Tutankhamun: The Book of Shadows

46

That evening, Thoth and I returned to Nakht’s town house. Minmose offered to shave my head, for if I was to pass through the temple gateway, I needed once again to transform myself into the appearance of a priest. As I was sitting under his blade, with a cloth around my neck, Khety arrived. Luckily for him, he would not need to perform these ritual ablutions, for he was to attend as Nakht’s experimental victim-a non-elite character.

‘Is the guard in place at my home?’ I asked first.

He nodded. ‘Tanefert was not happy about the imposition. But I explained the necessity as well as I could, without frightening her.’

I sighed with relief.

‘And did you impress upon her to make sure the children do not go out, in any event?’

‘I did. Don’t worry. They are safe. They will be guarded night and day.’ Then he allowed himself a quiet chuckle. ‘You make an unconvincing priest,’ he said.

‘Be careful, Khety. You will soon find yourself in a much more compromised position.’

He nodded.

‘That’s what I enjoy about my work. Every night is different. One night patrolling the streets; the next, taking dangerous hallucinogens…’

‘Nakht has concocted something that will look plausibly like the fungus, but will have no effect at all.’

‘So I have to pretend?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Nakht, as he entered in his robes. ‘I have made up a simulacra of the dried fungus using ground beans.’

‘I hate beans,’ replied Khety. ‘My wife cooks them, but they have a horrible effect on me…’

‘You will not need to consume more than a mouthful, and so the noxious effects should be absolutely minimal,’ Nakht replied. And then added: ‘Which is surely a relief for all of us.’

‘But what sort of thing should I talk about when I’ve taken the powder?’ asked Khety.

‘Nothing to start with. And then, slowly, imagine that the light of heaven is revealed to you. Let your mind accept the illumination of the Gods.’

‘And what does that look like?’ asked Khety.

Nakht glanced at me, dubiously.

‘Think of light. Describe the beauty of the light, and how you see the Gods moving in light, as if light were thought and thought were light.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Khety, hesitantly.

Nakht had ordered chariots to carry us from his house, up the long Avenue of Sphinxes, to the Great Temple of Karnak. The streets were dark. I noticed boarded-up shop fronts, and some blackened interiors-the damage done during the riots. But the city seemed quiet again. We arrived at the gates, and Nakht spoke to the temple guards, who assessed Khety and me by the light of their lamps. Nakht’s fame here was great, and I prayed that they would ask few questions. He chatted cheerfully to them for a moment, and then, with a last questioning look, we were swiftly waved through. We passed under the gateway and once more into the vast shadowy arena within the temple walls. Beyond the great raised hammered bowls of oil that had been lit throughout the Enclosure, like a constellation of small suns, everything disappeared into an obscure penumbra.

Nakht lit his oil lamp, and we set off across the open ground in the direction of the House of Life. But instead of entering there, he led us further to the right of the building. We followed down several dark passageways between separate buildings-workshops and offices, all deserted for the night. The passageways narrowed and the buildings gave way to storage rooms and magazines, until we reached the high back wall of the Great Enclosure itself. Just there stood a tiny, ancient structure. As we approached I saw the figure of Osiris, God of the Dead, was carved everywhere on its walls, in his white crown flanked by two plumed feathers, surrounded by column after column of dense inscriptions.

‘This chapel is dedicated to Osiris,’ whispered Khety.

‘Precisely. The God of the Otherworld, of night, and darkness, and death before life…but of course he is in truth the God of the light beyond the light, as we say. Of illumination and secret knowledge,’ Nakht replied. Khety nodded, as if he understood, then raised his eyebrows at me.

We passed through the outer chamber, and into the small, dark inner chamber of the temple. Quickly Nakht lit oil lamps in niches around the walls. Rich drifts of incense floated on the shadowy air. He installed me behind one of the pillars, near the entrance, from where I could observe everything that came to pass, and anyone who approached. Then we settled down to wait. And eventually, one by one, twelve other men in white robes arrived. I recognized some of them from the party at Nakht’s house. There was the blue-eyed poet, and the architect. Each man wore a gold pendant on a gold chain around his neck. On each one was an obsidian circle: the dark disc. They greeted Nakht with great excitement, and then examined Khety like a servant for sale. Finally, only Sobek had failed to appear. I felt my plan crumbling away between my fingers. He had not, after all, taken the bait.

Nakht played for time:

‘One of our number is missing,’ he said eventually, loudly enough so that I could hear. ‘We should wait for Sobek.’

