The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  Like any Kemetu city, there were many places where the dead were prepared for eternity, and a large city like Waset probably boasted a hundred, from the Royal House of the Dead where only members of the reigning family and the higher nobles were treated, to the mean hovels outside the city on the edges of the desert. The techniques used to preserve the body of the deceased were as varied. If the family could afford it, the body spent seventy days turning from the fleshy covering of the soul to the light, dry residence of the Ba spirit. Water and fat disappeared, the internal organs were removed, the vital ones packed into jars and the useless ones like the brain thrown out. The body cavities were washed and filled with aromatic spices and resins, and the body wrapped in long strips of linen. Sandwiched between the layers, and held in place by dabs of resin, were scraps of papyrus with written prayers or costly jewels. Arrayed within the linen shroud, the preserved body then rested within coffins of wood and gold leaf, inside shrines inscribed with prayers and all within the dark spaces of the earth, tombs carved from the living rock.

  The fate of the poorest class was very simple. If they could not afford anything else, the dead body was placed in a simple pit excavated at the edge of the desert. The heat and dryness sucked the moisture from the body and it became a skeleton wrapped in a taut parchment of skin. Simple grave offerings of bread and beer, or a handful of grain, sustained the spirit of the deceased in the poverty it was accustomed to. If the dead man or woman had a dutiful son or spouse, rocks would be placed on the grave to deter the desert jackals, messengers of jackal-headed Anpu.

  Although Nakhtmin's task looked daunting, the application of a little logic simplified the whole business. Smenkhkare had been a king. His only surviving relative who cared a jot what happened to his body, was a royal princess. That fact alone ruled out all but a dozen of the Houses. Somewhere in one of those Halls lay the object of his search, and when he found the dead, it would lead him to the living. Being a logical man, Nakhtmin started at the top, though he knew it was extremely unlikely that the Royal House would risk such an act of sacrilege. Actually, it was a wonder that anyone would risk it, leading as it would to death and a pauper's hole in the desert, but somehow the dead king and his sister had made friends in the city. One or more of these friends were shielding the fugitives, but Nakhtmin would find them.

  Two days passed, but Nakhtmin achieved little except hostility from the population. He increased the number of searchers and the rewards and started again, entering and searching every house, shop and storehouse in the city. The houses of the nobles proved more difficult but fear opened many doors albeit reluctantly. The Houses of the Dead proved harder to search than anticipated. Nakhtmin had thought it simply a matter of looking for a body that matched the dead king's description, but he found many bodies, none of which resembled what he thought a body should look like. He even went so far as to have the natron baths dredged, his stomach heaving as he glimpsed the tortured grimaces of bodies in the process of having their water and fat ripped from them. Only once did think he had found something, at one of the second rank Houses near the East Gate. An ancient embalmer by the name of Ipuwer ran the establishment though his son Rekhmire was the one that showed him through the halls and chambers.

  A natron bath in one of the back rooms contained the contorted body of a man that bore a passing resemblance to Smenkhkare, right down to the wound along his left chest and flank. He ordered his men to haul the body free of the caustic solution and turned to stare accusingly at the embalmer.

  "I suppose you are going to tell me you know nothing about this body."

  "I assure you I know everything about every body in this House," Rekhmire replied. "What is the problem?"

  "Who is this?" Nakhtmin asked, pointing at the body that was now encrusted with a bloom of salt crystals from the drying brine.

  "His name was Hetepnebi, a junior officer of the Heru legion of Lord Horemheb's army. His family is minor nobility in Ta Mehu. He was brought in on the first day of the battle by a relative, a fellow officer by the name of Natsefamen."

  Nakhtmin grunted. "Strange that he has a wound on his left side like the dead rebel."

  "You do not visit the Houses of the Dead often, do you officer? All the bodies have such wounds. We open the left flank to remove the viscera before they are placed in the natron bath."

