Tutankhamun: The Book of Shadows

18

I tried to stop myself breaking into a run as I made my way, by memory now, towards the royal quarters. By day, I noticed more people: groups of officials, foreign ministers, delegates and potentates being entertained in various chambers. I showed my permissions to the guards, who scrutinized them carefully before allowing me to pass. At least the security had improved.

‘Take me to Simut. At once,’ I commanded.

He and Khay were waiting in Khay’s office. As I entered, they both looked at me sourly.

‘I am sorry. I had another emergency.’

‘What emergency could possibly be greater than this one?’ wondered Khay, airily.

Simut silently handed me a papyrus scroll. I glanced down the list of no more than ten names: the chiefs of the royal domain; viziers of the north and south; Huy, Chancellor; the Chief Steward; the Chamberlain; the Fan Bearer of the King’s Right Hand…

‘All of those who have entered the royal quarters in the last three days, I have called together and interviewed. It is a pity you could not be there. They didn’t like being kept waiting, and they didn’t like being questioned. It is contributing to the feeling of uncertainty within the palace. I’m afraid I could find no evidence against any of them,’ he said.

‘You mean they all claim to have alibis?’ I asked, irritated by him and by my own anxiety at the lack of progress. He was right. I should have been there. He nodded.

‘Of course, we are now in the process of checking these, and I will have another report for you in the morning.’

‘But where are they now?’

‘I asked them to remain here until you could speak to them. What else would you have me do? It is now dark, and they are angry not to be able to return to their homes and their families. Already they claim they are imprisoned in the royal quarters.’ He snorted.

‘Well, given what is at stake, that is the least of our concerns. Who are these men? I mean, where do their loyalties lie?’

Khay pounced on me at once.

‘Their loyalties lie with the King, and with the Two Lands. And how dare you suggest otherwise?’

‘Yes, that’s the official version, I know. But which of these are Ay’s men?’

They exchanged an uncertain glance. But it was Simut who replied:

‘All of them.’

As I entered, the great men of the royal domain all turned as one from their discussion to gaze at me with frank hostility, but remained seated in a gesture of contempt. I saw abundant wine and food had been laid on for them. Khay as usual made a fussy introduction, and I interrupted him as soon as I could.

‘It is no longer a secret that, somehow, someone is leaving objects within the royal quarters whose aim is to alarm and threaten the King and the Queen. We have come to the conclusion that the only way these objects could be left inside the palace, despite the excellence of the palace security, is if someone with a high level of clearance is delivering them. And I’m afraid, lords, that means one of you.’

There was a moment of icy silence, and then suddenly they were all up on their feet, bellowing in indignation at me, at Khay and at Simut. Khay patted at the turbulent air with his diplomatic hands, as if calming children.

‘Lords, please. Remember that this man has the public acclaim of the King himself. He is merely pursuing his duties in the name of the King. And as you may recall, he has permission to follow his investigation, and I quote the royal words: “regardless of where it may lead him.”’

This was effective.

‘I am sorry to inconvenience you in this way. I realize you all have busy lives, and very important roles to fulfil, and no doubt anxious families at home…’ I continued.

‘Been spared that at least,’ huffed one of them.

‘And I would like to be able to say the time has come for me to thank you and open the door for you to leave. Alas, that is not the case. Regrettably, I will now need to speak to each one of you individually, and I will also need to interview all the officers and staff who are in any way connected to your work here at the palace…’

Another roar of indignation greeted that, during which I gradually became aware of a loud knocking on the door to the chamber. This had the effect of gradually silencing everyone again. I strode over to the door, furious at being interrupted, and saw, to my shock, Ankhesenamun standing there, holding a small object in the palm of her hand.

The magical figurine, no bigger than the span of my hand, had been wrapped in a linen cloth and dropped outside the King’s chamber. It might almost have been possible to mistake it for a toy, except for the vile air of malevolence that emanated from it. Fashioned from dark wax into a shape that represented a human figure, it lacked all character or detail, like a half-formed foetus from the Otherworld. Copper needles had been driven through the head from ear to ear, and back to front through the eyes, as well as through the mouth, and directly downward into the centre of the skull. None pierced the body itself, as if the curse was intended only for the head, the seat of thought, imagination and fear. A few strands of black human hair had been inserted into the navel to transfer the essence of the intended victim into the inert matter of the figurine. I wondered if it was the King’s own hair, because otherwise it would not be magically effective. On the back, the names and titles of the King had been precisely inscribed in the wax. The ritual of execration would call down the curse of death upon the person and his names, so that the destruction of the spirit extended to the afterlife. Such figurines were powerful, ancient magic to those who believed in their authority. It was another attempt to terrify; but it was a much more intimate threat than any of the others, even the death mask; for this was a great curse on the immortality of the King’s spirit.

