And what of the so-called star shafts of the Great Pyramid? If, as some authorities assert, the king’s soul was intended to traverse these shafts in order that it could target its stellar destination and project itself in the right direction up into the starry heavens, why then would the king require several unassembled solar barques buried outside his pyramid? These unassembled boats were buried underground, while the internal soul shafts pointed skyward. Was it expected that the king’s soul would come down from the heavens, having been projected there by the star shafts, to then embark on a solar barque on which to sail back up into the heavens? These mainstream ideas are somewhat inconsistent and seem to be at odds with each other and surely demand a more cohesive explanation.
10. THE SARCOPHAGI
Some of the key pieces of evidence Egyptologists hold up as proof that the early, giant pyramids were used as tombs for ancient Egyptian kings are the stone containers found within the internal chambers of a few of these early pyramids—stone containers that appear remarkably similar to the sarcophagi found in known mastaba tombs of the period. Appearances, however, can be deceptive.
First, while fragments of bone have been recovered from a number of the early, giant pyramids, only three pyramids from this period (G1, G2, and G3) contained a stone box, and of these none have yielded the remains of any ancient Egyptian king. As mentioned in chapter 2, a number of burials were found in some pyramids, but these are known to have been intrusive burials from much later times.
Second, a number of so-called sarcophagi have been found in modern times completely intact and unopened, having been undisturbed since first being placed in the chamber. When these stone containers were opened they were found to be empty. The conventional answer to this conundrum posited by Egyptology is that the king was perhaps killed in battle or that the body was otherwise unavailable at the time of burial. But this still does not explain why the supposed “sarcophagus” or “burial chamber” should have been found empty because, as stated previously, it is known that the ancient Egyptians in situations where the dead king’s body was in absentia would fashion a ka statue of the king made of wood or stone and place this within the sarcophagus or within the tomb. We have to ask then: Why were no surrogate ka statues of the king found in these undisturbed “sarcophagi” or “burial chambers”?
There are further issues concerning these stone containers found in some of the early pyramids that raise further questions as to their true function, and these issues will be discussed in chapter 9.
It seems then that for the best part of two hundred years, consensus Egyptology has insisted that the early, giant pyramids of ancient Egypt were conceived and built as the eternal resting place of the deceased king and as his instrument of transfiguration and ascension that would carry him up to the heavenly realm and to his eternal afterlife. However, it is extremely difficult to reconcile the facts presented in this chapter with the overly simplistic and somewhat romantic and naive notions of the Egyptologists. There are simply too many anomalies, too many affronts to common sense, too many facts that simply do not fit the tomb paradigm that is so embraced by the Egyptologists.
Once again, however, this is not to say that the early, giant pyramids could not have been used as tombs at some point in their long history—of course they could. But it simply does not seem, from the available evidence and the facts presented here, that they could have been originally conceived and constructed with such a notion in mind, at least not at the beginning of the pyramid-building age.
If it is evidence that we must base our theories on, then the evidence presented in this book strongly suggests that these early, giant pyramids were not at all funerary in nature but seem to have been constructed with some other, grander purpose in mind, a purpose that seems to be associated with a chthonic ritual of “revivicating” the Earth.
4
Barriers to Discovery
I will reveal the secrets behind these doors.
ZAHI HAWASS
I had come so far on my journey of discovery only to find that, at the last gasp, I could go no farther, for stretching out before me—left and right for as far as the eye could see—stood a high wire fence (figure 4.1), a great barrier across the desert that had become known as “Zahi’s Wall” after the former Egyptian head of antiquities, Zahi Hawass, Ph.D., who had instigated its construction. The “doorway” to my destination had been well and truly slammed shut and that, as such, meant there would be no great revelation or any ceremonial laying of my small, granite pyramid in honor of Osiris. The bitter irony of Hawass’s words (in this chapter’s epigraph) was not lost on me.