  Nakhtmin grimaced with annoyance. "I want a list of every body you have on the premises--names, dates they came in, cause of death and who is paying for the embalming. Send it to me at the palace by sunset. And do not forget this one. I will be checking with the Heru legion commander when they return." He left the East Gate House a little later, and then visited another two minor Houses before stumping back up to the palace in an ill humour. There he found a summons to the king's bedchamber.

  Being preoccupied with his mission for the last few days, Nakhtmin had been out of touch with the king's illness, but as he made his way through the palace he took notice of the sombre mood of the place, the way the servants hurried past with downcast eyes or loitered in the shadows. Instead of the usual bustle and noise of hundreds of men and women employed in providing for the few elite, the atmosphere was heavy, the voices muted.

  The doors of the royal chambers stood open, though they were guarded as usual by men of the Tjaty's own household. Inside, several men were gathered in the king's bedchamber, standing around the bed in complete silence. The air was close and dim, heavy cloth covering the windows to shut out both the bright light and the breezes from the river. Nakhtmin gagged as he entered and grabbed at a cloth soaked in spices offered by a servant. He pressed it to his nose and moved closer to the bed, staring down at the wasted figure on the sweat and pus-soaked sheets. The left leg of the stricken man was swollen to twice the diameter of the other, the skin stretched tight and red, streaked with gray-green. The wound above the knee gaped open, pus trickling out.

  Ay drew his adopted son aside and murmured in a low voice, "Have you found them yet?"

  "No, but I'm following a few trails and I've started a new search of the city."

  "I doubt you'll find them. They have too many friends."

  "I've increased the reward."

  "I have another avenue for you to pursue, one that is not so reliant on betrayal. The embalmed man needs a tomb but his own tomb that he started when he was king has been taken over and enlarged for this one." Ay nodded at the thin body of Tutankhamen. "See the guards in the Valley of Burial. Find out if there are any pits or excavations that could be adapted for a deposed king."

  Nakhtmin nodded. "I'll get right onto it." He stared past his father to the bed where a servant was wiping a damp cloth over the dying king's fevered face. "What about him?"

  "He will not live out the day."

  "Then what?"

  "Then things get interesting. Horemheb has won a great victory at Ta-senet and pursued the remnants of Menkure's army toward Kharga. I sent another message in the king's name that Horemheb was to pursue the survivors and wipe them out to a man, even if it meant going deep into the plains of Kush. That will keep him away from Waset for at least three months."

  The king stirred on the bed and his eyelids fluttered open. Through parched and cracked lips he muttered, "Is Ankhe here yet? I want to see her."

  "No, your majesty," murmured the palace chamberlain, kneeling by the bed. "The queen has been sent for but it will be several days yet. Men-nefer is a long way."

  "I cannot wait," Tutankhamen whispered. After a pause his dry tongue brushed his lips again. "Where is Horemheb?"

  "He is pursuing your enemies, majesty," Ay said in a voice loud enough to be heard by all in the room. "As you ordered."

  "I don't...remember. I...I must name my heir."

  "Already done, majesty. I have the document, sealed and witnessed in the Amun temple."

  "It is? I...I don't...'member." For several minutes there was no sound in the room apart from the king's sporadic and laboured breathing. At length, he stirred again, h
is fingertips scrabbling faintly against the sheets. "Where is Ankhe?"

  "It is cruel to deny him his wife," Ay mused.

  "And how will you get her here any faster?" the chamberlain retorted.

  "He is nearly gone and would not recognise her if she was here. Bring in a young female servant to hold his hand. He will not know the difference."

  "You would deceive the king?" Teti, one of the court nobles on the other side of the bed, looked shocked.

  Ay shrugged. "It would be a kindness. If you would rather the king continued to suffer..."

  "No." Teti shook his head and whispered to the other nobles near him. "No," he repeated. "Let a girl be brought in then."

  Ay stepped outside the chamber and grabbed the first slim girl he saw. Impatiently, he cut through her terrified stammering and told her to follow his directions implicitly. "You will hold the king's hand and just say 'Tuti, I am here.' Do not volunteer anything else, as I will tell you if I need you to say more. Do you understand?"

