Tutankhamun: The Book of Shadows (32 page)

I released Thoth's muzzle, and he bounded into the darkness. Red light flared from the burning oil that had splashed from Sobek's lamp, and spread across the wall behind me. I heard barking, and then, gratifyingly, screaming. But I needed Sobek alive, to give evidence, and above all to return my son to me. I shouted an urgent order to the baboon as I ran along the dark gallery towards the figure huddled on the ground. I held my lamp up. Thoth had bitten deeply into Sobek's throat; there was a great gash down one side of his mauled face, tearing his eye from the socket, and the ragged flesh of his cheek hung loosely from the face, exposing bone and vessels. Black blood was pulsing from the neck wound. I knelt down and dragged his ruined face close to mine.

‘Where is my son?'

Blood gurgled in his mouth as he tried to laugh.

I pressed my thumbs down on his eyes.

‘What do you see now?' I whispered into his ear. ‘Nothing. There is
nothing. You are nothing. There is no Otherworld. This darkness you see is your eternity.'

I pressed harder and harder, forcing his eyes back into their sockets, and his legs kicked in the dust like a swimmer drowning on dry land, and he squealed like a rodent, and I felt blood under my fingers, I kept pushing until his vicious heart pumped the last of his black blood from his body, and he was dead.

I kicked his useless corpse, over and over, stamping on the remains of his face until I lost all strength. Then I collapsed on the ground, sobbing in defeat. For his death had achieved nothing. I had done wrong. The oil lamp was dimming fast. I no longer cared.

And then–I heard something. Far, far off: the sound of a child, waking from a nightmare to find himself alone in the darkness, weeping and screaming…

‘I'm coming!'

Amenmose's screams came back louder.

Thoth bounded ahead of me, into the greater depths of the darkness, but sure of himself as he moved left and right, making the choices for me. And all the time we cried out to each other, father and son, screaming for life.

 

Thoth found him at the end of one of the deepest galleries. His small head stood out above the rim of a pot large enough for a fully grown baboon. His face was sticky with tears and dirt, and his cries were inconsolable. I scrabbled around for a stone with which to smash open the pot without hurting him. And I kissed the howling boy, and tried to calm him a little, calling ‘
Amenmose, my son
' over and over. The first blow did not crack the pot. He howled louder still. Then, with another surer blow, the pot split open. I dragged the shards apart, the dirt cascaded out, and at last I held my son's shaking, cold, filthy body in my arms.

The lamp was guttering now. We had to try to find our way out before we lost the light. I shouted a command to Thoth. He barked as if he understood me, and bounded ahead. I held the boy under my arm, and ran after him, unable to protect the flame at the same time.

But too soon, it flickered and died.

Utter darkness. The boy whimpered, and began to cry again. I shushed him, tried to comfort him.

‘Thoth!'

The baboon bounded to my side, and by feel and habit I fastened the leash on to his collar. He moved on into the blackness, and all I could do was follow, trying to protect the boy from harm as we bumped into walls, and tripped on the uneven floor. Hope, that most delicate of emotions, flickered in me as weak as the lamplight had been. I kissed my son's eyes in despair. He was quiet now, as if my presence in the dark comforted him, and any fate would now be acceptable.

 

And then, I saw a brief flash in the obscurity. Perhaps I had imagined it, a figment of my desperate brain. But Thoth barked again, and then the light duplicated itself, and I heard calls coming to me, as if from the lost world of life and sunlight. I shouted back. The lights turned and gathered, coming towards me, like sacred deliverance from the shadows. As they approached I looked down at my son's little face. His eyes opened wide as he watched the lights in the darkness, like something from a fable bringing him to the happy ending of a scary story.

In the shaking light of the first lamp I recognized a familiar face, at once fearful and relieved. Khety.

When I had carried Amenmose up the lane and into the house, Tanefert had fallen to her knees, her mouth open in a silent howl of agony and relief. She held him in the vigil of her arms, and would not let go. When eventually, speaking to her gently, I had been able to prise him from her and lay him on his couch, she then turned to me and beat me with her fists, slapping my face with her hands as if she would tear me apart; and in truth I was glad to let her.

