The Eye of Ra

by Michael Asher

  ‘I don’t feel like eating or drinking anything,’ she said.

  But I noticed she let herself be persuaded.

  The sufragi brought us borscht, served with cream. Elena toyed with her spoon, Rabjohn ate elegantly. As I savoured the smoothness of the soup, I looked out at the garden. There must have been at least an acre of lawns, trees and flowerbeds. Another fountain dealt whorls of pastel colours across the grass, and I noticed that the fountain itself was a miniature copy of the colossus of Ramses II in Ramses Square, depicting the pharaoh striding powerfully, with balled fists at his side. An image of power. A matched pair of sacred ibises suddenly landed on the lawn and began trawling for food with their long, sabre-like beaks, strutting with casual grace while the sunlight shone brilliantly on their white feathers. There was something of Rabjohn in their unruffled dignity, I thought. He watched them with pleasure for a moment. ‘They always return,’ he said. ‘Ibises are territorial creatures. They evidently believe my little patch is their territory.’

  He took a sip of wine, patted his lips with a crisp, almost preternaturally white napkin and cleared his throat. ‘Now, you enquired about Akhnaton,’ he said to Elena as if addressing a freshman student at a tutorial. ‘A most fascinating subject for enthusiasts. Less so, perhaps, for laymen. However, I shall endeavour to compress as much as possible. Let us begin by saying that very little was known about Akhnaton until recently. That was the result of a deliberate policy by the pharaoh’s successors to erase his very name, and those of his family, from history. If it were not for the persistence of Western Egyptologists, they might very well have succeeded. In the King Lists of ancient Egypt, the names of Akhnaton and his sons, Smenkhare and Tutankhamen, do not appear, because it was considered afterwards that they had not lived subject to the approval of Ma’at. Are you familiar with the concept of Ma’at, Elena?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it. Isn’t it the ideal of justice and truth?’

  ‘Yes, to the ancient Egyptians, Ma’at was the personification of divine harmony — a harmony they later believed Akhnaton had violated. You see, Elena, despite the sophistication of their society, in many ways the ancient Egyptians lived very simple lives. They were farmers and stock-breeders, symbolised respectively by the flail and the crook, and their lives were regulated by the sun, the seasons, and above all by the river Nile and its annual inundation. When you remember that only about eleven per cent of Egypt is cultivable land, almost all of it on the river banks, you begin to see that it is actually a kind of long oasis, a thin ribbon of brilliant green in the midst of the most arid deserts on earth. Everything in ancient Egyptian life depended on the Nile and the arts and sciences the Egyptians had were developed almost exclusively to help them control, predict, maintain and understand the passage of the sun, the sequence of the seasons, and the rise and fall of the waters. That was what Ma’at really meant, and anything which interfered with that was a betrayal of Ma’at.’

  ‘And Akhnaton interfered with it?’

  ‘Devastatingly. When Akhnaton arrived on the scene, about 1350 BC, the most powerful god in the Egyptian pantheon was Ra, or Amun-Ra, the sun god, served by a corps of priests that had already been in existence for thousands of years. Akhnaton was originally called Amenophis, and he had not been raised to become pharaoh. The heir apparent to the throne was Thutmose, son of Amenophis III. Thutmose died mysteriously, allowing Amenophis to take his place eventually as Pharaoh Amenophis IV. He married a beautiful woman called Nefertiti, and in the fifth year of his reign, he changed his name to Akhnaton, publicly renouncing any further association with Ra. He declared that only one god would be worshipped henceforth, the Aton or Sun-Globe, which, with its cascading rays, represented the life-force of the cosmos. All other gods were banned. The ancient priesthoods of Ra and others were disbanded, images of the gods thrown down, their names expunged from monuments, their temples closed, their funds sequestered and diverted to other projects. He also moved his capital from the traditional site at Thebes downriver to Amarna, near Asyut, where he built a sacred city dedicated to the Aton, known as Akhetaton — “The Horizon of the Aton”. He lived a secretive life, apart from Nefertiti and apart from his courtiers, only meeting with them on ritual occasions. Yet despite this secretiveness, a great many new ideas seem to have emanated from him. Under his rule the ancient Egyptians developed dazzling new art forms, new ways of thought which can only be described as scientific, and began to make preparations for a new universal culture which would eventually take over the entire world, uniting east and west. Some scholars regard Akhnaton as the “first individual in history”, a thinker millennia before his time, the precursor of monotheistic religions including Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Some consider him a religious mystic, others a bigoted tyrant and egotist. Much that’s written about him is pure speculation — actually, we still know very little about him. We don’t know why his features appear so distorted, or why he is shown as a hermaphrodite in statues, and we don’t know where his ideas came from. We don’t even know for certain who he was, whether a prince of the royal family or a stranger from outside.’