  "My lord," whimpered the girl. "I cannot do that. I cannot touch the king's person. Please do not make me." She fell to her knees and grasped Ay's knees in terror.

  "Get up, you fool of a girl." He dragged her to her feet and propelled her through the door into the bedchamber. "Just do as I say and no harm will come to you."

  The girl still whimpered and Nakhtmin leaned across and whispered. "There is a gold bracelet in it for you if you do a good job." She quietened down immediately and looked at the general with wide eyes. "A reward is often more productive than a threat," he muttered.

  "Majesty," Ay said. "Queen Ankhesenamen has arrived and is here to see you." He led the girl forward and she knelt beside the bed, taking the king's hot hand in hers.

  "Tuti, I am here."

  Tutankhamen gave a ragged sigh. He moved his body slightly and shuddered as a fresh wave of pain swept over him. "Ankhe, my love...what will...become of you?"

  Ay leaned close to the girl's ear and whispered.

  "You will be well, Tuti, you'll see."

  "No, for he...he stands and waits..." The king's eyes slid past the girl to the corner of the room. A tiny smile hovered around the emaciated youth's lips. "He does not hate me," he whispered, wonder in his voice. Tutankhamen closed his eyes and his breath became shallow, almost dying away. The girl looked up questioningly but Ay shook his head.

  "Wait," he mouthed.

  Minutes dragged by, then a tremor racked the king's body. "Ankhe...you still...there?" The girl squeezed his hand gently. "Trust Tjaty Hor...Ho...Tjaty." The breath caught in his throat. "Love..." The frail hand let go of the girl's and the thin chest gave up its struggle with the air.

  "The king is dead," Nakhtmin said. "Let all who hear, attend to the king's last wishes. He bade the queen trust the Tjaty--Tjaty Ay."

  Lord Teti stared across the bed at the old Tjaty. "That was not what I heard. The king tried to name Tjaty Horemheb. Everyone knows he trusted him."

  "Which is why he sent him off to do what Lord Horemheb does best, kill the enemies of Kemet," Ay said smoothly. "In the meantime, the king openly confirmed me as Tjaty and named me as his heir as well..."

  "That is a lie," Teti said. "He would never do that. He would leave his Queen as regent--for all we know she is expecting a child, an heir."

  Ay laughed. "You presume to know the king's mind? I can show you the document with his seal, witnessed by honest men. The Prophets of Amun have it in safe keeping."

  "I want to see that document--and question the witnesses."

  "So you shall, lord Teti--at the proper time. But now, our beloved king lies dead and the whole of Kemet will mourn his passing. Let us put aside politics until Nebkheperure Tutankhamen has been buried in a manner befitting his exalted status."

  Lord Teti bowed his head and left the death chamber, followed by the rest of the nobles. Ay dismissed the servants and the frightened girl, now crying with what looked like genuine tears. He asked the Chamberlain to fetch the embalmers, and then waited with Nakhtmin until they were alone.

  "There really is a will?" Nakhtmin asked.

  "Of course. Mind you, I doubt he really knew what he was putting his mark to."

  "And the witnesses?"

  Ay smiled. "Likewise."

  "Won't Lord Teti then call the will into question when he questions the witnesses?"

  "Lord Teti has a passion for fishing. A very dangerous sport. All sorts of accidents could happen on the river between now and the reading of the king's will."

  A noise came from the antechamber and Ay's expression became sombre once more. He watched as the embalmers from the Royal House of the Dead entered the king's chamber, laden down with the instruments and unguents of their trade. Wrapping the body of their young king in clean linen, they carried him out to start the last journey of his earthly existence--a journey that would end with the shutting of the tomb doors in seventy days time.

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  Chapter Thirty-Five

  King Ankhkheperure Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare had lain in the natron bath undisturbed since the visit of General Nakhtmin. He was drawn from the drying chamber at the proper time and prepared to face eternity by the father and son embalmers of the East Gate House of the Dead, Ipuwer and Rekhmire.

