by Nick Drake
‘Good evening,’ said the man, in a smoothly ironic tone.
I let him go. He readjusted his impressive gold Collar of Praise–an exceptionally fine one–and then noticed he had spilt wine on his robe. He looked down at the red stain with disappointment. It was probably the worst thing that had happened to him in years.
‘This gentleman has been waiting to see you…for quite a long time.’ My wife looked less than pleased with me. I imagined there would not have been much conversation. She disappeared into the kitchen to fetch a cloth and water, giving me the eye as she passed.
‘I should apologize for appearing in this way. Unannounced. Unexpected…’ he said, in his grand, hushed voice.
‘And unexplained…’ I added.
He looked around the room. He was not impressed by what he saw. Eventually his gaze returned to me.
‘How shall we continue this discussion? I find myself in a quandary. A dilemma…’
‘A predicament.’
‘If you like. A predicament. And the predicament is this: I cannot tell you why I am here. I can only ask whether you will come with me to meet someone.’
‘And you cannot tell me who.’
‘You see my predicament.’
‘It’s a mystery.’
‘But then one hears you are something of an expert at mysteries. A “Seeker of Mysteries.” I never thought to meet such a person, and yet here I am.’
And he graced me with his most withering stare.
‘At least you could tell me your name and titles,’ I said.
‘I am Khay. Chief Scribe, Keeper of the Royal Household. Well, that is all I can tell you at this moment.’
What was a very high official, at the heart of the palace hierarchy, doing in my front room, on this strange day of omens and blood? I was annoyed with myself for being so intrigued. I poured us each a fresh goblet of wine. He glanced at his, clearly unimpressed by its quality; but nevertheless he drank it as if it were water.
‘You are asking me to come now?’
He nodded, almost casually, but I saw he needed me badly.
‘It is late. Why should I leave my family with no certain knowledge of where I am going, or when I will be back?’
‘I can guarantee your safety, of course. Well, I can guarantee my commitment to your safety, which I suppose is not quite the same thing. And I can certainly guarantee you will return home before dawn, if you wish.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Oh…It would be rather difficult…’ he trailed off.
Then he reached into his robes and from a leather pouch brought out an object.
‘I was asked by my client to show you this.’
It was a toy. A wooden man and a big dog with wide red eyes, worked by strings and pulleys. There was a peg. I knew if you turned the peg the man’s arms went up to defend him as the wooden dog rose to attack him. I knew this because I had seen it before, many years ago, in the nursery of the royal family. When the young Queen, who today had been spattered in blood, was a child.
I explained everything to Tanefert in the kitchen. The girls crept out of their room now, and gathered in the safe circle of the lamplight.
‘Who is that man?’ demanded Thuyu.
‘He’s a high official.’
‘A high official of what?’ whispered Sekhmet, thrilled by the arrival of a real, live elite bureaucrat in our home.
Tanefert shushed all their questions, and persuaded them to return to their bedrooms. Nedjmet, the Sweet One, stood there, hardly even looking at me. I picked her up, kissed her, and promised I would return in time for breakfast.
‘Where are you going? It’s dark.’
‘Out to see someone.’
‘Is it work?’
‘Yes. It’s work.’
She nodded gravely, and I passed her to Tanefert, who gave me one of her looks.
‘I’ll leave Thoth on guard.’
She kissed me carefully, and retired to our chamber.
We arrived at the docks, at the place where the ferries cross. By day it is crowded with boats and ships of all sizes, from little reed boats and passenger ferries through to the large commercial ships of the kingdom, and the transporters of stone. The economy that keeps the city thriving and affluent, and supplied with luxuries, construction materials and food, is based here; deals are sealed or betrayed, and goods imported or smuggled. But by night it is quiet. No trade happens in the night hours because it is so dangerous to sail the Great River after dark; crocodiles cruise invisibly, disguising their predatory manoeuvres in the currents and swirls of the black water.
But the sophisticated and beautiful vessel we boarded would need a herd of crocodiles to capsize it; we settled ourselves within the curtained privacy of the cabin and passed the brief crossing in silence. Khay offered me more wine, which I refused. He shrugged and poured some for himself and sat down to drink. I played with the toy, turning the wheel so that the dog, with its crudely sawn ridge of raised wooden hackles and its red fangs, rose repeatedly up to the man. And I thought about the child who had said to me many years ago: Look! It’s you…! But I was not going to open the sealed box of those memories. Not yet. I gazed at the low rooftops and white walls of Thebes lit by the moon as we sailed towards the west bank. Most of the city’s multitudes would be asleep now, to prepare for tomorrow’s return to their perpetual labours; only those with wealth and liberty would still be up, at their private festivals of wine and pleasure, gossiping about the events of the day, and the politics, and the consequences.
