The Amun Chamber

by Daniel Leston

  “For our purpose, I want you to find the very first ones dug.”

  “Master—?”

  “It has come to me,” Satepihu said, “that perhaps we have a means by which to keep all the superstitious tribesmen well away from the vicinity of this valley—and not just for the near future, but for generations yet to come. Listen carefully to what I say, Menna, and see if you don’t agree.”

  What he outlined to them was remarkably simple in concept, yet with the farseeing potential to virtually guarantee no sane man would ever intrude into this desolate area. To begin with, only the smallest number of wagons and mules were to be preserved. These few—each loaded with just the bare minimum of necessities required by Menna and his men—would be moved north to Paraetonium on the coast. As for the rest, not one of them would go to Qara or Siwah as previously planned. Instead, they would serve another purpose entirely.

  And herein lay the genius of the High Priest.

  All the remaining wagons were to be loaded equally with their surplus grain and provisions—and the very last thing put on each, he told them, would be two bodies of the disinterred slaves. Though the younger men stared at him to hear this, they kept silent, watching as Satepihu now used the tip of his staff and drew a wide arc in the sand, one end representing Qara, the other the ancient, westerly route leading down into Siwah. What he proposed was for Menna to randomly select ten or more sites within this general area, then at each location create a horrific scene of violence using one or two of the fully loaded wagons.

  “You wish the wagons destroyed, master?” said Menna. “What of the mules, the grain, the—”

  “I want the mules slain and left in their traces, a fair portion of the grain and provisions scattered close by. Before setting fire to the wagons you must first place the slave bodies in such a way that it appears all had belonged to them.”

  Though Menna was still confused, Nebnefer now fully comprehended where Satepihu was going with this. “If I understand your motives, master, what you intend to create is more than a grim warning. Hopefully, it will lay the seeds of a dark and forbidding mystery among all those who happen upon this strange enigma. By all evidence, these scenes could only be the work of an evil spirit. Certainly marauding bandits or thieves couldn’t possibly be blamed, for nothing of value was taken.” He paused. “Am I correct?”

  Satepihu nodded, not surprised it was Nebnerfer to first figure it out.

  He again looked at Menna, asking, “Do you also see the merits of this?”

  “I do, master. All will be done as you command.”

  “Good. Now I grow weary and would rest before our final gathering.”

  A few hours later, Satepihu sat on the single chair inside his spacious tent, before him the three men upon whom he had most relied over these past years. To his left, seated cross-legged on the carpet, a young scribe waited to record his every word, his parchment and ink pot prepared, his reed pen poised.

  The High Priest’s eyes went first to Nebnefer, and then to the other two, pleased both Paneb and Menna had appreciated the day’s importance enough to dress accordingly. They wore what he knew to be their best leather belts and cleanest tunics, proud of their great accomplishment—as well they should be!

  Satepihu broke the silence, his voice measured and solemn.

  “I will start by stating what surely must come as no surprise to anyone here, for my desires in this matter were known to you for some years.” He paused, his hand extended towards the scribe. “Let it be written that with the rising of tomorrow’s sun, Nebnefer takes my place as Amun’s chosen High Priest, the one to whom you will give your total allegiance. Is this completely understood?”

  All present briefly bowed their heads in acceptance, for though this formal announcement was a long time coming, it was never in real doubt.

  This said, the old man concentrated his eyes on Menna.

  “You, my brave and able friend, have performed every task given you, never once asking what reward I would bestow upon you and your able men. Now I will tell you the full measure of Amun’s gratitude for your hard years of service to Him. On my instruction, Nebnefer has these past years seen to the purchase of many fertile fields and valuable properties throughout the Nile Valley, Siwah, and Paraetonium. At this hour tomorrow—when the last of today’s tasks are completed—you and your men will gather here to apportion these properties, as well as receive the necessary gold to begin your lives anew. Throughout the generations to come, know that you and all your families will be protected and cared for, their only obligation being their continuing loyalty and service to the High Priest—and, too, their sacred oath to maintain the secrecy of what we have achieved here from any who would defile Amun’s son. How say you, Menna?”