  The embalmers dismissed their several staff and after securing the doors, retired to a small rear chamber laid out with the costliest spices, resins and perfumes that could be found. Scarab had turned up at the fifty day mark, in the darkest hours of a moonless night, with enough gold to ensure the body was wrapped in a manner befitting a king.

  "Forgive my presumption, lady," Ipuwer said as he received the gold, "But this will only ensure the body is ready for eternity. What of the other necessities--a tomb, a coffin, sarcophagus, tomb goods?"

  "It is all being taken care of, good Ipuwer. I am forever in your debt for this."

  The old man shook his head. "You honour my humble establishment. I have never handled the body of a king before." He smiled at the shadowed figure of the princess. "Do not fear, lady. I know my craft and not even the young king in the Royal House will be treated better."

  "Then I will leave you until the sixty-seventh day." The shadowy figure slipped out into the streets of Waset, and Ipuwer started a comprehensive list of requirements for his son to purchase over the next few days.

  Scarab had other calls to make, both within the city, and in the towns and villages beyond. While Ay's agents sought grave goods and furnishings from the best craftsmen of Waset, Scarab knew her elder brother would be quite content to be surrounded by artefacts created by the common people of Kemet. That is not to say the quality was any less, for the artisans poured their love and sorrow into their work. The task of creating Smenkhkare's tomb had been going on from the day of his death, and involved the full time activities not just of Scarab, but also Khu, Nebhotep, and her handful of loyal followers from the army. When it came to a decision, Huni, Sepi, Hapu, Kahi and Pamont had opted to remain close to Scarab, eschewing any dubious opportunities that lay with Menkure's army of retreat. They had each taken an assignment and carried it through with enthusiasm.

  Smenkhkare's tomb had been of prime concern. Most tombs are carved out of the solid rock by teams of masons over a period of many years. The tomb is started just after the king's coronation and if the king reigns for a reasonable length of time, will become a secure home for eternity. Smenkhkare's tomb had been started but upon his sudden disappearance, his youthful successor had taken it over and in the next nine years, expanded it to modest proportions. The elder king was now without a tomb.

  Scarab knew that there was no possibility of creating another tomb in the Valley of Burial within the seventy days. They could not hope to work in secrecy and if they were discovered it would mean the destruction of the king's body and probably death for her and her friends. The other factor which swayed her eventual choice was the chance of tomb robbers. It was common knowledge that the Valley of Buria
l was not a secure location and probably most of the graves had been broken into at one time or another. Medjay patrolled the Valley but it was a hopeless task, and how could they hope to protect a secret tomb?

  Instead, Scarab sought a more radical solution. Rather than placing her brother's tomb among the other kings of Kemet, she would arrange a secret burial elsewhere. Nearly six years before, after the debacle of the first battle at Waset, they had fled south on two ships, carrying a huge hoard of gold and other treasures, gleaned from the Nubian mines and the governor's treasury at Abu. They had stopped along the way, near Behdet where a line of vegetation speared down from the western cliffs to the river, and there, in those tall cliffs, had hidden the treasury of Smenkhkare. Scarab had returned to the cave and dug away the plug of earth and stone to reveal a deep shaft through the solid sandstone cliffs. At the bottom, in a series of vaulted excavations--for this was clearly an artificial cave, carved out beyond the memory of the local inhabitants--lay the undisturbed gold and precious items...

  * * *

  Dani looked up from her close scrutiny of the tiny hieroglyphs and passed a hand over her eyes. "The...the account is...is...I'm sorry. I'm just very tired."

  "Perhaps we should all take a break," Daffyd said.

  "Can you continue?" Bashir asked.

  Dani nodded. "Give me a moment." Her eyes scanned the lines of pictographs and her lips moved slightly as she read ahead. "Yes, Scarab describes the contents of the treasury again--nothing new--and then continues." She skipped a passage and took up the narrative again, though for a time Dani's words were uncertain and hesitant, as if she were searching for something that was not written on the walls of the chamber.