  The sufragi cleared away the soup-dishes and laid plates. He served us helpings of mahshi — vine leaves stuffed with minced mutton and rice. ‘I thought a light dish was in order,’ Rabjohn said. ‘Please eat something, Elena.’

  She picked at the food with her fork moodily. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m just not hungry.’

  She sampled her wine and fixed her eyes on Rabjohn. ‘What happened to Akhnaton?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s the greatest mystery of all,’ he said, laying his fork down and taking a sip of wine. ‘You see, after ruling Egypt for seventeen years, he simply vanished without trace. Neither his mummy nor that of his wife Nefertiti have ever been found. The official tombs built for them at Amarna were never occupied. We have no idea how he died, or even if he died in his seventeenth regnal year.’

  ‘What about the Davis find?’ I asked. ‘Pete Margoulis told me it was the largest human cranium ever found.’

  ‘You’re referring to Tomb 55 in the Valley of the Kings, excavated by Davis in 1907? Yes, it’s true that at first it was thought to contain the mummy of Akhnaton. The tomb was unfinished and had been hastily prepared, and there was speculation that the king’s body had been brought back to Thebes after the failure of his revolution. The skull was oddly shaped, just as Akhnaton’s is shown to be in stelae and statues. But the latest studies of genetics and cranio-morphology suggest that the mummy in Tomb 55 is actually that of Smenkhare, who was probably Akhnaton’s son and Tutankhamen’s brother.’

  ‘Why did Akhnaton fail?’ Elena asked.

  ‘Again we don’t know. There was certainly tremendous op-position to his rule, especially among the disbanded priesthood of Ra. There may even have been some open rebellion. The opposition was almost certainly masterminded by people very close to the king, including Ay, a high priest, and Horemheb, a general, who outwardly supported Akhnaton during his reign, but who quickly reasserted the old values as soon as he was gone. Akhnaton’s official successor was Smenkhare, his son, who died within a year under mysterious circumstances, and then Tutankhamen, who was only nine when he came to the throne and thus well under the thumb of Ay and Horemheb. Tutankhamen died aged nineteen, probably murdered, and was succeeded by Ay, who now openly took the reins of power he’d actually been wielding secretly for so long. He only lasted four years, then he too died suddenly and inexplicably, and was replaced by Horemheb. The reaction against Atonism was already beginning in Tut’s time — which is why he was forced to change his birth name from Tutankhaton to Tutankhamen — and to move the capital back to Thebes. The priesthood of Ra was restored, the old temples reopened, the revenues flowed again. Under Horemheb it reached frenzy level. The Aton temples at Thebes were smashed, the names of Akhna-ton, Smenkhare and Tutankhamen excised from every monument and statue, the Great Temple of Aton at Amarna taken apart stone by stone, tombs of nobles who’d served t
he kings were desecrated, and anyone found continuing the worship of Aton was liable to have his nose amputated and be sent into exile. Horemheb had gangs of workers sent to the city of Akhetaton, which had been uninhabited now for years, with orders to raze it to the ground. Not a single stone of the place was left standing. The ruins were buried under drifting sand and lost until they were discovered by chance after thousands of years.’

  The sufragi had by now cleared away the remnants of the main course. Rabjohn offered us ice-cream or fruit, but neither of us felt like eating more. He drew us over to the lounging chairs, which the sufragi had pushed out on to the verandah. ‘Shall we rest over there,’ he said; ‘can I offer you a liqueur? No — then perhaps more coffee.’

  ‘Coffee would be fine.’

