by Nick Drake
‘A libation to the Gods,’ he said, raised his glass, and smiled with his wise gold eyes, observing Tanefert’s quiet sadness.
I looked around at my family, gathered together in the courtyard of my house, on this ordinary evening, and I raised my own cup in libation to the Gods who have granted me the gift of such happiness. Surely my wife was right. Why would I risk all of this present, here and now, for the sake of the unknown? And yet it called to me, and I could not say no.
Part Two
To me belongs yesterday, I know tomorrow.
The Book of the Dead, Spell 17
24
The sun had disappeared over the Malkata Palace’s flat rooftops, and the last of the daylight was abandoning the valleys. The long, low plateau of the western desert glowed red and gold behind us. The great lake was eerily flat, its blackness silvered like polished obsidian, reflecting the dark sky, except when it was disturbed into languorous ripples by the occasional flop of an unseen catfish. The waning moon hung over everything like the curved hull of a white boat, in the deepening indigo of the sky where the first stars were beginning to appear. Servants lit lamps and torches all along the dock so that the place blazed with pools of shadowy, orange light.
All the necessities of a royal progress were slowly, laboriously loaded on to the great royal ship of state, the Beloved of Amun. Her long, elegant curves rose to the high, decorated prow and stern’s carved finials, beautifully proportioned; detailed scenes decorating the kiosks showed the King trampling his enemies in battle; the great sails were furled, and the long oars were still suspended, tilted up against the cabins; surmounting the high mast-heads, royal falcons stretched their golden wings to the silver light of the moon. The whole construction seemed perfectly balanced upon the still waters of the lake. Docked next to her was another, almost as fine, the Star of Thebes. Together they made a glorious pair, the most superior modes of transport yet devised by any civilization, perfected for every luxury and constructed with the deep knowledge of craftsmanship to take every advantage of the given elements of wind and water: the river currents that sweep perpetually down to the delta, or, returning, the reliable northern winds that blow us home.
I was worried. What I had hoped would prove a swift and relatively small-scale event, had become a problematic exercise in politics and appearances. I should have realized nothing would be simple. There had been confidential meetings, with arguments and correspondence back and forth, between the offices of the King, the security division, and almost every other department of government, about everything from the distraction of the King from the business and appearance of rule, to lengthy disputations between different ministries regarding the passenger list, the supplies, the necessary furniture and the official timetable. Everything had been an issue. But Ay had taken charge of the chaos. I had not seen him since the proclamation in the temple, but he seemed to support the idea of the hunt. It had also been decided that Ankhesenamun would remain in Thebes to represent the King’s affairs in the business of government. Ay would also remain. Nothing he had done so far suggested he was other than supportive of the King’s proclamation.
I was worried, too, about the boy; Nakht told me his progress was very slow, and that I should expect no better. ‘Accept the worst, be appeased by anything better, and treat success as an impostor,’ he had advised me sententiously, when I had stopped at his city house to check on the boy’s condition. The boy looked almost mummified in the splints and linen bandages with which my old friend was attempting to heal his terrible injuries. I had noticed the stitch marks around his face were, gratifyingly, scabbed and beginning to heal. Of course, he could not see, but when I spoke to him, I saw recognition in his face.
‘Do you remember me?’ I asked quietly.
He nodded.
‘I have to go away, but I am leaving you in the care of this gentleman. His name is Nakht. He will care for you until I return. Don’t be afraid. He is a good man. And when I return, you and I will talk. Do you understand me?’
And eventually he had nodded once more, slowly. There was nothing more I could do, but hope against hope he was still alive when I returned to Thebes.
I was brought back from this memory by the crying, bleating and indignant calling of the ducks, chickens and goats as they were brought forth, stirred and panicked, to be loaded, alive, on to the ships. Teams of slaves carried trunk after trunk of provisions, already butchered, in crates and boxes, under salt. They carried on whole carcasses, white bones opaque in soft, dark slabs of meat. Storehouses of fruits and vegetables, sacks of grain, silver plates, fine linen cloths, goblets and cups…It seemed we were leaving for a visit to eternity. An overseer supervised, striding imperiously through the teams of workers, ticking items on a long papyrus where everything that might possibly be needed was carefully listed. I introduced myself, and asked him to explain to me everything that was being loaded. He nodded and gestured me to follow him towards the storerooms.
‘These provisions are just for the King and his entourage-those for the troops and the battalion of attendants are being stored on another transport ship which will go ahead of the royal ships, and prepare each night for the King’s arrival and his necessities,’ he said.
He turned suddenly between two guards, and entered a storeroom piled high.
‘And this is the royal equipment.’
He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying everything with a knowledgeable eye. Servants entered silently, and with his permission and instruction they began to move everything out.
