by Nick Drake
She looked directly at me.
‘Will you, Rahotep, accompany the King? You and Simut will be jointly responsible for his safety.’
How had I ended up, after all, holding the shortest of straws? How had I got myself so far into this situation that there was no choice but to go forward? I thought back to Ankhesenamun’s first plea, her appeal based on need and fear. I decided not to think yet about the recriminations, the consequences of all of this, at home.
I bowed my head. Simut glanced at me, and then nodded in agreement.
‘We will need a well-trained and completely trustworthy team. But let us take a small one, without extravagance or unnecessary ostentation: a cook, trackers, servants, and a select handful of guards. They must all have been vetted for security by the offices of the palace, as well as by the treasury. By which I mean Ay himself,’ I said.
‘That is a sensible suggestion,’ said Ankhesenamun, ‘for then we implicate the Regent in the arrangements, rather than excluding him; for in his exclusion he is more dangerous.’
Khay realized he had no choice but to agree.
‘I will make all the necessary security arrangements for the visit to Memphis with Simut,’ he said.
‘Excellent,’ said Tutankhamun. He clapped his hands together. And I realized that for the first time he actually looked happy.
23
The house seemed deserted when I arrived home. I realized how rare it was for me to find myself inside in the daytime. I felt like a stranger, as men do sometimes in their own households. I called out a greeting, but only Thoth responded to the sound of my voice, and came to me, his tail raised.
I found Tanefert watering the plants on the roof. I stood quietly at the top of the stairs, under the portico, for a little while, just watching her as she moved among the pots, self-possessed, self-absorbed. She has a few strands of silver in her midnight hair, which she refuses, rightly, to dye or to pluck out. We have been together for so many years; their number is greater than those of my life before I met her. I realize how lucky I have been. My life before seems a faint dream of another world; and the life since then a new story, with our girls, now almost young women, and the late surprise of my son.
She put down the watering can and stretched her back; her many bracelets glittered as they sifted and tinkled down her soft skin. I thought for a moment they were like the years we have been together, because I had given her one every year, on our marriage anniversary.
Then she realized I was standing there. She smiled questioningly at the strangeness of my appearing here at this hour. I moved over to her. We stood together, side by side, my arm around her shoulder, looking out at the view of the city, in silence. It was late afternoon, the sun had moved across the Great River, and now hung above the western bank. From here we could see all the roofs of our quarter crammed with washing hung out in the heat, and the vegetables drying on racks, and bits of discarded or reused furniture, and birdcages.
‘Your plants are flourishing,’ I offered, tentatively, to break the silence.
‘All they need is water and sun, and a little bit of attention…’
She gave me one of her meaningful looks, but said nothing more. She had read my face instantly, as she always does. She was not going to let me off lightly. She waited, playing with a brown, curling leaf.
I wondered how best to broach the subject.
‘I have to go away for a few days.’
She continued to gaze out at the horizon, enjoying the fresh, light breeze from the north. She shook her fine black hair loose, and it hung about her face for a moment before she smoothed it back again into a glossy knot.
I gently turned her towards me, and held her. But she was tense within my embrace.
‘Don’t try to make it all right. I’m afraid.’
I held her closer, and she relaxed a little.
‘Nothing in the world means more to me than you and the children. Khety has orders to watch over you all, and to help you if you need anything.’
She nodded.
‘How long will you be gone?’
‘Perhaps ten days…no more than fifteen at most.’
‘That’s what you said last time. And you promised not to do it again.’
‘I’m sorry. Believe me, I have no choice.’
She gave me one of her darkest looks.
‘There is always a choice.’
‘No, you are wrong. I don’t feel I have any choices. I feel trapped by circumstances always beyond my control. And every step I take, in any direction, only takes me deeper and deeper into the trap.’
‘And I fear the knock upon the door. I fear opening it to find some grim Medjay messenger standing there, with a formal expression on his face, preparing himself to give the bad news,’ she replied.
‘It won’t happen. I can take care of myself.’
‘You can’t ever know that for certain. This world is too dangerous. And I know you never feel so alive as when you are at the heart of danger.’
I could say nothing.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Hunting.’
She laughed, despite herself.
‘I’m serious. I’m accompanying the King to the hunting grounds, north of Memphis.’
Her face darkened again.
‘Why?’
I took her down the stairs, and we sat in the shady quiet of our small courtyard. Thoth watched us from his corner. The sounds of the world–the street-sellers, children shouting, their mothers shouting back–came to us distantly. I told her everything.
‘Ankhesenamun…’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you trust her?’
I hesitated, and she saw it.
‘Be careful,’ she said. And she was about to say more when the street door banged open, and I heard Thuyu and Nedjmet coming up the passageway, arguing about something of intense importance. Nedjmet threw herself heavily upon the dozing Thoth, who has learned to tolerate her clumsy embraces. Thuyu embraced us both, and balanced herself against my knees, while she ate a piece of fruit. I admired her sleek grace, and her shining hair.