  We sat down in the chairs and I lit my pipe slowly. The sufragi brought the coffee — this time Turkish coffee in miniature handled cups. We sat in silence for a few moments. The sacred ibises gave up their trawling and took wing. I watched them as they climbed higher and higher into the silk and azure sky. I took off my John Lennon glasses, rubbed them vigorously on my shirt cuff, then replaced them. ‘Tell me, Robert,’ I said, ‘I mean, Horemheb’s attempt to eradicate the names of Akhnaton and Tut from history strikes me as almost paranoid — out of all proportion to the threat. What on earth was he so frightened of?’

  ‘He was absolutely determined that nothing like Akhnaton and the danger he presented to Ma ‘at — to the world order — should ever raise its ugly head again for the rest of eternity. But it wasn’t only Horemheb. He came to power with the help of the Ra priesthood. It was the brotherhood who were behind all these strokes.’

  ‘Were they behind Tutankhamen’s murder, too?’ Elena asked.

  ‘Almost certainly. They were hand in glove with the courtiers, of course. As a boy, Tutankhamen would have been easy for them to manipulate, but he might have become more assertive with age. The brotherhood had got its power back and wasn’t about to lose it again. Ever.’

  ‘But there’s a strange anomaly here,’ I said. ‘Why, when Horemheb went to such fantastic lengths to expunge the names of his predecessors from all records, and even desecrated the tombs of nobles who’d served them, did he leave Tutankhamen’s tomb intact?’

  ‘That’s a good question,’ Rabjohn said, ‘and one that’s never been satisfactorily answered. The simple solution would be that he was afraid of something inside the tomb.’

  ‘But the tomb was broken into twice shortly after Tut’s death. The thieves were caught and executed by Horemheb’s guards. If Horemheb hated Tut so much, why execute them instead of letting them get on with it?’

  ‘To keep their mouths shut?’

  ‘If that’s the case, then Horemheb was not only afraid of what-ever was in Tut’s tomb, but also didn’t want anyone to know about it. Maybe the thieves threatened to blab, and had to be taken out.’

  ‘But no one touched the tomb for nearly three and a half thousand years,’ Elena said.

  ‘Precisely,’ I said. ‘That means that Carter and Carnarvon must have found the secret when they opened the tomb in 1923.’

  ‘But everything they found has been recorded.’

  ‘Has it?’ I said, bringing the United American Press printout from my rucksack and unfolding it in front of them. ‘Then what about this?’

  24

  I tried to phone Doc before I went to bed, but there was no answer. That worried me. I knew she could look after herself, but I’d have been far happier if she’d stayed here with us. Rabjohn showed me to a spacious bedroom on the first floor, with en suite bathroom and its own small balcony overlooking the garden. ‘I call this the “Arab room”,’ he told me. ‘I thought it might amuse you, Jamie. It is the only room in the house totally devoid of anything ancient Egyptian.’

  Actually it was furnished and decorated with exquisite taste. The bed-head, the wardrobe and the writing desk were superbly carved hardwood antiques — abstract Islamic work probably from Zanzibar or Yemen — and there were a couple of excellent oil paintings on the wall, heavily framed in gilt. One showed Arabs mounted on camels — I recognised it as Pelerins Allant a La Mecque by the French artist Auguste Belly — and the other Arab horsemen sweeping past in frantic action. ‘Delacroix,’ Rabjohn said as I peered at it. ‘A most complex person, a romantic like your father, Jamie. He toured North Africa in the 1830s and was utterly entranced by the brilliant colours and pristine images he found.’ I gasped inwardly as I took in the information. A Belly and a Delacroix! These two paintings alone were worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

  There was a rug of shimmering colours spread in front of the open fireplace, which Rabjohn seemed very proud of. ‘Handmade by the Qashgai nomads of Iran,’ he said, ‘and quite unique. Not strictly Arab of course — the Qashgai are of Turkish extraction — but appropriate all the same, I think.’ He went out for a moment, and I put my knapsack down and stepped on to the balcony. From here you could see the ceaseless play of lights along Al-Urubba street — cars and buses heading to and from the airport. Above me lay the night sky with its luminous chains of stars. Rabjohn followed me a couple of minutes later with a bottle of Cognac and two small glasses. ‘Care for a nightcap?’ he asked.

  ‘All right,’ I said.

  He placed glasses on the wrought-iron balcony table, poured the Cognac, and handed me a glass.

