The Golden Falcon

by David C. Clark

  “Excellent. I will ensure we have some fishing lines for you.”

  Thus began our odyssey. The days drifted into months and months into years in an endless cycle of travel and leisurely work. Ramesses tried to persuade Neferure and me to take up permanent residence in Pi-Ramess but we preferred the life in Memphis, although we were little in residence anywhere. So well established became the king’s peregrinations along the river, they took on the nature of a regal progress. He instructed the building of a special fleet of vessels that could drop anchor at any remote spot he fancied yet be equipped with all the luxuries he needed to cosset him as he aged. Long gone were the simple desert tents and rough food of his youth. They were replaced with graceful furniture, soft bedding, pavilions of fine linen and a vessel designated a kitchen ship.

  As the years passed, his desire to hunt remained strong but his ability to go roughshod into the field and best lions and other prey lessened. He would still accompany the hunters but no longer challenged the animals, being content to watch the chase from his chariot. Depending on the season and our destination, our wives chose either to join us or remain in the palaces, explaining that the novelty of desert living, though sometimes fascinating, could never replace the comforts of well-appointed accommodation. We noticed, without comment, the excuse arose the closer we came to cities with fresh opportunities to find novelties. If the voyage took Ramesses from the Delta to Thebes, he took one or two of his wives with him but only Sutereray would accompany him past Thebes on the southern leg of a voyage. She and Neferure became fast friends as she found her elder sisters too pompous in the largely ceremonial role of royal wives.

  I chanced to overhear a conversation between them one afternoon as we sailed on a lazy river towards Herakleopolis. My wife remarked “The royal wives, Meryetamun, Bintanath and Nebettawy, all wither on the vine and dry up. What is their life? They have beautiful clothes and jewellery, their apartments are well furnished but they cannot enjoy the companionship of the bed chamber with the king or any other man. Their wombs are empty. We lack for nothing, enjoy more freedom and know well the pleasures of our lusty husbands. I would not exchange this life for the sterility of their existence.”

  “I blush to admit it, but your father is like a lion and I am well satisfied. He can be very tender but if the mood strikes him…” Sutereray laughed.

  “Perhaps they eat some divine food. Sennefer is two years older than the king but he behaves like a youth in the bed chamber. Unhappily, I am yet to bear him children but it is not through any lack of effort.” As I found my cheeks burning, I thought it best to withdraw and join Ramesses, who was fishing at the stern.

  “This is the life. I have struck a happy balance between duty and leisure. The small vessel that came alongside this morning carried messages from the north. The vizier and treasurer report all is well, the Sed Festival is behind me for another three years, my ministers advise my subjects are content and the fish bite well today. Khaemwaset sent me another long and detailed report. My son works too hard, worries himself overly and takes on onerous responsibilities - repairs around Memphis, The House of Life at Thebes and his duties as high priest - it is too much. Merenptah has relieved me of the burdens of administration and yet finds time for leisure. You are very close to Khaemwaset. Is there nothing you can do to slow the pace of his life?” pleaded Ramesses.

  “No, Ramesses. I have urged him to spend more time with us on these voyages. The work in the necropolis is almost a matter of course now. Workmen have few complaints about life in their village and refurbishing pillaged tombs is in the very capable hands of Khaemwaset’s eldest son. A remarkable young man, almost a copy of his father! He will be a worthy successor to the high priesthood when your son comes to the throne. Remember when we were Khaemwaset’s age? We too laboured mightily. He is young and will learn soon enough to take his ease.”

  “How does he look to you? When I last saw him he appeared drawn and he lacks the vigour we once enjoyed. You and I spent more time outdoors in our youth and drew sustenance from fresh air and sunlight whilst he seems content to dwell within the cloisters of the temple.”

  “Unhappily, your observation is all too true. He is always tired and recently he complains of pains in his chest. The prince is not well and I think you should order him to join us once we reach Memphis. Some time spent in the Delta would be an excellent restorative.”