I couldn’t believe I had come this far only to be thwarted at the final hurdle by such a hideous obstacle. My first thought was the obvious one: Why was such a barrier even necessary? Then I thought, Was it to prevent people getting out from the Giza site and into a restricted area, or was its purpose simply to prevent people from accessing the Giza site from the other side of this very long barrier? Or was there some other reason altogether? Was this fence perhaps erected to prevent anyone from getting too close to the very desert location I had identified, the apex point of the Great Giza Triangle? Was this theoretically significant location perhaps already known and being investigated by the Egyptian authorities, and was it now regarded as a restricted area, hence the construction of this barrier? Gaping through the wire fence I could see exactly where I needed to go—up and over a small hill about two hundred feet or so beyond the barrier. Frustration didn’t even come close to what I was now feeling. I simply had to get beyond this insufferable obstacle.
I approached the fence to have a closer look, trying to see if there were any obvious gaps or weaknesses that I might be able to exploit. I trekked its length for about two hundred meters, back and forth, trying to find even the smallest weakness. But try as I might, the only thing I found was an abomination of twenty-first-century junk—sheets of newspaper, plastic bags, plastic cups, McD’s wrappers, empty plastic water bottles, Coke cans, and a whole multitude of other undesirable refuse—all of it having been blown across the desert from the plateau, whereupon it had become snagged by the fence and had settled into a great drift of human garbage. Undoubtedly, archaeologists digging at this spot some five thousand years in the future will find it a most lucrative midden that will greatly assist them in their reconstruction of life in twenty-first-century Egypt.
Alas, however, not a single break was to be found in any part of the barrier.
Things were becoming desperate. I next thought about an attempt at climbing over the fence. It was high, as much as thirteen feet in places, and though it would most certainly be tricky, I didn’t consider it by any means an impossible task. But then another thought crossed my mind. It might be electrified. There didn’t appear to be any signs anywhere warning of this possibility, but then, this was Egypt; that there were no warning signs anywhere was no assurance of anything.
After some moments of anxious deliberation, I came to a decision. I’d come this far and to turn back now having been so close to my goal was quite unthinkable to me. The decision was made; I had to risk it.
I picked up a couple of Coke cans and threw them against the fence, whereupon they simply dropped to the sand with no apparent consequence. I wasn’t quite sure exactly what I might expect to discover by doing this, but given that nothing obvious had occurred, I next (and very tentatively) extended a finger and tapped the wire fence, withdrawing my finger from the fence faster than a speeding bullet. No buzz. No spark. No “don’t-even-think-about-it” tingling up my arm. Nothing. I gave the fence another quick tap, holding my finger on the wire just a fraction longer. Still nothing. It seemed to be okay.
So, with both hands I quickly grasped the fence and began a very precarious and mostly undignified ascent. Having perhaps reached a height of around four or five feet from the ground, it was then that something really bad happened. It was a noise—the most appalling, heart-stopping noise I had ever heard. I qu
ickly let go of the fence, dropped to the ground, and glanced around in the direction of the noise. It had sounded like a horse or a donkey. But it wasn’t. It was a camel, and atop the camel sat its rider, an Antiquities Guard, his dark, clouded face frowning at me, his automatic firearm resting casually across the saddle. Talk about being caught red-handed—like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.
This was not good. I tried to say something, but the words came out choked and garbled. Thoughts of ancient legends and secret chambers melted from my mind like snow off a dike as I frantically tried to think of some way of dealing with this little crisis.
The guard said something in Arabic. I must have looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights, and the dumb look on my face surely told the guard that I wasn’t from around those parts and that I hadn’t a clue what he had asked me.
“Speak English?” he asked sharply. Somewhat sheepishly, I nodded.
“What are you doing out here? Where are you going?”
This was, of course, the very scenario I had built hope upon hope of avoiding. And here it was—bright as day and as real as your worst nightmare. But what could I say?
“I’m . . . I’m exploring.” It was all I could think of that was vague enough and not an outright lie.
“Exploring?” He took a moment or two to swivel his head, side to side, scanning the length of the wall in both directions. “What exploring?”
