Tutankhamun

by Nick Drake

  The tracker took up a position next to me.

  ‘He will be very hungry, for the prey is limited out here, and we have offered him a fine feast. I hope he will take the bait before it is dark.’

  ‘And if he does not?’

  ‘Then we must try again tomorrow. It would be unwise to approach him in the darkness.’

  And so we waited silently as the sun continued its descent. Ahead of us the shadows of the bluffs lengthened imperceptibly, until, like a slowly rising tide, they reached the carcass, as if to consume it. The tracker shook his head.

  ‘We are too late,’ he whispered. ‘We can return tomorrow.’

  But just then, he tensed like a cat.

  ‘Look. There he is…’

  I peered into the darkening landscape, but saw nothing until at last I noticed the slightest movement of shadow against shadow. Everyone had noticed the tracker’s reaction, and a sudden jostling of movement passed down the line of men and horses. The tracker held up his hand for absolute silence. We waited intently. Then the shape moved forward, stealthily, slinking, as it approached the carcass. It raised its head to scan the terrain, as if wondering where this ready-made feast could have come from, and then, satisfied, settled down to feast.

  ‘What should we do?’ I whispered to the tracker.

  He considered carefully.

  ‘It is too dark to hunt him now, for we would easily lose track of him. This terrain is difficult. But now we know he will accept our offerings, we can return tomorrow, and tempt him out earlier with more fresh meat. A young adult such as this one has a large appetite; he will not have fed well for a long time. And tomorrow we will be well prepared, and in better positions from which to surround him.’

  Simut nodded in agreement. But suddenly, without warning and without support, the King’s chariot jolted forward, and began to gain speed across the rough ground. Everyone was taken entirely by surprise. I saw the lion raise its head, disturbed by the distant noise. Simut and I spurred our own horses, and set off in pursuit of the King. I looked again and saw the lion was now dragging the carcass away towards the cliffs, where we would never find him. I was gaining on the King’s chariot, and shouted at him to stop. He turned around, but gestured as if he could not, or would not, hear me. His face was alive with excitement. I shook my head wildly, but he merely grinned like a schoolboy, and turned away. The chariot wheels clattered alarmingly, and the axles knocked and complained as the wooden structure struggled with the demands of the rough terrain. I glanced up and for the briefest of moments I saw the lion standing and staring. But the King had some distance to cover, and the beast did not seem greatly alarmed.

  The King raced onwards, and I saw him struggling to control the chariot, and at the same time to fit an arrow into his bow. Now the lion turned, and his loping strides quickly become full-stretched flight at incredible speed towards the safety of the dark bluffs. I lashed my horse onwards, and gained on the King. I thought surely he would realize there was no chance of hunting the lion in these conditions, but suddenly his chariot jumped up in the air as if it had hit a rock, and then slammed down again. As it did so the left wheel shattered and sheared, the spokes and wheel rim splintered and flew off, and the carriage collapsed on to its left side. It was dragged wildly across the rough ground by the panicked horses. I saw the King gripping on to the side of the chariot in terrror; but in the next moment his body flew up like a rag doll, and then hit the ground at speed, rolling over and over, until it came to rest in the darkness.

  I reined in my horse, and my chariot skidded to a halt. I ran to his body. He was not moving. I dropped to my knees beside him. Tutankhamun, Living Image of Amun, was making small sounds that tried and failed to become words. He did not seem to recognize me. There was a puddle of blood, black and shiny, spreading on the dust of the desert.

  His left leg above the knee was sticking out at a sickening angle. I carefully peeled the linen of his robe, sticky with blood, away from the skin. Shards of shattered bone protruded through the torn flesh and skin. There was grit and dirt in the horrible, deep wound. He gave a terrible moan of acute pain. I poured water from my flask, and the blood washed away, black and thick. I feared he would die there, in the desert, under the moon and the stars, his head in my hands like a chalice of nightmares.

  Simut arrived, and took one look at the disastrous wound.

  ‘I will fetch Pentu. Don’t move him,’ he shouted, as he rode away.

  The tracker and I stayed with the King. He had begun to shiver violently with shock. I tore the panther skin from the floor of the chariot, and covered him with it as gently as possible.

  He was trying to speak. I lowered my head to catch his words.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he kept repeating.

  ‘The wound is superficial,’ I said, trying to reassure him. ‘The physician is coming. You will be fine.’

  He gazed at me from the strange distance of his agony, and I knew he knew I was lying.

  Pentu arrived and examined the King. He checked first his head, but aside from the swelling of bruises and long scratches down one side of his face, there were no signs of bleeding at the nose or ears, and so he concluded the skull was not fractured. At least that was something. He then examined the wound and the broken bone by the light of our torches. He glanced up at Simut and me, and shook his head. Not good. We stood apart so that the King could not hear us.

  ‘We are lucky that the artery in the leg has not been severed. But he is losing a great deal of blood. We must reset this fracture immediately,’ he said.