  “I shall speak with him when we arrive. Perhaps I will ask him to join Merenptah on a mission to the Hittite king as raids by the Sea People are becoming a too frequent event. I am considering a joint land and sea offensive against their strongholds and Khaemwaset is the most able of my sons in matters of diplomacy. The journey to Hatti is long and pleasant and it would be a diversion from his self-imposed burdens. Enough of this worry. Find yourself a fishing line as the perch appear to be drawn to my hook. I will offer a prayer to Hapi to see if he can induce the fish to find your lure.”

  Next morning, my slumber was disturbed by a great commotion. Neferure woke with a startled look. Clearly alarmed, she asked “What is wrong? What is that noise?” I dressed quickly and went to the deck. Ramesses was already there, watching a warship thrashing its way towards us at battle speed, the sweat on the rower’s bodies obvious even in the cool of the morning’s first light. “Your eyesight is keener than mine. Is that the vizier standing on the deck?”

  “Yes, and Khaemwaset’s son stands at his side.” The rowers shipped oars, helmsmen threw their rudders hard over and mooring lines were thrown on board the royal barque and the two vessels swiftly lashed together. Our captain hastily ordered a gangway pushed between them. The vizier and Khaemwaset’s son, Prince Hori, crossed the gangway and prostrated themselves at the king’s feet. I was watching the men on board the vizier’s vessel. All were downcast and many had faces wet with tears. I was filled with a sense of foreboding and turned my attention to the two men prostrate on the deck. The king pulled Menna, the vizier, to his feet.

  “What is it, what is the matter? Is the kingdom under attack?” demanded Ramesses. Drawing a deep breath, Menna looked directly at him.

  “Master, would it be so. I bring terrible tidings. Your son, Prince Khaemwaset, was found dead this morning in his quarters. His manservant found him stretched out on the floor many hours after he began his voyage to the Second Life. I am deeply sorry.” His eyes watered and tears fell down his cheeks. Ramesses flinched as though bitten by an asp. He appeared ready to crumble and I grabbed his arm to steady him. He looked down at his grandson, still prostrate on the deck.

  “Come, Hori, raise yourself up.” said Ramesses tenderly. Prince Hori stood and fell against his grandfather’s chest and Ramesses locked him in an embrace, their bodies shuddering in the depth of their emotions. Sutereray and Neferure appeared on deck at this moment, heard the news and moved to comfort their men. The rest of us withdraw a short distance and I conferred with Menna. “How did he die? Was his death natural or was there some attack on his person?”

  “No, Sennefer, he died naturally. The doctors examined his body for signs of wounds or poisons. It is their opinion, his heart failed him. His body has been taken to the mortuary temple and we await the king’s instructions. Word was spreading when I left Memphis and the people are in a state of great lamentation.”

  Ramesses looked quite ill and I thought he might collapse. Still supporting Prince Hori,he spoke, though quietly, ‘Sennefer, Sutereray, Neferure, gather your possessions quickly and board the warship. Captain, exchange our rowers with the warship’s crew as we need fresh men to get us to Memphis as soon as possible. You can follow us with my fleet. Menna, Hori, you will join us on the warship.”

  It took but a few minutes for us to make our preparations and embark the warship. Oarsmen exchanged places, the commander cut loose the moorings and turned his vessel southwards. Once mid-stream, the order was given to row at speed to Memphis some ten kilometres away. The king called us to the commander’s cabin where he sat, his emotions
under tight control. “Menna, attend me with writing instruments. Sutereray, Neferure, please take care of Prince Hori whilst we meet.”

  As these requests were made, the hortator’s wooden mallets beat out an urgent cadence. This was the first time I had been on a warship driven at speed and she fairly flew down the river. Although heavily timbered, she raced like a warhorse charging against massed infantry, her keel cutting a deep furrow in the water, sails billowing as we hastened towards the place of death.

  “Menna, proclaim one week of national mourning once we arrive. You are to send a messenger to Thebes requesting the high priest join us in Memphis immediately as I cannot ask Prince Hori to preside over the services for his father. Sennefer, you will break the seals at Prince Khaemwaset’s treasury and prepare to move his funerary goods to his tomb.” He addressed the warship’s commander. “Captain, as soon as we reach Memphis, you need attain Pi-Ramess as quickly as possible. I will give you a message to deliver to my family. When they are ready, you will commandeer as many transports as you need to bring them to Memphis. You may go.”