Which was a fair enough question given that there was nothing at all of any obvious interest in this area to explore (other than the fence itself), and I could only answer him with another meek smile and a vague gesture with my arms flailing like windmills as if to say, “This place—Egypt.” It wasn’t the scorching heat that was now making me sweat buckets; it was more the looming thought of a dark and dingy Egyptian jail.
The guard considered my reply for a few moments. He was about to say something when a sharp burst of Arabic crackled from his radio. He picked it up and spoke into it, then returned it to his belt after a short exchange.
He leaned forward. “Where are you from? American?”
Again almost choking on the words, I spluttered, “No. Scottish. I’m from Scotland.”
No sooner had I spoken than the guard leaned forward, his eyes grew wide, and his mouth becoming slightly agape. And then, as though I had just uttered a string of magic words, like a broken spell, the guard’s hitherto menacing demeanor instantly changed.
“Scotland! Scotland! Then you are Egyptian, my friend,” he proclaimed. “You are son of Egypt.” He almost seemed to be rejoicing at this revelation, all of which I considered more than a little strange, but I was more than happy to accept the sudden change in the atmosphere between us. I beamed back brightly, though still not really knowing why the guard was so obviously elated by this revelation of my country of birth. I just kept on smiling.
“This we are taught as children at school,” he announced. “Egyptians discovered Scotland many years ago in the old days. You are son of Egypt. We are brothers.” He seemed very emphatic about that and certainly over the years I had read many of the ancient legends of how the Scottish (and Irish) people were believed to have originally descended from the land of the pharaohs. Indeed, even today, the Egyptian businessman and philanthropist Mohamed Al Fayed has plans under way to erect in his Highland estate of Balnagown in Scotland a statue of Princess Scota (sometimes given as Scotia), an ancient Egyptian princess who legend tells us had to flee Egypt with her husband and many of her followers, whereupon she traversed through Greece and the lands of the Mediterranean until, eventually, she reached Spain. From there Scota and her small band crossed over into Ireland, where they fought a bloody pitched battle, and finally, after a number of years, her people, the Scoti or Scots, finally crossed the Irish Sea and arrived in Scotland, which was so named in honor of the princess.
Indeed, of this connection of the Scots to ancient Egypt, Al Fayed writes:
Legend has it that over 3,600 years ago an Egyptian army sailed to a land north of Ireland and named it Scotland after their princess, Scota.
Does this mean that the kilt’s origins are embedded in ancient Egyptian dress? Quite possibly. The origination of the kilt has had historians stumped. Some speculate that an Englishman introduced the Celtic kilt; some say it stems from the Irish; others suggest its roots are planted all the way back in Egypt. And there is evidence to support this last theory.
In the early 1440s a work called the “Scotichronicon” records Walter Bower writing of proof that the Scots were of Greek and Egyptian descent; not only that, but the country’s name derived from the Egyptian Princess Scota.
Apparently, Scota sailed from Egypt to Ireland with her sons and an army, intent on avenging the death of her husband who had been killed at the hands of the Irish. She died on Irish soil and is said to be entombed in Gleann Scoithin, Kerry (now Foley’s Glen). Some time later a group from Ireland called Scotis sailed north, settling in what became known as Scotland.
The discovery of two Egyptian sailing ships in a Yorkshire Estuary, dating to around 1400 BC supports this theory, as do other archaeological findings in Scotland, including Egyptian faience beads dating from the same period.