At the back of the figurine a slip of papyrus had been worked into the wax. I prised it out and unrolled it carefully; tiny signs had been written there in red ink, like those that had been carved into the rim of the box that contained the death mask. Of course, they might just be nonsense, for curses are often expressed in such a way, but then again they might well be an authentic magical language.

Ankhesenamun, Khay and Simut waited impatiently while I finished my examination of the object.

‘This cannot continue,’ said Khay, as if saying it would make it so. ‘It is an absolute catastrophe…’

I said nothing.

‘Three times the King’s privacy has been invaded. Three times he has been alarmed-’ he continued, bleating like a goat.

‘Where is he now?’ I interrupted him.

‘He has retired to another chamber,’ replied Ankhesenamun. ‘His physician attends him.’

‘And what effect has this had upon him?’

‘He is-troubled.’ She glanced at me, sighed, and continued: ‘When he found the death figure, his breath seized in his chest, and his heart tightened like a knot in a rope. I feared he might die of the terror. And tomorrow is the dedication of the Colonnade Hall. He must appear. This could not have come at a worse moment.’

‘The timing is deliberate,’ I said.

I looked again at the figurine.

‘Whoever did this seems to have been able to attach the King’s own hair.’

I showed Khay. He looked with revulsion at the figurine.

‘But in any case,’ said Simut, in his slow, stentorian voice, ‘no one seems to have noticed that all the suspects, so-called, have been gathered together in one room, at exactly the time this was found. It is not possible for any of them to have delivered this.’

He was right, of course.

‘Please return to the chamber and, with my apologies, release them all. Thank them for their time.’

‘But what am I going to tell them, exactly?’ moaned Khay.

‘Tell them we have a new lead. A promising new lead.’

‘If only that were true,’ he replied bitterly. ‘We are powerless, it seems, against this peril. Time is running out, Rahotep.’

He shook his head and left, accompanied by Simut for protection.

I wrapped the death figure in a length of linen cloth, and placed it in my bag, as I wanted Nakht to see the signs, in case he recognized the language. Ankhesenamun and I remained standing in the corridor. I did not know what to say. I suddenly felt like a creature in a trap, acquiescent to its fate. Then I noticed the doors to the King’s bedchamber were still ajar.

‘May I?’ I asked. She nodded.

The chamber reminded me of a child’s fantasy of a room in which to play and dream. There were hundreds of toys, in wooden boxes, on shelves, or stored in woven baskets. Some were very old and frail, as if they had belonged to generations of children, but most were fairly new, especially commissioned no doubt: inlaid spinning tops; collections of marbles; a game box with an elegant senet board on the top, and a drawer for the ebony and ivory playing pieces, the whole object resting upon elegant ebony legs and runners. There were also many wooden and pottery animals, with moving jaws and limbs, including a cat with a string through its jaw, a collection of carved locusts with wings that worked intricately in exact imitation of the real thing, a horse on wheels, and a painted pecking bird with a wide tail, beautifully balanced on its rounded breast, the perfect colours muted with long handling. Here were chubby ivory dwarfs set on a wide base with strings that could make them dance from side to side. And by the sleeping couch, with its blue glass headrest, gilded and inscribed with a spell of protection, was a single carved monkey with a round, grinning, almost human face, and long moving limbs for swinging from imaginary tree to tree. Also paint palettes with indentations crammed with pigments. In amongst the toy animals were hunting sticks, and bows and arrows, and a silver trumpet with a golden mouthpiece. And in gilded cages along the far wall of the room, many bright, tiny birds rustled and fluttered delicately against the thin bars of their elaborate wooden palaces, complete with tiny chambers, towers and pools.

‘Where is the King’s monkey?’ I asked.

‘It is with the King. That creature gives him great comfort,’ Ankhesenamun replied. And then, as if to explain the King’s childishness, she continued: ‘It has taken me years to encourage the King in our plan, and tomorrow is its fulfilment. Somehow he must find his courage, despite this. Somehow I must help him to do so.’

We both gazed around the chamber and its bizarre contents.

‘He cares about these toys more than he cares about all the riches in the world,’ she offered quietly, and without much hope in her voice.

‘Perhaps there’s a good reason for that,’ I replied.

‘There is a reason, and I understand it. These are the treasures of his lost childhood. But it is time to put away such things. There is too much at stake.’

‘Perhaps our childhoods are buried inside all of us. Perhaps they set the pattern for our futures,’ I suggested.

‘In that case I am doomed by mine,’ she said without self-pity.

‘Perhaps not, for you are aware of it,’ I said.

She glanced at me warily.

‘You never talk like a Medjay.’

‘I talk too much. I am famous for it.’