There were four chariots, and a vast array of weapons-gold-and wood-inlaid cases of arrows, bows, spears, daggers, throwing sticks, whips. Also the necessities of royal comfort: fans, chairs, travelling stools, beds, boxes, thrones, canopies, alabaster lanterns, alabaster drinking cups, gold goblets, wardrobes of official robes, hunting outfits, ceremonial linens, jewellery, collars, make-up, unguents and oils. Everything was decorated with the richest of materials, or fashioned from the finest woods. But here, piled on the quayside, in the dark, lit only by the torches shivering now in the cool night breeze from the Red Land, it looked more like the paraphernalia of a homeless god. So much stuff for such a short journey; no wonder Ankhesenamun felt stifled by the burdens of the business of royalty, and by the claims of so much gold.
I let them get on with their work. I returned to the ship, to see the King’s tame young lion being led aboard by its chain, sniffing the unfamiliar night air, and straining against its short leash. It was a splendid animal, its shoulders and head lolling sinuously as it padded silently along the deck to the prepared comfort of its luxurious cage at the stern. It settled there, licking its soft paws, and glancing with grave eyes at the wide world of the night, so close, and yet unattainable beyond the impassable bars. Then it yawned, as if accepting the fate of its comfortable prison, and settled its head to doze.
But then its ears pricked up, and it turned to look at a small commotion along the quay. A brief trumpet blast followed. The King’s slight, elegant figure appeared before a retinue of officials and guards. Ankhesenamun followed behind him, her head covered. They exchanged farewells, politely and publicly, and I saw Ay bending to whisper something into the King’s ear. Khay stood attentively to one side, as if he hoped he would be needed. Then Simut, in full military costume, invited the King to board the ship. Accompanied by his little golden monkey, Tutankhamun stepped carefully and elegantly up the gangplank, slim and wary in his white robes like an ibis wading in the reed marshes. When he stepped on to the ship’s deck, he turned, and made a gesture to those people still on dry land. It was a strange moment, as if he intended to make a speech, or to wave like a child. Everyone stood in silence, anticipating something. Then, as if he could not think of anything else, he simply nodded, and quickly disappeared into the cabin.
Ankhesenamun beckoned me over, while Ay was engaged in discussions with the captain of the ship.
‘Take care of him,’ she said quietly, as she
turned the gold rings on her delicate and perfectly manicured fingers incessantly.
‘I am concerned for your own safety here in the palace. With Ay…’
She glanced at me.
‘I am used to being alone. And Ay appears to have decided to support what he could not oppose,’ she murmured.
‘Really?’
‘Of course, I do not trust him any more than I would trust a cobra. It is almost more disconcerting to have him as an apparent ally than as a clear foe. But he has brought with him the cooperation of the ministries, and the support of the priests. I suppose he believes he can still manage us according to his own grand designs.’
‘He is nothing if not pragmatic. He would have understood at once that opposition would have made things more difficult than collaboration. But he still has great powers…’ I said carefully.
She nodded.
‘I will not make the mistake of underestimating him, or of trusting him. But now there is a balance. His public operation of his powers has to be mediated through the King. And besides, he and I have a common enemy.’
‘Horemheb?’
‘Precisely. The King remains naive about the general. I am sure, wherever he may be, he will be plotting the next stage of his campaign for power. So take care in Memphis, for it is his city, not ours.’
I was about to reply when Ay, with his perfect ability to appear when least desired, interrupted us.
‘You have your authorizations and papers?’ he said, in his peremptory fashion.
I nodded.
‘The King has made his great proclamation, and those closest to him have supported him in his ambition. Now, the royal hunt must be seen to be accomplished. There would be grave disappointment should he fail to return with a lion as his trophy,’ he continued, more confidentially. His tone was dry as sand.
‘I know nothing about hunting lions. My responsibility is to keep him safe and well, and to return him here, and to a secure future,’ I said.
‘You will do exactly as you are ordered. And if you fail, the cost will be personally high.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There can be no question of misunderstanding, surely?’ he replied, as if surprised by the innocence of the question.
And then, with no more words, he bowed, and proposed to Ankhesenamun that they prepare for the ship’s departure.
The sixty or so oarsmen took up their oars through the gunwales and with a series of great efforts, to the beat of the drum, they began to row the great ship away from the dock. Across the slowly widening distance I saw Ankhesenamun watching us leave, with Ay. Then without a wave, like a pale figure returning to the underworld, she disappeared into the dark palace. Ay remained watching until we vanished from sight. I looked down at the black water, which swirled and eddied in secret currents, as if some sorcerer were stirring up strange fortunes and storms of destiny.
25
Simut joined me at the stern of the golden ship, as the city slipped away behind us. Thebes, city of my birth and my life, dark under the night sky, the shadows of the suburbs and the shanties, the high steep walls of the temples and pylons, pure white where they faced the moon; and it seemed to me, for all the lives within it, that the city looked hollow, precariously balanced, made of papyrus and reeds, as if it could all fall down with one breath of ill wind. The imagination can conquer distance, I realized; but the heart cannot. I thought of the children asleep, and Tanefert awake in our bed, the candle still lit on the table beside her, thinking of me on this disappearing golden ship. I had decided to leave Thoth with her, to guard the house at night. The animal had looked disconsolate at my departure, as if he knew I was leaving him for some time.