. . . It is probable then, that the Egyptian soldiers swapped their linen kilts and belts for a warmer woolen weave. What’s more, when they sailed from Ireland to Scotland they took with them many native Irish words, including tarsna, meaning crosswise which later became “tartan.” No under-garments were worn.1
I was aware also of other ancient traces that seemingly linked these two ancient nations. The Scots are renowned the world over for their kilt, which, as Al Fayed points out, was first worn by the ancient Egyptians. The ancient Scots also, just like the ancient Egyptians, mummified their dead and, just like the ancient Egyptians, knew the apex of the pyramid (a stone mountain) was capped with a benben stone, and so the ancient Scots (even to this day) refer to the mountains in Scotland as bheins or bens, as in Ben Nevis, Ben Lomond, and so on. Furthermore, recent scientific research into the DNA of Tutankhamun has reported the controversial (and disputed) discovery that a particular haplogroup of his DNA (R1b1a2) is found most predominantly within the DNA of the Celtic (Irish/Scottish) people. It is hoped that new DNA profiling techniques such as “next-generation sequencing” will produce more detailed and accurate information that might finally help settle this thorny question.
And finally, in Munster, County Kerry, in the southwest of Ireland there is a place formerly known as Glenn Scota (now Foley’s Glen), where, according to Irish legend, Princess Scota fought a bloody battle against indigenous Irish tribes (the Tuatha de Danann) and was defeated and killed (see figure 4.2). As Egyptologist Lorraine Evans explains:
The Annals then goes on to relate how forty-eight married couples, four servants and Scota, daughter of a pharaoh, accompanied the Sons of Mil across the sea from Spain when they went to seek land from Ireland. They proposed to take Ireland at Inbatr Slaine because of the prophecy that said a famous company would take Ireland at that place. . . . In this battle died Scota, daughter of a pharaoh, wife of Eremon.
The Account of Scota’s death at the battle of Slieve Mish is also confirmed in the Lebor Gabala, where it states that the sons of Mil originated from northern Spain. The fleet subsequently left Spain and sailed to Ireland to take it from the Tuatha de Danann. On the third day, after landing, they fought a bloody battle at Slieve Mish. In this battle fell Scota the daughter of a pharaoh. . . . The battle lasted for a long time, and the sons of Mil were eventually victorious and took the seat of Tara.2
Figure 4.2. Signpost to Scotia’s (Scota’s) Grave on the roadside, near Tralee, County Kerry, Ireland
“You are Egyptian,” the guard said emphatically with a smile as wide as the Clyde.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” I replied, smiling back and nodding affirmatively. Given the more relaxed atmosphere I felt brave enough to ask about the fence. “Why is this fence here?”
His respons
e was very matter-of-fact. “It is to protect the monuments. And to protect the visitors. You must go from here. It is not safe to be out here alone.”
The guard’s remark was presented more as an order than a choice. I felt I had pushed my luck far enough that day and did not pursue my questions further. We said our farewells, and the guard remained at the fence, watching as I turned back in the direction of the road that would take me back to the Giza pyramids. It had not been a good day, but though bitterly disappointed at not reaching my goal, I figured that matters could have been a whole lot worse. But the thought remained in my head, Why the fence? Some time later I e-mailed Hawass to ask this question about his wall and received pretty much the same reason as the Antiquities Guard had stated to me: “The ‘Wall’ is there for the protection of our guests.”3
Hawass did not elaborate on this, but shortly after my visit to Giza plans were hatched by him to revamp the wall, ostensibly to prevent “hawkers” from peddling their wares to tourists. As such, all manner of additional security features were added in order to foil the hawkers.
Egypt’s famous Giza Pyramids are being given a £14m ($27m) makeover, starting with a state-of-the art security fence to stop hawkers harassing tourists.
Visitors to the World Heritage site have for years had to fend off persistent peddlers, offering camel rides and trinkets. Now a 12-mile (20-km) fence, complete with infra-red sensors, security cameras and alarms has been erected. It is the first phase of a project to modernize the 5,000-year-old site. Egyptian authorities say once the revamp is complete, it will make visiting the Wonder of the World a friendlier experience.
The chain-link fence with its motion sensors, which reaches a height of 13ft (4 metres) at some points, will set off alarms and alert the security control room if anyone gets too close. Watched by CCTV, visitors will now enter through a security building and pass through gates with metal detectors and X-ray machines.
The Secret Chamber of Osiris: Lost Knowledge of the Sixteen Pyramids Page 9