‘I disagree, time is passing, and so we should begin the ceremony without him. Why should the God wait for Sobek?’ called out one of the men, followed by a chorus of agreement. Nakht had no choice but to begin. From my vantage behind the pillar, I watched as Khety’s eyes were bound with a black cloth, so that he could not witness anything. Then a small chest was carried in, and from within that a gold coffer was brought forth. This was opened to reveal a human-shaped pottery dish, and within that was something that looked like a wheat loaf or cake, baked in the rough shape of a human being.

Nakht intoned a hymn over the cake: ‘Homage to thee, Osiris, the lord of eternity, the King of the Gods, thou who hast many names, whose forms of coming forth are holy, whose attributes are hidden…’ and so it went on. Finally, the incantation finished, the cake was raised up and then divided into fourteen parts, and each man ritually ate one of the pieces. I suppose these were the fourteen parts into which Seth, the jealous brother, cut up Osiris’s body after he had murdered him. Now, ritually, the God was reborn in each man. One piece of the cake was left over for Sobek.

The mystery accomplished-and I must confess I was disappointed that it seemed merely to be a symbolic meal-the twelve men gathered around Nakht for the evening’s experiment. He drew forth from his robe a leather pouch, and then spoke at length, partly playing for time, reiterating what he knew of the powers and nature of this food of the Gods, and his hope that it could offer visions of the Gods. Still there was no sign of Sobek.

Finally, realizing that there was no more time left, Nakht opened the pouch, and, on a cosmetic spoon, produced a sample of the powder. The initiates observed it minutely, fascinated by its legendary potency. By now the blindfolded Khety must have been quite concerned, for the moment was approaching for the experiment. But Nakht suddenly said: ‘Let us not waste this marvel on a servant. I myself will eat the food of the Gods.’

The men all nodded enthusiastically. I could imagine Khety’s relief. Nakht must have decided Khety’s acting skills were not going to be adequate, and perhaps, too, he thought he could take up more time with his own performance, just in case Sobek finally appeared.

‘You will be able to describe to us your visions in intellectual detail, which the servant could not,’ said the blue-eyed poet, condescendingly.

‘And we shall be here to record anything you may speak of when you are possessed of the vision.’

‘You may become a living oracle,’ said another, excitedly.

With a great performance of ritual, Nakht mixed a spoonful of the powder into a cup of fresh water, and then drank it in slow, careful sips. The chamber was utterly silent, each man gazing with rapt anticipation at Nakht’s serious face. At first nothing happened. He smiled and shrugged slightly, as if in disappointment. But then, a look of seriousness stole over his face, and became one of intense concentration. Had I not known he was performing, I would almost have been persuaded of the authenticity of the vision myself. Slowly he raised his hands, palms up, and his eyes followed. He seemed now to be caught in a trance, his eyes wide open and unblinking, staring at an airy mirage of something that was not there.

And then what had been an act became real. Between the small, steady lights of the oil lamps, and the greater penumbra of the chamber, a shadow entered. The figure that cast the shadow was all darkness; small, like an animal almost, its shape and features hidden in the wrapped folds of the black cloak that covered it from head to toe. I felt fear like a cloak of ice descend upon me. I drew my knife from its sheath, and grasped the figure from behind and held the blade to its throat.

‘Take three steps forward.’

The figure shuffled ahead like an animal in the market place into the light of the lamps. The faces of the initiates stared incredulously at these unexpected and unacceptable intrusions.

‘Turn around,’ I ordered.

It did so.

‘Remove your hood.’

It did so, slowly slipping the cloth from its head.

The girl was not much older than my own daughter Sekhmet. I had never seen her before. She looked like a girl one would pass on the street, and not notice. She sat on the low bench, a cup of water clenched between her fists, shivering and panting. Nakht carefully placed a linen shawl around her shoulders, and went away, to leave us some privacy, and to try to calm the hubbub of protestation that now rose from his fellow society members.

I lifted her chin, and gently tried to persuade her to look at me.

‘What has happened? Who are you?’

Tears squeezed out from her eyes.

‘Rahotep!’ she managed to say before the intense chattering of her teeth overwhelmed her again.

‘I am Rahotep. Why are you here? Who sent you?’

‘I do not know his name. He said to say: “I am the demon who dispatches messengers to lure the living into the realm of the dead.”’

She stared at us. Khety and I glanced at each other.

‘How did he find you?’

‘He stole me from the street. He says he will kill my family if I do not deliver a message to Rahotep.’

Her eyes filled with tears, and her face contorted again.

‘And what is the message?’

She could barely enunciate the words.

‘You must come to the catacombs. Alone…’

‘Why?’

‘You have something he wants. And he has something you want,’ she replied.

‘What does he have that I want?’ I asked, slowly.

Now she could not look me in the eye. Great convulsions shook her.

‘Your son,’ she whispered.