Then she washed the boy in cool water, with a cloth, with infinite tenderness, talking to him quietly. He was tired and fractious. Then she watched over him sleeping, as if she would never leave him again. Her own face was still wet with her tears. She avoided my gaze. I could not speak. I tried brushing my hand gently against her cheek, and she ignored it. I was about to withdraw it, but suddenly she grasped it, kissed it, and held on to it. I encircled her with my arms, and held her as tightly as she had held our son.

‘Never forgive me, as I will never forgive myself,' I said, eventually.

She looked at me with her now-calm, dark eyes.

‘You promised me you would never allow your work to hurt our family,' she said simply.

She was right. I put my head in my hands. She stroked my head, as if I were a child.

‘How did he take him?'

‘I had to find food for us all to eat. The children were sick of the same old dinners. They were bored, and frustrated. And I couldn't stay inside the house all the time. It wasn't possible. So I decided to go out to the market. I left the servant girl in charge of them. The guard was on the door. She says they were all playing in the yard, and she was doing the washing. And suddenly all she could hear was screaming. She ran out–and Amenmose had disappeared. The gate was open. The guard was lying on the ground, blood pouring from his head. Sekhmet had tried to stop him taking Amenmose. He punched her. That monster punched my daughter. It was my fault.'

She curled into herself, sobbing. Futile tears startled my eyes. Now it was my turn to comfort her in my arms.

‘That monster is dead. I killed him.'

Tanefert raised her tearful face, taken aback, and she saw it was the truth.

‘Please don't ask me any more today. I will talk about it when I can. But he is dead. He cannot harm us any more,' I promised.

‘He has harmed us too much already,' she replied, with an honesty that broke my heart.

The girls' heads appeared around the curtain. Tanefert looked up, and tried to smile.

‘Is he all right?' said Thuyu, chewing her side-lock.

‘He's asleep, so be quiet,' I said.

Nedjmet stared at him.

But Sekhmet, when she saw him, broke down. I saw the black bruis
ing around her eye, and the scratch marks on her arms, and the long grazes on her legs. She gulped and swallowed, and the plump tears came extravagantly.

‘How could you let that happen to him?' she cried in her broken voice, hardly able to breathe.

I felt shame come upon me, like a mantle of mud. I kissed her gently on the forehead, wiped her tears, said to all of them, ‘I am so sorry,' and then I walked away.

 

I sat on the low bench in the courtyard. From outside the walls of the house the sounds of the street came to me distantly, from another world. I thought about everything that had happened since the night Khety knocked upon the wall by the window. My own heart was knocking now, in my ribs. I had done my family a terrible wrong by leaving. It had not seemed so at the time. And perhaps I had had no choice. But Tanefert is right: there is always a choice. I had chosen the mystery, and I had paid the price. And I did not know how I could heal this.

It was Sekhmet who came out to find me. She was sniffing, and patting away at her face with her robe. But she sat down next to me, curled her legs elegantly beneath her, and leaned into my side. I put my arm around her.

‘I'm sorry, that was a horrible thing to say,' she said quietly.

‘It was the truth. I trust you to tell me the truth.'

She nodded wisely, as if her head were just a little bit too heavy with thinking these days.

‘Why did that man take Amenmose away?'

‘Because he wanted very badly to hurt me. And he wanted to show me he could take one of the most important things in the world away from me.'

‘Why would anyone do such a thing?'

‘I don't think I know. Perhaps I will never know.'

‘What happened to him?'

‘He's dead.'

She nodded, and thought about that, but she didn't say anything more, and so we sat together, listening to the noisy chaos of life in the street, watching as the sun rose higher, dispelling the shadows, and listening to the sounds of the girls starting to prepare the meal in the kitchen, arguing and laughing again together.

