‘Don’t think this supports your presence here. This is nothing. It is mere nonsense.’

  ‘It may be nonsense, but it has worked in the way its creator intended.’

  He snorted.

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘It has capitalized on the climate of fear.’

  ‘The climate of fear. How poetic.’

  I wished I could swat him out of existence like a fly.

  ‘And once again, this “gift offering” has managed to reach the King himself. How did that happen?’ he continued.

  All eyes now turned to the soldier.

  ‘It was discovered in the Queen’s apartments,’ he admitted, reluctantly.

  Even Ay was taken aback.

  ‘How is that possible?’ he said intently. ‘What has happened to the security in the royal quarters?’

  ‘I am unable to offer an explanation,’ said the soldier, in shame.

  Ay was about to shout back at him, but suddenly he scowled, and gripped his jaw, as a sudden spasm of toothache afflicted him.

  ‘And who discovered it?’ he continued, as the attack subsided.

  ‘Ankhesenamun herself,’ offered Khay.

  Ay pondered the box for a moment.

  ‘This will not happen again. You understand the penalty of failure?’

  The soldier saluted.

  ‘And I suggest you and the great Seeker of Mysteries acquaint yourselves. Perhaps two idiots are better than one, although experience suggests otherwise.’

  He paused.

  ‘There can be no more disturbances in the security of the palace. You will both report to me before the Colonnade Hall opening ceremony with your proposals for the King’s security.’

  And so he departed. A little of the tension in the room abated. The soldier introduced himself as Simut, Commander of the Palace Guard. We made dutiful gestures of respect, and said the right formulas, but he looked at me like a man who would relish my ruination. I was intruding on his territory.

  ‘Who has access to this chamber?’ I asked.

  ‘The Queen’s ladies…the King, those who serve him, those who serve here, and no others…’ said Khay.

  ‘There are guards stationed at every entrance to the royal quarters,’ said Simut. ‘Everyone must possess permissions to pass.’

  ‘Therefore it must have been delivered by someone with high-priority access who moves with
ease within the royal quarters,’ I replied. ‘I imagine that, once past the security points, in order to allow the family some privacy, there are no guards and no searches within the royal quarters themselves?’

  Khay nodded, uncomfortably.

  ‘The competence of the royal guards is absolutely not in question, but there is clearly a serious flaw somewhere that has allowed this object, and the carving, to appear here. I’m sure you’ll agree it is imperative we put in place more stringent security arrangements for the King and Queen, both within the quarters and in public. When is the Colonnade Hall to be commemorated?’ I asked.

  ‘In two days’ time,’ said Khay. ‘But tomorrow there is a gathering of the Council of Karnak which the King must attend.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ I frowned. ‘That is unfortunate.’

  Khay nodded.

  ‘What is “unfortunate” is that these “disturbances” could not have happened at a worse time,’ he replied.

  ‘It is no coincidence,’ intoned Simut in his humourless, military fashion. ‘If this were a conventional situation, such as a battle, I could see the enemy facing me. But this is different. This enemy is invisible. He could be one of us. He may be inside this palace now. He certainly seems to know everything about its layout, its protocols and hierarchies.’

  ‘So we have a problem, for I imagine you cannot simply question elite men high in the order of power, without the strongest evidence,’ I said.

  ‘Alas, that is true,’ Khay replied wearily, as if all his energy had suddenly departed.

  ‘Nevertheless, every one of them is now a suspect. A list of names would be a start. And some simple questions about their whereabouts and so on would help to clarify the situation. We need to know who was here in the quarters tonight, and who has no alibi,’ I offered.