  “I am most humbly grateful, master.”

  Now Satepihu’s gaunt face seemed to darken, a sigh escaping his lips as he slowly shifted his gaze to the expectant features of Paneb. Here sat his chief stonecutter, arguably the one most responsible for the tomb’s miraculous creation. But now this knowledge weighed heavy on Satepihu, making his next words all the more painful.

  “And you, Paneb? Have you anything to say to me? An explanation, perhaps, for your treachery?”

  The oldest of the ‘chosen ones’ visibly paled, his eyes widening in shock.

  “Treachery, master—?” He blinked, his eyes darting from Satepihu to Nebnefer. “I—I don’t understand what you mean?”

  “Don’t you?” Satepihu gave a faint nod to Nebnefer, who immediately stood and stepped to the tent’s entrance. When he parted the curtain, one of his young priests entered, struggling to carry a small, wooden chest. Behind him came two more priests, each armed with an iron-tipped spear. As the chest was placed before him, Satepihu said, “So how is it, Paneb, this was found buried in the sand beneath your tent?”

  The man swallowed hard, his contorted face that of someone trapped.

  “I didn’t put it there!” he cried. “I’ve never seen this before!”

  “But you have, Paneb. Not fifteen days ago, this chest of gold coins was one of many you were charged to secure inside the tomb. Did you really believe they would go uncounted, their placement not verified?”

  When he gave no reply, Satepihu directing his next words to the loyal Menna, a man clearly stunned by what was unfolding. “Unlike you, my friend, Paneb placed no faith in Amun’s desire or ability to reward all those who serve him faithfully. This is a true sadness to me, for it was I who selected him, believing him the one best suited to fulfill our need. My mistake was in seeing only his great talent, not the shallow depth of his devotion.” He paused. “Since he offers no words to explain this sacrilege, I can but think his treachery was long planned, his sworn oath of secrecy a meaningless lie. It was ever his intention to return here, for how else was he to retrieve this chest from the sand? And once here—despite what he, himself, might believe—his innate greed would inevitably lead to yet further plundering and desecration.”

  Now Paneb collapsed, his outstretched hands clasped and trembling.

  “Please, master!” he sobbed. “Show mercy. I—I was much tempted and—”

  “Mercy?” asked Satepihu, his eyes narrowing. “Let me tell you the cost to others of your treachery! Until this was discovered, it was in my heart to somehow find a way to preserve the lives of those many poor slaves who labored under your charge. Now I see this cannot be done. You are living proof that the risks are too high.” He turned to the seated scribe, saying, “Record what I now say. By my command alone, Menna’s men are this day to take the slaves to the cavern opening, there slaying each in turn and casting him down. Explain to them, Panab, where your sacrilege has led!”

  “I beg of you, master—”

  “You still dare ask for mercy?” The High Priest shook his head in disgust. “Let it also be written that you, Paneb, will be the very last man cast down—and alive! When the opening is sealed, I pray Amun grants you many hours, if not days, to face all those wh
ose lives you caused to be destroyed.”

  “Master!”

  “Silence! Take him away.”

  Satepihu then stood, allowing nothing further to be said.

  “It is over!” he declared in a strong voice, yet feeling drained beyond words to express. “You all know what is to be done. May Amun’s blessings be upon all of you from this day forth.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Once pulled free of the dark opening, David sat for several long seconds, catching his breath as the others stared at him in grim expectation. It was Elizabeth who finally broke the silence.

  “How—how many bodies are down there?” she asked.

  He shook his head, his face unreadable. “There’s no way of knowing for sure until I get down there,” he said. “But it looks like a hell of a lot.”

  “So is this it, then?” she asked. “The tomb’s entrance?”

  “Well, it’s certainly something—but just what exactly, it’s too early to tell.”

  “But it might be, right?”