Once I knew my family was safe, I visited the palace one more time, and made my final report. I felt sick to the heart at the thought of re-entering that domain of shadows. But Ankhesenamun desperately needed to know what I had discovered about Horemheb–about how he was financing the new army, and about his commissioning of Sobek. These things would be crucial weapons in her negotiations. She could use that information against the general, intimating that she knew everything, and could reveal her knowledge, and so expose him and replace him. She would have the power to negotiate a truce between herself, Ay and Horemheb. She, Khay and Simut had gazed at me in astonishment as I explained everything. And once they had questioned me to their own satisfaction, I had excused myself. I had said I needed time alone with my family, to recover from everything that had happened. I bowed, stepped backwards, and then, without permission, turned away. I sincerely hoped I would never again be required to set foot in those hushed chambers.

 

Over the next days, a steady, sweltering heat settled on the land. The sun blazed remorselessly down, driving even the shadows into hiding; and the city stirred with prognostications and mirages and rumours. Horemheb's ships, carrying several of his Memphis divisions, had arrived, to a clamour of alarm, and they remained anchored near the harbour on the east bank; at any moment a raid or an occupation was feared, but day after day nothing happened. The constant heat and the inconstancy of the future made daily life difficult and insubstantial, and yet still people carried on with their ordinary business of work, and eating, and sleeping. But by night the curfew was imposed more strictly than ever, and as I sat upon my roof with Thoth, unable to sleep, looking up at the stars, drinking too much wine, listening to the guard dogs and the stray dogs barking furiously at each other, and thinking about everything and nothing, I felt like the last man alive under the moon.

Sometimes I stared across the chaotic shambles of rooftops in the direction of the Malkata Palace, far away across the city. I imagined all the tensions and power struggles that must still be taking place there, while Tutankhamun's body underwent the final Days of Purification, in preparation for his burial. I thought of Horemheb on his ship of state still floating in the harbour, Khay drinking wine in his office, and Ay alone in his perfect chambers, clutching his fist to the endless pain in his jaw. And I thought of Ankhesenamun pacing her lamplit apartments, thinking of ways to win the board game of politics, and ensure the future of her unborn children. And I saw myself, mulling and drinking in the dark, and talking more to Thoth than to anyone else, perhaps because he had been with me through everything. He alone understood. And he could never speak.

 

And then one evening, soon after sunset, I heard someone knocking. When I opened the gate I saw a chariot there, and an accompanying troop of palace guards like a vision in my chaotic street. Faces up and down the lane gawped in awe at the apparition. I somehow expected Khay's bony, gloomy features to greet me. But the face that peered
cautiously at me was Ankhesenamun's. She was carefully wrapped in the disguise of a linen robe.

‘I see I have astounded you. May I enter?' she said, uncomfortably.

I had imagined I would refuse to have anything more to do with any of these people and their palace intrigues. But I found I could not close the door in her face. I nodded, and she stepped gingerly down from the carriage in her gold sandals of excellent quality–far too good for this street–and under the disguise of a sunshade quickly entered the modest accommodation of my home.

Tanefert was in the kitchen. As we passed through towards the reception room, where we almost never sit, she saw who it was, and suddenly seemed to be caught in a trance. Then she remembered herself, and bowed low.

‘Life, prosperity and health to your majesty,' she said quietly.

‘I hope you will forgive this unexpected visit; it is rude of me to arrive uninvited,' said the Queen.

Tanefert nodded through her amazement. The two women took each other in carefully.

‘Please, go to the reception room. I will bring refreshments,' said Tanefert.

 

We settled on the benches, in an awkward silence. Ankhesenamun looked about her at the ordinary room.

‘I never thanked you for everything you did for me. I know you paid a very high price for your loyalty. It was much too high, in the end. Perhaps you will accept this as some compensation, however inadequate.'

She handed me a leather bag. I slipped it open and drew out a gold Collar of Honour. It was a beautiful and valuable object, of superb quality and craftsmanship, and I would be able to support the family for years on its value. I nodded and slipped it back inside the bag, feeling none of the things I should, perhaps, have felt on receiving such a treasure.

‘Thank you.'

Silence followed. I could hear Tanefert in the kitchen, preparing the tray.

‘The gift is an excuse. The truth is I have wanted to see you every day, and I have refrained from calling for you. I could not bring myself to do so,' she offered. ‘I realize how greatly I have come to depend upon you.'

‘And yet here you are,' I replied, perhaps too harshly.

‘Yes. Here I am. I have often imagined you in your home, with your family. I should like to meet them. Would that be possible?'