We did not dock directly on the western bank, but instead sailed past the guard stations, then up a long, dark channel between the trees and fields, now stirring with nightlife. The channel, built in the straight lines beloved of engineers, opened suddenly into the great T-shaped basin of the Birket Habu lake. Flocks of night birds squabbled on its flat, still surface. Ramps of hewn rock, which protected the surrounding complex of buildings from the inundation, hid the landscape from view. But I knew what lay beyond those ramparts: the Malkata Palace, a vast assemblage of buildings, where the royal family maintained their closely guarded royal quarters and those of the thousands of officials, officers and servants who work to make their strange life possible. It was known as the ‘Palace of Rejoicing,’ but there seemed little about the dark construction that now began to come into view to earn it such an optimistic title. It was famous for the elaboration and expense of its construction under Tutankhamun’s grandfather, and for its remarkable water system that, it was rumoured, supplied bathrooms, pools and gardens even in the heart of the palace. It was said the beds were inlaid with ebony, gold and silver. It was said the doorframes were solid gold. Such are the things people say about the dream palaces they will never visit.
We docked at the vast palace jetty that spread all along the lake’s frontage. Copper bowls of oil on wrought stands burned, giving off a thick, sinister yellow and orange light. The palace guards bowed low as Khay and I stepped off the boat. The depth of their obeisance gave a clear indication of this man’s status here. In any case, he utterly ignored their existence, as these high-ranking men always do.
We set off down a long processional way, lit by lamps, and the welcome, familiar moon, towards the long, low silhouette of the palace complex, and then–my heart compelled by the mystery ahead, and my feet by necessity–we entered a great gloom.
6
The Keeper of the Royal Household took a lit oil lamp from a niche. Everything seemed hushed, lavishly decorated and sealed from the outside world. All along the corridor, down which we marched at speed, were beautiful statues and carvings set upon plinths. I wondered what went on in these side chambers; what meetings, what discussions, what resolutions with what great consequences reaching down through the hierarchies, and out into the unsuspecting and powerless world? We moved on, taking turns to the right or to the left, passing through high, echoing halls where occasional groups of officials conferred and guards were stationed, making ou
r way deeper and deeper into the complex. It was a labyrinth of shadows. Sometimes a servant or a guard passed, their heads bowed low, pretending not to exist as they tended the lights of the oil lamps.
Chamber after chamber of walls painted with glorious scenes of elite pleasure and leisure–birds in the reed marshes, fish in the clear waters–appeared and disappeared in the light of the lamp. It would be difficult to find my way back. My footsteps sounded all wrong–a disturbance in the vast hush. Khay moved ahead on his costly, quiet sandals. I decided to make more noise, just to annoy him. He refused to dignify my behaviour with even a backwards glance. But it is strange and true that we can read a man’s face by the back of his head.
We passed swiftly through a checkpoint, as Khay waved away the elite guards of the royal quarters, and then he led me into the inner sanctum, along another high passageway, until finally we paused before great double doors of dark wood inlaid with silver and gold, beneath a carved, winged scarab. He knocked precisely, and after a pause the doors opened, and we were admitted into a large chamber.
Opulent surfaces and furniture were illuminated by large hammered bowls, set all around the walls, whose flames burned very still and clear. The furnishings and decor were immaculately restrained. Here, the room seemed to say, life could be lived calmly, with elevated feelings. But it also had the air of a stage spectacle: as if behind these glamorous facades one might discover masons’ rubble, painters’ brushes, and unfinished business.
A young woman entered quietly from the courtyard beyond the open doors, and paused at the threshold, between the firelight from the great bowls and the dark shadows that surrounded everything. She seemed to carry something of both with her. Then Ankhesenamun stepped into the light, closer now. Her face, for all its youthful beauty, was engagingly confident. She wore a fashionable, braided, lustrous wig that framed her features, a pleated linen gown tied beneath her right breast, whose flowing cut seemed to sculpt her elegant, neat form, and a broad gold collar, fashioned from row upon row of amulets and beads. Bangles and bracelets shifted and tinkled elegantly around her wrists and ankles as she moved. Rings of gold and electrum flashed on her delicate fingers. Gold disc earrings glittered in the lamplight. She had carefully painted around her eyes with kohl, and drawn out the black lines in a style that was slightly old-fashioned–I realized, as she gazed at me, the ghost of a smile on her lips, that she had deliberately made herself look very much like her mother.
Khay quickly bowed his head, and I copied him, and waited, as protocol demanded, for her to begin the conversation.
‘I am not sure if I remember you, or if what I remember is from stories I have been told.’
Her voice was full of self-possession, and curiosity.
‘Life, prosperity and health. You were very young, majesty.’
‘In another life. Another world, perhaps.’
‘Things have changed,’ I said.
‘Look up,’ she said, quietly; and with an enigmatic flash of her dark eyes, she turned away, expecting me to follow her.
We moved into the courtyard. Khay did not withdraw but followed discreetly, at a distance where he could still hear us, but pretend not to. A fountain trickled somewhere in the shadows. The dark air was cool and scented. She moved along an ornamental pathway, lit by more flickering lamps, further into the moony dark.
I remembered the little girl I had met years before: full of petulance and frustration. And here was an elegant and accomplished young woman. Time itself seemed to be mocking me. Where had the years gone? Perhaps she had grown up very suddenly, too quickly, in the way people do when devastating change falls upon them in youth. I thought of my own girls, their ease with their changing lives and themselves. They had no need, thanks to the gods of fortune, for such strategy and appearance. But they too were growing up, growing away, into their own futures.