  David was doubtful. “Don’t set your hopes too high. If it is, then I’m reasonably certain it’s not the same one Lionel and Nawal found.” He glanced at the rock slab. “It took everything we had to move this. Remember, Lionel wasn’t that robust a man—plus there’s the matter of Nawal’s injured leg.”

  Gobeir agreed with this conclusion.

  “He’s quite right, my dear. I doubt they were even aware of this.” He turned to David. “So what do we do now?”

  “I don’t see where we’ve much choice, Lewis. Ahmed’s going to have to lower me down by rope. It’s the only way.”

  “It is?” Rashidi looked again at the opening. “Forgive me for saying, Professor, but this seems a rather dangerous proposition, don’t you think? We’ve no idea how deep it is. Though I appreciate your confidence in me, I really don’t know how long I’d be able to—”

  “You won’t have to, Ahmed. I’ve something different in mind. That is if I can get it up here . . .”

  “Get what up here?”

  “The jeep.”

  Bringing it topside wasn’t as difficult as David first anticipated. He found the necessary ‘ramp’ less than a hundred yards back north of the basin’s narrow mouth. It was a long, natural feature of the valley’s slumping western border, an extended slope made up of broken rock and hard, packed sand. A single run at it carried him up and over onto the surrounding plateau.

  Next, he maneuvered the jeep to within feet of the fissure’s opening and left the engine running. With Rashidi’s help, he then unbolted the vehicle’s heavy mesh grill, exposing the front-mounted electric winch. The inside rope tightly wrapped on its solid cylinder looked relatively new and in decent condition. Now he only hoped the winch mechanism was in comparable shape.

  A quick tension test with Elizabeth behind the wheel showed everything was functioning properly. The operating controls were two buttons on the lower dash. Depressing the left one provided a gradual release, the right an equally slow power rewind. His instructions to her were simple. “Just keep the engine running and the battery should hold its charge,” he told her. “She’s in park, so whatever you do, don’t bump the gear shift or disengage the emergency brake, okay?”

  “In other words, touch only the buttons . . .”

  “You got it.”

  “But what if I screw up and—”

  “You’ll be fine. Just follow Ahmed’s hand signals for forward and reverse. It couldn’t be simpler.”

  She gave a nervous nod.

  “Would you rather I worked the winch?” asked Gobeir.

  “Not to cut you out of this, Lewis, but since Ahmed and I will have our hands full, we need you back there on sentry. Take the rifle. If you see or hear anything the least bit suspicious, fire off a round to warn us.”

  “Will do, old boy. And good luck. No undue risks now, hear?”

  In response to Rashidi’s gestures, Elizabeth fed out enough rope to reach the edge of the opening, plus a few extra yards. What remained on the cylinder looked to be at least another thirty feet, more than adequate to the task. David removed his revolver, passing it over to Rashidi, then tied a secure slip-noose on the rope’s end, looping it snug over the instep of his right boot. He then wrapped it twice around his leg for additional security. Flashlight in hand, he was now prepared to make the descent.

  Rashidi took up the last few feet of slack and fed it out as Dave crawled slowly backwards over the rounded edge. The rope came abruptly taut just as he began to slide off the lip, his full weight now held by the winch. So far, so good. “If you can manage it, Ahmed, keep the rope directly over this section of stone. Too far left or right and it might start to abrade on these sharper sections.”

  “I’ll watch it. Are you ready?”

  “As much as I’ll ever be. Have her feed out several more feet and we’ll see how it goes.”

  Rashidi gave the signal, and David started dropping progressively lower.

  The lip’s cutback happened sooner than expected, and he snapped on the flashlight as he lost physical contact with the wall. Only Rashidi’s head remained visible above him. “Okay, that’s good. Hold it here for a moment.”