  “Menna, where is Prince Merenptah?” The vizier replied. “I understand he is on manoeuvres with the army at Sile.”

  “Come to my palace this afternoon. I will have letters for Prince Merenptah, my children and provincial governors for you to despatch. Bring with you the Guard commander as I will have a message for him to despatch to the fortresses in the Delta and another to be delivered to the garrisons at Elephantine and Kush. I want my army on full alert lest our enemies see an opportunity to attack a kingdom in mourning. Now, gentlemen, I must comfort my family in this time of grief.”

  Menna, the captain and I stood aside as he went to his family, then silently watched as the river banks sped past. Idly I asked the captain, “How long can the oarsmen keep up this pace?”

  “It is a good thing we are so near the city as a well trained crew can only maintain battle speed for not more than a short time but the oarsmen seem strangely strengthened by the gods. My vessel has never before moved so swiftly. See, the sails are full, yet no breeze ruffles the trees on the river banks. The breath of Isis fills the sails and Hapi’s hand lifts the keel high in the water. Truly, our king is a god.”

  Memphis soon hove into sight. First, the tops of the temple pylons, then its walls and finally the city itself. A profound silence had fallen on the city. Where the warship came alongside the quay, the officials and townsmen awaiting us were mute. When the king stepped ashore, all fell to their knees, their foreheads touching the ground. Gone were the bright colours of previous arrivals, no musicians filled the air with their merry sounds though a slow, swelling sound came towards us.

  Two lines of priests approached the quay, softly intoning a mourning chant for their now dead high priest. Ramesses sent our wives to the palace. Then he took station between the priests, beckoning Menna, Hori and me to stand behind him as we began the sombre march to the mortuary temple. How wrong this was, I thought. We should be here to mourn the passing of the king, not his eldest son and heir. Was this the price Ramesses had to pay for being a god? Would his divinity continue to plague him all the days of his life?

  How terrible our procession to the temple. Each step cost the king dearly, the strain evident in the tensed leg and back muscles and a barely perceptible quivering of his head. Though in public it is forbidden to touch a pharaoh, Menna and I moved close to him, should he falter. He struggled along the processional avenue, through the pylons and across the courtyard before reaching the sepulchre reserved for the dead. The cortege stopped, unsure what to do.

  “Sennefer, Hori, attend me.” he exhaled through gritted teeth. Quickly, we flanked him as he stumbled into the room as Menna closed the curtains against the eyes of the curious. In front of us lay the prince, his body on a plinth of alabaster, shrouded from head to toe. Finally, confronted with the reality of his son’s death, Ramesses fell to the floor like a mortally wounded animal. He lay, panting with laboured breath, unable to raise his eyes to the plinth. I knelt and cradled his head to my chest. He wept. Great wrenching sobs wracking his frame and the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Prince Hori folded back the shroud from his father’s face, kissed his forehead before embracing the still form.

  At last the tears stopped and the king calmed himself. With my assistance, he rose and walked to the plinth. Hori stepped back as he folded the shroud down to his son’s waist, exposing the awful colour of death to our eyes. Khaemwaset’s face was contorted in the pain he must have felt when the spark of life fled and his hands were clenched against his chest in the rigour of death.

  Behind the plinth there stood a statue of Osiris, with Anubis recumbent at his feet. Ramesses approached the figure. He stood before it, placing his hands on the god’s shoulders. He said something we could not comprehend, despite the silence in the room. Moving back to the body, he gently placed his hands on the distorted face and looked at Osiris and I swear before all the gods, his son’s face lost the look of pain and changed to one of serenity. Taking the lifeless arms in his hands, Ramesses again looked at Osiris and down to the body. Moving gently again, he took the arms from the chest and placed them along the sides of the body. The clenched fists opened without being touched. Silently, Ramesses replaced the shroud, pausing only to kiss his son farewell. He took one final look at Osiris, then at the enshrouded body and turned to us.

  “Speak not of this to anyone. We must go as there is nothing more I can do to ease my son’s journey to the Afterlife.” He took our hands in his and they were strangely hot and dry.