Tanefert went to fetch them water. My middle daughter quickly told me what was on her mind.
‘I’m not sure I will get married.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I can write and think, and I can look after myself.’
‘But that doesn’t mean you won’t meet someone who you can love…’
‘But why would you choose to love just one person when there are so many people?’
I stroked her hair.
‘Because love is a decision, my darling.’
She mulled this over.
‘Everyone says they can’t help themselves.’
‘That’s falling in love. True love itself is different.’
She wrinkled her face up doubtfully.
‘Why is it different?’
At this point, Tanefert returned with the jug of water, and she poured out four cups, waiting for my answer.
‘Falling in love is romantic and wonderful, and it’s a very special time. That’s when it feels like nothing else matters. But living in love, year after year, in true partnership, that’s the real gift.’
Thuyu looked at both of us, raised her eyes to the heavens, and said: ‘That just sounds so old.’ And she laughed and drank her water.
Then the maid brought Amenmose out into the cooling air of the early evening, awake after his afternoon sleep. He held his arms out, dozily and grumpily, to be picked up; I swung him up on my shoulders so he could rattle the cages of the birds with his little stick. Soon he had them in an uproar of indignant song. I took him down then, and fed him some honey cake and water. Sekhmet returned, too, and joined us, taking her baby brother on her knee, and amusing him.
My father came home from his afternoon game of senet, which he plays with his old cronies. We greeted each other, and then he went to sit in his usual place on the bench, his lined face watching us from the s
hady corner. The girls sat with him, chatting away. Tanefert began to think about dinner, and issued her instructions to the maid, who bowed and disappeared into the storeroom. I set out a plate of figs, and poured my father and myself a small cup of wine each, from the Dakhla oasis.
‘A libation to the Gods,’ he said, raised his glass, and smiled with his wise gold eyes, observing Tanefert’s quiet sadness.
I looked around at my family, gathered together in the courtyard of my house, on this ordinary evening, and I raised my own cup in libation to the Gods who have granted me the gift of such happiness. Surely my wife was right. Why would I risk all of this present, here and now, for the sake of the unknown? And yet it called to me, and I could not say no.
Part Two
To me belongs yesterday, I know tomorrow.
The Book of the Dead
Spell 17
24
The sun had disappeared over the Malkata Palace’s flat rooftops, and the last of the daylight was abandoning the valleys. The long, low plateau of the western desert glowed red and gold behind us. The great lake was eerily flat, its blackness silvered like polished obsidian, reflecting the dark sky, except when it was disturbed into languorous ripples by the occasional flop of an unseen catfish. The waning moon hung over everything like the curved hull of a white boat, in the deepening indigo of the sky where the first stars were beginning to appear. Servants lit lamps and torches all along the dock so that the place blazed with pools of shadowy, orange light.
All the necessities of a royal progress were slowly, laboriously loaded on to the great royal ship of state, the Beloved of Amun. Her long, elegant curves rose to the high, decorated prow and stern’s carved finials, beautifully proportioned; detailed scenes decorating the kiosks showed the King trampling his enemies in battle; the great sails were furled, and the long oars were still suspended, tilted up against the cabins; surmounting the high mast-heads, royal falcons stretched their golden wings to the silver light of the moon. The whole construction seemed perfectly balanced upon the still waters of the lake. Docked next to her was another, almost as fine, the Star of Thebes. Together they made a glorious pair, the most superior modes of transport yet devised by any civilization, perfected for every luxury and constructed with the deep knowledge of craftsmanship to take every advantage of the given elements of wind and water: the river currents that sweep perpetually down to the delta, or, returning, the reliable northern winds that blow us home.
I was worried. What I had hoped would prove a swift and relatively small-scale event, had become a problematic exercise in politics and appearances. I should have realized nothing would be simple. There had been confidential meetings, with arguments and correspondence back and forth, between the offices of the King, the security division, and almost every other department of government, about everything from the distraction of the King from the business and appearance of rule, to lengthy disputations between different ministries regarding the passenger list, the supplies, the necessary furniture and the official timetable. Everything had been an issue. But Ay had taken charge of the chaos. I had not seen him since the proclamation in the temple, but he seemed to support the idea of the hunt. It had also been decided that Ankhesenamun would remain in Thebes to represent the King’s affairs in the business of government. Ay would also remain. Nothing he had done so far suggested he was other than supportive of the King’s proclamation.
I was worried, too, about the boy; Nakht told me his progress was very slow, and that I should expect no better. ‘Accept the worst, be appeased by anything better, and treat success as an impostor,’ he had advised me sententiously, when I had stopped at his city house to check on the boy’s condition. The boy looked almost mummified in the splints and linen bandages with which my old friend was attempting to heal his terrible injuries. I had noticed the stitch marks around his face were, gratifyingly, scabbed and beginning to heal. Of course, he could not see, but when I spoke to him, I saw recognition in his face.
‘Do you remember me?’ I asked quietly.
He nodded.