She almost smiled.

‘And you love your wife and your children,’ she replied, oddly.

‘Yes I do. I can say that, for certain,’ I replied, in truth.

‘But that is your vulnerability.’

I was taken aback by the observation.

‘How so?’

‘It means you can be destroyed through others. I have been taught one thing: to have care for no one, for if I care for someone I know they will be condemned by my love.’

‘That is survival, not life. And also, it disallows the love of the other. Perhaps you have no right to do that. Or no right to make that decision for them,’ I said.

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But in my world it is a necessity. The fact that I wish it were not so cannot alter the fact.’

She was now moving about the chamber, anxiously.

‘Now it is I who talk nonsense. Why do I say such things when I am with you?’ she continued.

‘I am honoured by your honesty,’ I replied, carefully.

She gave me a long, long look, as if assessing the polite equivocation of my reply, but said nothing more.

‘May I ask you a question?’ I said.

‘Of course you may. I hope I am not a suspect,’ she said, half smiling.

‘Whoever is leaving these objects can move about within the royal quarters with relative ease. How else could these things be left? So I need to know who could have access to this chamber. Obviously his chamber-men and women, and his wet nurse…’

‘Maia? Yes. She performs all the most intimate tasks for the King. She despises me, of course. She blames my mother for everything, and she thinks because I might have benefited from crimes committed before I was born, I should pay for them now.’

‘She is only a servant,’ I observed.

‘She whispers her hatred into the ear of the King. She is closer than a mother to him.’

‘But her love for the King is unquestioned…’ I said.

‘She is famous for her loyalty and her love. It is all she has,’ she replied, almost casually, as she wandered about the room.

‘So who else could come in here?’

She picked up the monkey figure, and regarded it coolly.

‘Well, me, of course…But I rarely enter this chamber. I would have no reason to come in here. I do not wish to play with toys. I have encouraged him in other directions.’

She put the monkey back down.

‘And in any case, I can hardly be a suspect, since I asked you to investigate in the first place. Or does it sometimes happen that the very person who initiated the investigation, also turns out to be the guilty party?’

‘Sometimes. I imagine in your position, others will make of your situation what they will. After all, they might say, for example, that you wanted your husband crippled with fear, in order to assume power for yourself.’

Her eyes turned suddenly lightless, like a pool when the sun departs.

‘People speculate, they love it. I can do nothing about that. But my husband and I are bound to each other by much more than mutual necessity. We have a deep bond of history. He is all I have left of that history. And I would never harm him, for, apart from anything, that would hardly enhance my own security. We are necessary to each other. To each other’s survival and future. But we also share a deep care and affection…’ She ran her carefully manicured fingernails across the fretwork of one of the birdcages, tapping gently, so that the bird within regarded her with one eye, then flitted away as far as it could.

Then she turned back to me. Her eyes glistened.

‘I feel danger in everything, in the walls, in the shadows; the fear is like millions of ants in my mind, in my hair. See how my hands tremble, all the time?’

She held them out, and gazed at them as if they were disloyal. Then she summoned back her confidence.

‘Tomorrow will be a life-changing day for all of us. I wish you to attend us at the ceremony.’

‘Only priests are allowed within the temple itself,’ I reminded her.

‘Priests are only men in the right clothing. If you shave your head and dress in white linen, you will pass for a priest. Who would know you were not?’ she said, cheering up at the thought. ‘Sometimes you have the face of a priest. You look like a man who has seen mysteries.’

I was about to reply, when Khay reappeared. He bowed ostentatiously.

‘The lords of the royal domain have left. Full of threats and indignation, I might add.’

‘That is their way, and it will pass,’ replied Ankhesenamun.

Khay bowed again.

‘Rahotep will accompany us to the inauguration tomorrow,’ she continued. ‘He will need to be dressed appropriately, so that his presence causes no disturbance to protocol.’

‘Very well,’ he said, in the dry tone of someone who is only obeying orders.

‘I wish to meet the King’s physician,’ I said, suddenly.

‘Pentu attends the King,’ replied Khay.

‘I am sure he will spare Rahotep a few moments of his time. Ask him as a favour from me,’ said Ankhesenamun.

Khay bowed once more.

‘I must go to the King now. There is so much to be accomplished, and so little time,’ she replied.

Then she added quietly: ‘Can you remain here, in the royal quarters, tonight? The thought of your presence would be a comfort to me.’

I remembered the appointment with Khety.

‘Alas, I must return to the city. I have another line of inquiry that I must pursue tonight. It is imperative, I’m afraid.’

She gazed at me.

‘Poor Rahotep. You are trying to live two lives at once. You will attend us in the morning.’

I bowed, and when I looked up again, she had disappeared.