  ‘Out here?’ I asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘It is imperative he is not moved again until this is done. I will need your help. This is a difficult bone to set, for the fracture is severe, and the muscles of the leg and thigh are powerful. And there will be some overriding of the shattered bone-ends. But we cannot move him until it is done.’

  He assessed the angle of the broken bones. The King’s limbs seemed like the parts of a mangled doll. Pentu placed a rolled-up linen cloth between his chattering teeth. Then as I held his torso and upper thigh firmly in position, and Simut held the other side of his body, Pentu swiftly pushed down on the femur, and with a practised motion jammed the shattered bone-ends together. The King screamed like an animal. The gristly noise of the setting reminded me of the kitchen, when I break apart the haunch of a gazelle, twisting its leg bones from the thigh socket. This was butcher’s work. Then the King vomited, and passed from consciousness.

  Pentu set to work by the flickering torchlight, stitching the ugly wound with a curved copper needle he produced from a case made of bird bone. Then he smeared honey and oil on it, and bound it tightly in linen bandages. Finally he made the leg as secure as possible within a splint padded with linen and secured by knots, for the journey back to the camp.

  The King was carried into his quarters. His skin was clammy and pale. We gathered around, in a hushed, urgent conference.

  ‘The fracture is of the worst kind, both because the bone has shattered, rather than snapped across, and because the skin has been torn open, making the flesh vulnerable to infection. There has been loss of blood. But at least everything has been reset. Let us pray to Ra the fever will pass, and the wound heals well,’ said Pentu gravely.

  A low sense of dread had fallen upon us all.

  ‘But he is now asleep, which is good. His spirit will be pleading with the Gods of the Otherworld for more time, and more life. Let us pray they are persuaded.’

  ‘What should we do now?’ I asked.

  ‘The most sensible decision medically would be to transport him swiftly to Memphis,’ said Pentu. ‘At least there I can care for him properly.’

  Simut interrupted: ‘But in Memphis he would be surrounded by his enemies. Horemheb is likely still in residence. I say we must return him to Thebes in secrecy, as swiftly as possible. And this accident must be kept secret until a public version of events has been agreed with Ay. If the King–life
, prosperity and health be upon him–is fated to die, then it must be in Thebes, among his own people, and near to his tomb. And we must control how his death is understood. Of course, if he lives, then he can best be cared for at home.’

  We broke camp that night and started our sorrowful journey under the stars, back across the desert towards the distant ship, and the Great River that would carry us all home to the city. I tried not to let myself think what the consequences would be for all of us, and for the future of the Two Lands, if he died.

  33

  I kept vigil at the bedside of Tutankhamun as he twisted and turned in feverish agony all through the nights of the river journey back to Thebes. His heart seemed to race in his chest, trapped and frail, like a tiny bird. Pentu treated him with purgatives, to prevent the beginning of putrefaction in the bowels spreading morbidly to the heart. And he contended with the leg wound, tying and retying the wooden splints, changing the linen padding regularly, so that the splintered bones might have some chance of binding together.

  He had struggled to keep the wound clean, at first binding it with fresh meat, and then poultices of honey, fat and oil. But each time he changed the bandaging, and applied more cedar resin, I could see the lips were hesitating from binding, and now a deep black shadow was creeping through the flesh, under the skin, in every direction. The smell of rotting flesh was vile. Pentu tried everything: a decoction of willow bark, barley flour, the ash of a plant whose name he would not reveal, mixed with onion and vinegar, and a white ointment made from minerals found in the desert mines of the oasis towns. Nothing worked.

  On the second morning of the journey, with Pentu’s permission, I spoke to the King. The fresh daylight entering his chamber seemed to calm and cheer him after a long, painful night. He had been washed, and dressed in fresh linens. But already he was drenched in sweat, and his eyes were dull.

  ‘Life, prosperity and health,’ I said, quietly, aware of the grim irony of the formula.

  ‘No degree of prosperity, no gold nor treasure, can bring back life and health,’ he whispered.

  ‘The physician is confident of a full recovery,’ I said, trying to maintain my encouraging expression.

  He gazed at me like a wounded animal. He knew better.

  ‘Last night I had a strange dream,’ he panted. I waited for him to gain enough strength to continue. ‘I was Horus, son of Osiris. I was the falcon, hovering high in the sky, approaching the Gods.’

  I wiped the sweat that beaded his hot brow.

  ‘I flew among the Gods.’ And he searched my eyes, earnestly.

  ‘And what happened then?’ I asked.

  ‘Something bad. I fell slowly to earth, down and down…Then I opened my eyes. I was looking up at all the stars in the darkness. But I knew I would never reach them. And slowly–they started to go out–one by one, faster and faster.’

  He gripped my hand.

  ‘And suddenly I was very afraid. All the stars died. Everything was dark. And then I woke up…and now I fear to sleep again…’

  He shivered. His eyes glistened, sincere and wide.

  ‘It was a dream born of your pain. Do not take it to heart.’

  ‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps there is no Otherworld. Perhaps there is nothing.’

  He looked terrified again.

  ‘I was wrong. The Otherworld is real. Do not doubt it.’

  Neither of us spoke for a moment. I knew he did not believe me.