  We left the temple and, whilst I spent many days in intimate conversation with Ramesses as we waiting for the day of entombment, no word was spoken between us of the episode. Time passed slowly during the period required to preserve Khaemwaset’s body. His brothers, sisters and the nobility arrived from across of the kingdom. He had instructed only the most immediate members of his family should attend his entombment as he had chosen a remote place for his tomb in the Libyan Hills, far to the west of Memphis. When he asked me to build a tomb, he revealed that, in death, he wished not to be encumbered with worldly possessions. He wanted no decorations on the walls of his crypt, a simple basalt sarcophagus and unadorned coffins of cedar wood.

  “My life has been lived in preparation for eternity. I know the texts that offer guidance to the dead and I have no need for possessions in the Beautiful West. When the ba bird flies to my tomb it will find only my mortal remains. I will draw nourishment from the primeval waters and Field of Reeds and I hope to spend my Second Life in the service of the gods. Advice of my wishes has been given to my father, should I die before him.”

  He had then laughed. “If however, I am the pharaoh when I die, it will be necessary to suffer the charade of a regal burial in the Great Place in the same tomb as my father, as I don’t wish to see a royal tomb prepared for me but never used. Later, my remains are to be removed in secrecy and taken to my resting place in the hills. Instructions for this eventuality have been given to Merenptah and my son in sealed pouches. What I have learned about the base nature of some of our fellow creatures taught me that my earthly husk must never be found by mortals. The place I have chosen will allow Re to bathe me in his divine light and, during the hours of night, I will serve Osiris as he presides over the Underworld.”

  All the official mourners had arrived by the time the ritual preparation of the body was complete. Bakenkhons conducted the ceremony then, at the conclusion of the service, he surprised those attending by disclosing Khaemwaset’s wish that only the most immediate members of the royal family would accompany his body to his grave site. The morning after the service, a small group, led by me - Ramesses, Merenptah,Hori, Bakenkhons and Menna - left Memphis The coffin was mounted on a stout sled and hauled by twenty temple priests.

  Once we left the plain and began the ascent into the Libyan Hills, the priests were blindfolded and I led them to the plateau by a circuitous path. When we reached the grave site, t
he blindfolds were removed and the coffin lowered down a long shaft dug into the limestone. Once it reached the bottom, the funeral party followed it down by ladder. We hauled the coffin up a ramp, through a pillared hall and placed Khaemwaset within his sarcophagus and slid the lid in place. Bakenkhons performed the Opening the Mouth ritual, recited prayers, we offered private farewells and then returned to the surface. I lingered a moment before ascending.

  Beside the shaft’s mouth there was a stack of granite boulders I had shipped from Aswan years ago when quarrying the tomb and a pile of limestone chippings created during the excavation. I held my hand up indicating silence, a silence broken by a grinding sound deep within the hill, two dull thuds and then, the ground on which we stood trembled slightly. I instructed the priests to drop the granite boulders down the shaft and shovel the chips into the hole. Ramesses, watching this business, asked what were those sounds below us.

  “The confirmation that your son’s tomb has been internally sealed. Before I ascended, I broke two clay pots, sand ran out of small tunnels cut into the rock which in turn released two limestone blocks that slid down, hit the first columns in the pillared hall causing them to collapse, bringing down the ceiling, which had been weakened when we built the crypt. The columns were many and slender and I believe the sliding blocks destroyed them all as I designed them to act like scythes cutting through wheat stalks. Your son’s burial chamber is now isolated by, what I hope, was a considerable fall of rock. The masonry being thrown into the shaft is just a device to increase the difficulties of robbers, should they ever find the location of the tomb.”

  “During the excavation, I had most of the chippings taken away and dumped in another valley. The well worn track to the tomb has been covered by rocks and sand placed there by the last of the masons when the excavation was completed. Time has softened the route and, as you probably noticed, the path I took was over apparently virgin ground. You may also observe that, from where we stand, it is impossible to determine where we are in relation to the city. The plateau is deeply furrowed with small valleys and one area looks very much like the other. Only three men knew the exact location of this tomb. One now lies beneath our feet. Prince Hori and I are the other two and we take the secret to our grave. I believe we can trust Bakenkhons and Menna as I doubt they are candidates for tomb robbers.”