‘I have to go away, but I am leaving you in the care of this gentleman. His name is Nakht. He will care for you until I return. Don’t be afraid. He is a good man. And when I return, you and I will talk. Do you understand me?’
And eventually he had nodded once more, slowly. There was nothing more I could do, but hope against hope he was still alive when I returned to Thebes.
I was brought back from this memory by the crying, bleating and indignant calling of the ducks, chickens and goats as they were brought forth, stirred and panicked, to be loaded, alive, on to the ships. Teams of slaves carried trunk after trunk of provisions, already butchered, in crates and boxes, under salt. They carried on whole carcasses, white bones opaque in soft, dark slabs of meat. Storehouses of fruits and vegetables, sacks of grain, silver plates, fine linen cloths, goblets and cups…It seemed we were leaving for a visit to eternity. An overseer supervised, striding imperiously through the teams of workers, ticking items on a long papyrus where everything that might possibly be needed was carefully listed. I introduced myself, and asked him to explain to me everything that was being loaded. He nodded and gestured me to follow him towards the storerooms.
‘These provisions are just for the King and his entourage–those for the troops and the battalion of attendants are being stored on another transport ship which will go ahead of the royal ships, and prepare each night for the King’s arrival and his necessities,’ he said.
He turned suddenly between two guards, and entered a storeroom piled high.
‘And this is the royal equipment.’
He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying everything with a knowledgeable eye. Servants entered silently, and with his permission and instruction they began to move everything out.
There were four chariots, and a vast array of weapons–gold-and wood-inlaid cases of arrows, bows, spears, daggers, throwing sticks, whips. Also the necessities of royal comfort: fans, chairs, travelling stools, beds, boxes, thrones, canopies, alabaster lanterns, alabaster drinking cups, gold goblets, wardrobes of official robes, hunting outfits, ceremonial linens, jewellery, collars, make-up, unguents and oils. Everything was decorated with the richest of materials, or fashioned from the finest woods. But here, piled on the quayside, in the dark, lit only by the torches shivering now in the cool night breeze from the Red Land, it looked more like the paraphernalia of a homeless god. So much stuff for such a short journey; no wonder Ankhesenamun felt stifled by the burdens of the business of royalty, and by the claims of so much gold.
I let them get on with their work. I returned to the ship, to see the King’s tame young lion being led aboard by its chain, sniffing the unfamiliar night air, and straining against its short leash. It was a splendid animal, its shoulders and head lolling sinuously as it padded silently along the deck to the prepared comfort of its luxurious cage at the stern. It settled there, licking its soft paws, and glancing with grave eyes at the wide world of the night, so close, and yet unattainable beyond the impassable bars. Then it yawned, as if accepting the fate of its comfortable prison, and settled its head to doze.
But then its ears pricked up, and it turned to look at a small commotion along the quay. A brief trumpet blast followed. The King’s slight, elegant figure appeared before a retinue of officials and guards. Ankhesenamun followed behind him, her head covered. They exchanged farewells, politely and publicly, and I saw Ay bending to whisper something into the King’s ear. Khay stood attentively to one side, as if he hoped he would be needed. Then Simut, in full military costume, invited the King to board the ship. Accompanied by his little golden monkey, Tutankhamun stepped carefully and elegantly up the gangplank, slim and wary in his white robes like an ibis wading in the reed marshes. When he stepped on to the ship’s deck, he turned, and made a gesture to those people still on dry land. It was a strange moment, as if he intended to make a speech, or to wave like a child. Everyone stood in silence, anticipa
ting something. Then, as if he could not think of anything else, he simply nodded, and quickly disappeared into the cabin.
Ankhesenamun beckoned me over, while Ay was engaged in discussions with the captain of the ship.
‘Take care of him,’ she said quietly, as she turned the gold rings on her delicate and perfectly manicured fingers incessantly.
‘I am concerned for your own safety here in the palace. With Ay…’
She glanced at me.
‘I am used to being alone. And Ay appears to have decided to support what he could not oppose,’ she murmured.
‘Really?’
‘Of course, I do not trust him any more than I would trust a cobra. It is almost more disconcerting to have him as an apparent ally than as a clear foe. But he has brought with him the cooperation of the ministries, and the support of the priests. I suppose he believes he can still manage us according to his own grand designs.’
‘He is nothing if not pragmatic. He would have understood at once that opposition would have made things more difficult than collaboration. But he still has great powers…’ I said carefully.
She nodded.
‘I will not make the mistake of underestimating him, or of trusting him. But now there is a balance. His public operation of his powers has to be mediated through the King. And besides, he and I have a common enemy.’
‘Horemheb?’
‘Precisely. The King remains naive about the general. I am sure, wherever he may be, he will be plotting the next stage of his campaign for power. So take care in Memphis, for it is his city, not ours.’
I was about to reply when Ay, with his perfect ability to appear when least desired, interrupted us.
‘You have your authorizations and papers?’ he said, in his peremptory fashion.