‘So you remember me,’ she murmured, as we walked.
‘You had a different name in those days,’ I replied, carefully.
She glanced away.
‘I have had little choice in the matter of myself. I was an awkward unhappy girl, never much of a princess, unlike my sisters; and now they are all dead, it turns out I must be so much more. I have been reinvented, but perhaps I have not yet felt worthy of the role for which I have been–appointed. Is that the word? Or destined?’
She sounded as if she were talking about a stranger, not about herself.
We arrived at a long pool of black water at the centre of the courtyard, with oil lamps placed at each corner. The moon was reflected there, lilting slowly in the water’s dream. The place felt romantic, and secret. We strolled along the pool’s edge. In some way I felt we were moving towards the heart of the matter.
‘My mother told me that if I was ever in real danger, I should call for you. She promised me you would come.’
‘And here I am,’ I replied quietly. I had sealed her mother’s memory in a box in the back of my mind. It was too potent, and too hopeless, to do anything else. And the fact that she was dead now made no difference, for she lived on where I had no power to control her, in my dreams.
‘And since you have called for me, and I am here, you must be in real danger.’
A fish broke the immaculate surface of the water, and concentric rings spread out, lapping silently at the pool’s walls. The moon’s reflection broke apart, and then slowly unified again.
‘I am concerned by signs. Portents…’
‘I am not a great believer in signs and portents.’
‘So I have heard, and that is important. We are too easily alarmed, my husband and me. We need someone with less superstition and less fear. I think of myself as modern, as a person not easily frightened by things that are not there. But I find it is not so. Perhaps this palace does not help. It is so vast and empty of life that the imagination populates it with everything it fears. A wind blows from the wrong direction, down from the Red Land, and already I sense malicious spirits stirring at the curtains. These rooms are too big to sleep in without fear. I keep the lamps lit all night, I rely upon magic, I clutch amulets like a child…It is ridiculous, for I am no longer a child. I cannot afford to indulge the fears of a child.’
She looked away.
‘Fear is a powerful enemy, but a useful friend.’
‘That sounds like something only a man could say,’ she replied, amused.
‘Perhaps you should tell me why you are afraid,’ I said.
‘I hear you listen well.’
‘That is not what my daughters tell me.’
‘Oh yes, you have daughters. A happy family…’
‘It is not always as simple as that.’
She nodded. ‘No family is simple.’
She paused, thinking.
‘I was married to my husband when we were both very young. I was older by a few years. But we were children, united by the state for the purposes of alliances of power. No one asked us if we wished it. Now we are brought out like statues for state occasions. We perform the rites. We make the gestures. We repeat the prayers. And then we are put back inside this palace. In return for this obedience, we are given luxuries and indulgences and privileges. I do not complain. It is all I know. This beautiful shrine is as much of a home as I have known for many years. It is a prison, and yet it has felt like home. Is it strange that I should think of it that way?’
I shook my head.
Again she paused, thinking ahead.
‘But lately–I do not feel safe, even here.’
‘Why?’
‘For many reasons! Partly, perhaps, because I sense something changing in the atmosphere. This palace is a very restrained, highly disciplined world. So when things change, I notice at once: objects that are not where they ought to be, or that appear out of nowhere. Things that could mean nothing, and yet seen another way might imply something mysterious, something…And then, today…’
She ran out of words. Shrugged. I waited for more.
‘You mean
the events at the festival? The blood…?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Something different.’
‘Can you show me?’
‘Yes. But first, there is something more I must tell you.’
She drew me down on to a long bench in the shadows, and spoke in a more cautiously hushed voice, like a conspirator.
‘What I am about to tell you is a secret known only to myself and a very few trusted men. You must give me your word you will keep silence. Words are powers, and silence too has its great power. Those powers are mine, to be respected and obeyed. If you do not, I will know it, and I will not spare your punishment.’
She looked at me gravely.
‘You have my word.’
She nodded, satisfied, and took a deep breath.
‘Tutankhamun will announce his coronation and his ascendancy to the kingship shortly. It would have happened today, after he had communed with the Gods. But that could not happen. Obviously. We were thwarted, on this occasion. But we will not be stopped. The future of the kingdom is at stake.’
She watched for my reaction.
‘He is already King,’ I commented, carefully.
‘But in name only, for Ay is Regent, and he holds all power, in reality. His government is the ruling authority of the kingdom. It remains invisible, and under that cloak he does as he wishes, while we are merely his puppets. So we must grasp power now. While there is still time.’
‘That will be very difficult. And very dangerous.’
‘Obviously. So now you understand better why I have called for you.’
I felt the shadows of the palace darkening around me with every word she spoke.
‘May I ask a question?’
She nodded.
‘Can you be sure Ay would not support him in this?’
Ankhesenamun suddenly looked as lonely as any woman I had ever seen. It was as if the door into her heart had been blown open by a gust of wind. In that moment, I knew there was no way back from this strange night, or escape from the dismal labyrinth of this palace.