  ‘Please, take me home. I want to go home.’

  ‘The ship is making good time, and the north winds are blowing well in our favour. You will soon be there.’

  He nodded, miserably. I held his hot, damp hand for a while longer, until he turned his face away to the wall.

  Pentu and I went out on to the deck. The world of green fields and labourers passed by as if nothing important was happening.

  ‘What do you think are his chances?’ I asked.

  He shook his head.

  ‘It is unusual to survive such a catastrophic fracture. The wound is badly infected, and he is weakening. I am very worried.’

  ‘He seems to be in much pain.’

  ‘I try to administer whatever I have to diminish it.’

  ‘The opium poppy?’

  ‘Certainly I will prescribe that, if the pain becomes still worse. But I hesitate to do so until it is necessary…’

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘It is the most powerful drug we possess. But its very potency makes it dangerous. His heart is weak, and I do not wish to weaken it further.’

  We both stared out at the landscape for a little while, without talking.

  ‘May I ask you a question?’ I said, eventually.

  He nodded, cautiously.

  ‘I have heard there are secret books, the Books of Thoth?’

  ‘You have mentioned them before.’

  ‘And I believe they include medical knowledge?’

  ‘And if they did?’ he replied.

  ‘I am curious to know whether they tell of secret substances, which might give visions…’

  Pentu regarded me very carefully.

  ‘If such substances existed they would only be revealed to men whose exceptional wisdom and status conferred on them the right to such knowledge. Why, in any case, do you want to know?’

  ‘Because I am curious.’

  ‘That is not the kind of approach that encourages one to reveal closely guarded secrets,’ he replied.

  ‘Nevertheless. Anything you could tell me would be very useful.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘It is said there exists a magical fungus. It is only found in the boreal regions. It is supposed to grant visions of the Gods…But the truth is, we know nothing certain of this fungus, and no one in the Two Lands has ever seen it, let alone experimented with it to prove or disprove its powers. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I have a hunch,’ I replied.

  He was not amused.

  ‘Perhaps you need more than a hunch, Rahotep. Perhaps it is time you had a vision of your own.’

  Through that last night of the journey, the King’s fever worsened; he was in appalling pain. The black shadow of infection continued to consume the flesh of his leg. His thin face took on a clammy, sallow complexion, and his eyes, whenever they flickered open, were the dull colour of ivory. His mouth was parched, his lips were cracked, and his tongue was yellow and white. His heart now seemed to have slowed, and he barely had the power to open his mouth to take water. Pentu finally treated him with the juice of the opium poppy. It calmed him marvellously, and suddenly I understood its power and attraction.

  Once, in the small hours, he opened his eyes. I broke with protocol and took his hand in mine. He could barely even speak in a whisper, struggling to enunciate each word through the softness of the opium trance. He looked at the protective Eye of Ra ring he had given me. And then with enormous effort, summoning his last reserves of strength, he spoke.

  ‘If my destiny is to die, and pass to the Otherworld, then I ask this of you: accompany my body as far as you can. See me to my tomb.’

  His almond-shaped eyes gazed earnestly at me from his gaunt face. I recognized the stark lineaments and the strange intensity of approaching death.

  ‘You have my word,’ I said.

  ‘The Gods await me. My mother is there. I can see her. She calls to me…’

  And he looked up into thin air, seeing someone I could not.

  His hand was small, and light, and hot. I held it between my own as carefully as I could. I looked at the Eye of Ra ring he had given me. It had failed him, and so had I. I felt the delicate slowness of his fading pulse, and attended carefully to it, until just before dawn when he let out a long, last gentle sigh, of neither disappointment nor satisfaction, and the bird of his spirit went out of Tutankhamun, Living Image of Amun, and flew into the Otherworld for ever; and then his hand slipped gently from mine.

  Part Three

  Your face has been opened in the House of Dar
kness.

  The Book of the Dead

  Spell 169

  34

  The Beloved of Amun sailed silently into the Malkata harbour just after sunset on the next day. The darkening sky was suitably ominous. No one spoke. The whole world seemed silenced; only the sombre, steady splash and draw of the oarsmen made any sound at all. The water bore an odd, flat, silky grey sheen, as before a sandstorm. On the long stone quay of the palace only a few figures waited. I noticed only one lamp was lit along the dock. We had sent a messenger ahead with the news, the worst news. We should have been returning with the King in glory. Instead we were bringing him home to his tomb.

  I stood beside the King’s body. It seemed so small and frail. It was now wrapped in clean white linen. Only his face was displayed, calm and still and vacant. His spirit had left. All that remained was this stiff shell. There is nothing emptier in this world than a dead body.

  Simut went ashore, while I waited with the King for the guards to arrive. I heard their feet upon the gangplank, and then in the silence that followed Ay entered the royal cabin. He stooped over the body of Tutankhamun, contemplating the reality of the catastrophe. Then with effort he bent lower to the King’s left ear, the ear through which the breath of death enters. And I heard him whisper: ‘You were a useless child in life. Your death must be the making of you.’

  And then he straightened up stiffly.