  Now fully suspended, he played the beam around for his first full look at his grim surroundings. The fissure was incredibly large, far wider and deeper than he originally imagined. It was a mammoth teardrop configuration, the smooth walls angling away from him in all directions. The overall effect was of being suspended inside a hanging balloon half-filled with water. But it wasn’t water that he saw below him as he pointed the beam downward. Instead, it was an enormous slumping cone of limestone chips, the like and size of which he’d never seen before. And scattered across its surface were virtually dozens of human skeletons, far too many to count.

  “I’m directly over a veritable mountain of cut rubble and debris,” he shouted up. “It’s absolutely huge—tons of limestone chips like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Excavation material?”

  “Unquestionably. The peak is about fourteen feet below me. There it fans out and away a solid twenty feet to the outer walls, and that’s at least another thirty feet lower than I am right now.” Amazed by what he saw, he passed the beam around a second time. Without knowing the fissure’s original depth, it was impossible to even estimate the total mass of material dumped in here. “If all of this came from just one tomb excavation, Ahmed, then whatever they created has to be of considerable size.”

  “And what of the bones, Professor?”

  “They’re strewn everywhere across the cone—and God knows how many others below at the bottom. Have Elizabeth lower me down some more. I want a better look at all this.”

  At Rashidi’s unseen signal he began the final phase of his descent, concentrating the light’s tight beam on the macabre picture developing below. A morbid tangle of human skeletons rose towards him—at least forty, maybe more—and he felt the eerie sensation of violating some ancient graveyard. And by all appearances, the bones were very ancient, indeed.

  “Hold it here,” he shouted up. “That’s far enough.”

  He came to a stop just shy of actually touching the sloping edge of the cone’s tip, a position from where he could examine several individual remains up close. All looked to be relatively young; very few, if any, having reached middle age. The nearest one still wore crude sandals on his feet, and across his separated pelvic bones were the tattered remnants of what was once a scant loincloth of some sort. This was what David expected to find. If he needed further evidence these poor unfortunates had been lowly slaves, then the next skeleton over provided it. Here lay the remains of a youth, a boy probably not yet out of his teens. When he played the light over his fragmented skull, he noted the deep indentation bands in the enamel of his teeth, a permanent record of a pathetically short lifetime of malnutrition. Sadly, there were also telling scar lines on the humerus bones of each arm, showing where years of heavy lifting had severely damaged the y
oung man’s muscle attachments.

  He shouted for Rashidi to hoist him back up. He’d seen quite enough.

  David made a final assessment as he ascended, casting the beam around the dark perimeter of the dome-shaped chamber. In his judgment there was nothing here to warrant further exploration. The sole entry point was from above. A grisly tomb, most assuredly, but not the one they were seeking. For roughly two thousand years this vast cavern hewn by nature had served but one gruesome purpose.

  Rashidi gradually came back into view.

  “Well, Professor?” he asked. “What’s your evaluation?”

  “The fissure’s damn big,” David repeated, “but it goes nowhere. It’s basically an enormous dumpsite. Whatever was excavated has to be located somewhere else.”

  “And the bones?”

  “Murdered workers. All slaves, most likely. When their labor was no longer required, the poor devils were killed and dumped inside before the top was sealed—just more physical debris which needed to be hidden away in order to keep the secret.”

  Now roughly three feet below the opening’s under lip, David saw Rashidi kneeling in preparation to assist him out. He snapped off the flashlight, saying, “It’s a horrible picture. Their bodies are piled up down there like discarded pieces of—”

  “Ahmed, look out—!”

  The screamed warning came from Elizabeth, and the upward movement of the rope abruptly stopped. What the—! Dangling just out of reach, David saw Rashidi spin around in surprise, grabbing for the revolver. But he wasn’t near quick enough to beat the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. The bullet slammed him sideways into the opening, and there he toppled headfirst over the lip.

  David’s desperate attempt to prevent the fall was painfully futile. Instinctively dropping the flashlight, he made a frantic grab with his free arm—but the wrenching tear of Rashidi’s limp weight hurtling down on him was too great. Himself almost torn from the rope, he could only watch as the younger man plummeted into the black void, followed by the sound of his body impacting on the debris below.