The girls were in any case alert to all visitors and the opportunity to meet them, and had gathered in the kitchen where I could hear them urgently questioning their mother about the identity of the unexpected stranger. I brought them in. To their credit, they approached, wide-eyed, and fell to their knees, bowing in perfect style.

Ankhesenamun thanked them, and asked them to stand up and introduce themselves. Then my father entered. He sank awkwardly to his painful knees like an old elephant, in wonder at this extraordinary guest. Tanefert returned with Amenmose in her arms.

He was sleepy, rubbing his eyes.

‘May I hold him?' asked Ankhesenamun.

My wife passed her the child, and the Queen of the Two Lands held him cautiously, gently gazing down at his face, which stared up at hers, doubtfully. She laughed at his timorous expression.

‘He is not sure of me,' she said.

But then the boy honoured her by responding to her laugh with his best grin, and her own face lit up, reflecting the delight of the moment.

‘It is a great gift to have children,' she said, quietly, and held him for a long moment before returning him reluctantly to his mother.

 

I persuaded the girls to leave us, and they did so, enjoying the business of bowing over and over as they moved backwards, bumping into each other in their enthusiasm, out of the room. Then we were alone again.

‘I imagine you are not here simply to pay me, and to meet my children.'

‘No. I have a kind of invitation for you. But it is also an appeal.'

‘And what is that?'

She took a long breath, and sighed.

‘The Days of Purification are complete. It is time to bury the King. But I have a problem.'

‘Horemheb?'

She nodded.

‘It is absolutely necessary that I decide what course to pursue. I have sustained him carefully, and I think he almost believes I will accept his proposal. Ay also believes I will see the wisdom of his proposition.'

‘So it will be a dangerous moment when you reveal your decision,' I said.

‘Yes. And once the King is buried, I must act. So I have decided for now I need them both, if I am to claim the crowns and continue my dynasty. Where Ay is concerned, he has offered to support me as Queen, provided he continues to control the offices and the strategy of the Two Lands. I would have to accept his accession as King—'

She saw my startled expression, but continued: ‘But in return I maintain my position and my independence, and I develop my own contacts, relationships and support among the offices of the government. I will confer useful legitimacy upon his authority. Ay is old, and he has no children; it will only be a matter of a few years of his kingship, before he settles all his authority and influence on me, and then he can conveniently die. This is agreed between us. It is the best I can do.'

‘And Horemheb?'

‘That is more difficult. Despite my revulsion for him, I have had to consider every choice, every option. He has powerful forces on his side; he commands in total more than thirty thousand soldiers. His generation are all new men, and the new army has been a path towards power and success for those who would otherwise have had none. Imagine what they could do! However, his accession to power would bring him into direct conflict with Ay and the offices, and I believe this would make the Two Lands as unstable as if we were at war with ourselves. Both of them know this, and both recognize it gives neither a clear advantage. Civil war would benefit no one at this time. And it is also the case that most of Horemheb's divisions are still far away,
engaged in the Hittite wars; even if a truce were negotiated there, it would take months for them to return, and that would be seen as a major defeat for the general. But he remains very dangerous.

‘Thanks to you, I have the intelligence I need now about the trade in the opium poppy, and I could use this to damage his reputation for moral purity. But it will be very difficult to prove, and above all I believe almost impossible to identify him, comprehensively, as the master of this trade. I have also decided such a controversy would be too damaging at the very time when everything must be done to create a new unity. So, I still need to contain him, like a lion in an enclosure, and in a way that ensures the army remains more or less willingly a collaborator within the scope of our authority. And to do this, in the real world of men and ambition, I must tempt him with something he wants. So I shall offer the prospect of marriage, but on the condition he waits until Ay is dead. And perhaps, with fortune on my side, a better possibility will reveal itself before then, because in truth I could never share my bed with that man. He has the heart of a rat.'

We sat in silence for a moment.

‘You said you had a request,' I reminded her.

‘I said it was an “appeal,” and an invitation, in fact,' she replied.

‘What is it?'

She paused, nervously.

‘Will you accompany me to the King's burial? It is to take place tomorrow night.'