‘Are you leaving a family here?’ I asked Simut.
‘I don’t have a family. I made a choice, early in my career. I had little family when I was young, and those I had were no help to me; so I decided I would not miss it as a grown man. The army has been my family. And it has been my whole life. I have no regrets.’
It was the longest speech he had ever made to me. After a pause, as if he had been considering whether to trust me with an even deeper confidence, he said: ‘I think this journey is more dangerous than protecting the King in the palace. At least there we could control the security situation. We could have managed access, stability…but out here anything could happen.’
I agreed with him, and yet here we were, overwhelmed by circumstances beyond our control.
‘What did you discover from the Chief Architect of the temple, regarding the desecration of the carving?’ I asked.
‘He said the last weeks of the construction were chaos. Everything was behind schedule, the carvings were slow in being completed, and he assigned craftsmen according to the advice of the chief artist. Because of the panic, there were lapses in the vetting procedures, many of the workers and craftsmen were not registered as they should have been, and now of course no one will accept responsibility for the carving…It would not have been too difficult for some rogue element to gain access to the work site…’
He looked balefully at the dark foliage along the riverbank, as if unseen assassins lurked behind each palm tree.
‘I am no happier than you at the prospect of this mission. Memphis is a nest of snakes…’
‘I know it well. I received my training there. Fortunately, I have my own alliances in the city,’ he said.
‘And what is your opinion of Horemheb?’ I asked.
He gazed at the dark river.
‘In my military opinion he is a great general. But I could not say the same of his humanity-’
Just then a junior officer approached, saluted to Simut, and addressed me: ‘The King has asked for you.’
And so I was admitted to the royal apartments. Thick curtains had been drawn to make this reception space even more private. There was no sign of the King or his monkey. Lit by scented oil lamps, it had been richly, elegantly decorated. I looked around at the array of treasures, any one of which could have funded a family for its entire lifetime. I picked up an alabaster goblet fashioned in the form of a white lotus. It bore crisp, black hieroglyphic inscriptions. I read them aloud to myself:
Live your ka
And may you spend millions of years
Lover of Thebes
With your face to the cool north breeze
Beholding happiness
‘It is a beautiful poem,’ said the King in his light, high voice.
He had entered without my noticing. I replaced the goblet carefully. Then I bowed and offered him my wishes for his peace, health and prosperity.
‘“Live your ka…” an enigmatic, but beautiful phrase. I hear you once wrote verse yourself. What do you think it means?’ he asked.
‘The ka is the mysterious force of life in all things, in each of us…’
‘It is that which differentiates us from the dead, and from dead things. But what does it mean to live it fully, in truth?’
I pondered.
‘I suppose it is an invocation to each person to live according to that truth, and in so doing, if we are to believe the poem, to gain happiness, which is to say eternal happiness. “Millions of years…”’
He smiled, revealing his perfect little teeth.
‘It is indeed a great mystery. I, for instance, feel at this moment I am finally, truly living my ka. This journey and this hunt are my destiny. But perhaps you do not believe in the sentiments the poem expresses?’ he asked.
‘I struggle with the word happiness. I am a Medjay officer. I don’t get to behold much happiness. But perhaps I am looking in the wrong places,’ I replied carefully.
‘You see the world as a harsh, dangerous place.’
‘I do,’ I admitted.
‘You have reason on your side,’ he replied. ‘But I still believe it can be otherwise.’
Then he sat down in the only chair in the room. Like everything else, it was no ordinary chair, but a small throne made from ebony, partly covered with
gold foil, and inlaid with geometric patterns of glass and coloured stones. I was surprised to glimpse, just before he sat down, at the top, the disc of the Aten-the symbol of his father’s reign and power, now long banned. He adjusted his slippers upon the inlaid footrest and its picture of Egypt’s enemies, the bound captives, and gazed at me with his strange intensity.
‘You are puzzled by this throne?’
‘It is a beautiful object.’
‘It was made for me in the time of my father.’
The monkey jumped up on his lap, and watched me with its nervous, moist eyes. He stroked its tiny head, and it chattered to him briefly. He fed it a nut. He fingered a beautiful protection amulet on a gold chain around his neck.
‘But the symbolism is no longer permitted,’ I commented carefully.
‘No. It is forbidden. But not everything about my father’s enlightenment was wrong. I feel I can speak of this to you of all people, isn’t that strange? I was raised in his religion, and perhaps for that reason in spirit, if not in the letter, it feels true to me; as rightful as one’s true heart.’
‘But you led its banishment, lord.’
‘I had no choice. The tide of time turned against us. I was merely a child. Ay prevailed, and at the time, he was right-for how else could we have restored order to the Two Lands? But in the privacy of my heart and soul, I still worship the one God, the God of Light and Truth. And I know I am not alone.’
The implications of this were astounding. Here was the King, confessing his attachment to the outlawed religion, despite the destruction of its icons and the estrangement of its priests in his own name. I wondered if Ankhesenamun was implicated in this, too.