  ‘Please — sit down,’ he said and we seated ourselves in the two old-fashioned lounging chairs standing one each side of the table.

  ‘Cheers!’ I said, raising my glass.

  ‘Sahhatale he answered in Arabic, ‘your health!’

  ‘You speak Arabic?’ I asked.

  He shrugged, ‘Shwayya,’ he said. That could have meant ‘little’ or ‘a little’: honesty or modesty.

  ‘Tell me, did Julian mention where he got the ushabtis?’

  ‘No. I admit I was curious, but I agreed it was better not to know. In a business like this you can’t be sure of anyone.’

  ‘How did you come to meet Julian? I mean, I knew him pretty well up till two years ago, and I never remember him talking about you.’

  ‘No, we met after your time. Of course, I know all about your trouble with the Antiquities Service. Julian was launching the Zerzura Project, and he came to me for sponsorship. I was able to give him some little help, of course, but not as much as I would have liked.’

  ‘I thought the Antiquities Service funded the Zerzura Project.’

  ‘Yes, but you know how it is these days. Unless it’s something big and brassy that will attract the tourists, no one’s enthusiastic. They gave him only a pittance. I have to say that I don’t always get on well with Egyptologists. Good Lord, they’re so precious now that they bark at you if you call them “archaeologists”, as if Egyptology and archaeology were completely separate disciplines. But more than that, it’s their approach that bothers me. They are, generally speaking, exclusively utilitarian. That is, they’re interested almost entirely in what one might call ephemera.’

  ‘I object!’ I said, grinning. ‘That argument coming from a collector like yourself is certainly the pot calling the kettle black!’

  He laughed. ‘Touché!’ he said. ‘It’s true I’m a collector — I love to own beautiful things and to have them around me.’

  ‘Your collection is impressive.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve only seen the surface skimmings. Beneath this house is a very extensive basement, containing what one might call my private collection. I shall show it to you one day. No, I’m proud of my collection, but don’t be misled into believing that artefacts are my only or even my main concern. Many Egyptologists are so obsessed with the form of things that they miss the symbolic and esoteric elements in ancient Egyptian culture. One cannot ascertain the meaning of such elements by reason alone — one must use both reason and insight.’

  ‘You begin to sound like Julian.’

  ‘Now you understand why Julian and I got on so well. Yes, I admired him bec
ause he was one of the few Egyptologists able to step out of the narrow confines of the discipline and enter the ancient Egyptian mind.’

  ‘According to Karlman the ancient Egyptian mind was full of occult secrets.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The Professor. Tell me, how did you get along with him?’

  ‘I didn’t. He ridiculed my theory about the origins of Egyptian civilisation, then told me half an hour later that I was “head and shoulders” above the rest. The man’s completely off his chump!’

  ‘That’s true enough. But with all due respect, he might have had a point. Why do you hold such a difficult view?’

  I paused, searching among an array of possible truths. ‘I don’t know,’ I said at last, ‘I mean on one hand it’s not such a remarkable theory. It’s clear from the archaeological record that some time in the Predynastic period a race of outsiders arrived in Egypt, bringing with them advanced knowledge. Hieroglyphic writing, monumental architecture, art, sciences, these things all seem to have sprung to life in ancient Egypt without any evidence of slow development from earlier forms. They can only have been introduced fully-fledged from somewhere else. No one has yet been able to pinpoint an actual place of origin for this advanced race. I like to call it “Atlantis”, but I’m speaking only conjecturally. “Atlantis” is a symbol of some unknown, undiscovered civilisation.’

  ‘Fine. That much is at least one reasonable interpretation of the data. But a civilisation with lasers and telescopes? Advanced technology that was later lost? Where’s the evidence?’

  ‘Well, look at the pyramids. No one has yet explained satisfactorily how they were built or even when. After the invasion of Egypt in the seventh century, the Arabs discovered a manuscript revealing that there were at least thirty caches of “treasure” concealed inside the Great Pyramid. This “treasure” wasn’t gold or silver, but ancient artefacts — detailed maps of the earth and the sky on a glass-like material which was indestructible, powerful weapons that fired beams of light, instruments which allowed one to see pictures from far away, and others which could send messages to the stars.’