The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh (13 page)

“It stinks, that place,” Senenmut had said, wrinkling his nose. “Those who work in the House of Death can be smelled from a distance. The sweetish smell of death seeps into one’s clothes, it seems to cleave to the skin. I was glad when I could leave for a different post.”

“I can understand that. I would have hated it,” I said.

I knew how important it is to prepare the body properly for when the Ka returns – especially, of course, for a member of the Royal House, since the link between the Pharaoh and the next world cannot be broken for fear of chaos descending. Yet I shuddered at the image of the Chief Surgeon approaching my royal father’s noble head and pushing a long bronze hook up through a nostril. I knew he would rotate it till the brain turned to mush and could be drawn out. I knew that the brain is a useless organ and if left in place would surely putrefy. I knew all that – but I did not like to picture it.

I found the thought of the ordeal that my father’s Ka would face even more horrifying than the imagined treatment of his body. I had been taught that Osiris, god of the dead, is the chief judge in the Hall of Judgment, where it is necessary for the Ka to make Protestations of Innocence. You must attest that you have not murdered, stolen, lied, cheated, acted unjustly to the weak, and so forth. Forty-two gods sit in a tribunal to hear these negative confessions. For a Pharaoh, the test is particularly stringent. Did he contravene Ma’at? Did he allow chaos to take over the Black Land? Did he favour the strong above the weak, did he insult the souls of the dead? Did he let the temples fall into ruin, did he counter the will of the gods? These questions would be put to my father.

What if his spirit did not prevail?

I asked this of Thutmose, my husband who would be crowned after the period of mourning was over.

“It would be a catastrophe,” said Thutmose, frowning.

“What then?”

“Then will Osiris command that he suffer eternal damnation in the Netherworld,” he said.

I shivered. I knew that it is a dread place, dismal and dark, peopled with monsters, lost spirits and defeated gods. “My father will surely satisfy the Great Tribunal,” I said. “He governed the Black Land well and he always considered the will of the gods.”

“I believe it to be so,” agreed my husband.

“He will surely also pass the crucial test,” I said hopefully. “I do not believe that there was evil in his heart, to make it weigh heavy against the feather of Ma’at on the scales of justice.” The alternative was too dreadful to think upon: If the heart is heavy with evil, it outweighs the feather, and then it is thrown to the hound of hell, Ammit the Devourer, to be gobbled up. “And surely the prayers and magical incantations of the priests will help?”

“Everything possible will be done to ensure that the spirit of the Pharaoh will reach the Mountain of the Sunrise,” Thutmose reminded me gently.

I knew that. Yet still I lived with fear. How could a human heart be so free of evil that it did not outweigh a feather? I could not be sure that my own heart did not conceal some evil thoughts and wishes, even if I did not have blood upon my hands. That it might not rise up and testify against me when my time came.

For seventy days the fate of Khemet hung in the balance. The departed Pharaoh had to be found worthy and then he would be exalted and live for ever. He would become conjoined with the sun god, Ra, be newly reborn as the sun and sail across the heavens in triumph. Then would the Black Land be blessed and the new Pharaoh could reign. Failing that, the world would end.

Here endeth the sixth scroll.                      

Oh dear, oh dear. I should not be reading Her Majesty’s most intimate secrets, it is not right. She would be horrified if she knew. But now I have seen what I have seen and I cannot pretend that I have not. I wonder whether an act such as my reading what is none of my business could weigh against my heart in the Afterlife? I fear it could. But I will keep my counsel. Nobody will ever hear her secrets from me, unless I must pass on her journals to be used in testimony on her behalf. And even then, I think I shall select. I can be discreet. I shall never speak of this.

I swear it by the Ka of Thoth.

THE SEVENTH SCROLL

The reign of Thutmose II year 1

After the seventy days of mourning had passed, the burial of the Pharaoh took place. Since Ra still rose in splendour every day, I was assured that my royal father had undergone transition, resurrection and exaltation, and had become one with the sun god. Therefore I did not find the funeral to be a terrifying experience. Rather it was a comfort to me to know that I would be a part of the majestic ceremony, which would take place at night. The procession would escort the mummy to the stark valley amid steep cliffs where Ineni had created a deep and secret tomb for the Pharaoh.

The mummy of the King with its beautiful mask of gold modelling the late king’s face was placed upon a sledge drawn by a team of multi-coloured bulls. They would draw the sledge to the valley where the tomb had been prepared. Slaves lit the way with flaming torches. At the head of the procession, accompanied by a group of chantresses and lesser priests, walked the lector priest, draped in a leopard skin. He chanted incantations, burned incense and poured libations of sacred wine upon the ground. The sweet incense and the sourish smell of the wine mingled in the chill evening air. Marching feet grated on the gravel and the runners of the sledge scraped over the sand. Now and then one could hear a snort or grunt from the bulls.

My husband Thutmose and I walked directly behind the sledge. He gripped my hand tightly and I think we both took comfort from this. Behind us a second sledge followed, bearing the richly decorated canopic chest that held the jars with the Pharaoh’s organs within a shrine. Behind the second sledge walked a large group of professional mourners, weeping and wailing and tearing their hair. Next, a large group of minor wives, concubines, children, and other members of the royal harem.

Then came porters staggering under a huge quantity of funerary goods. Pharaoh should not lack for anything once he achieved immortality. The slaves bore clothing, food, bunches of herbs, furniture, weaponry, heirloom vases, jewellery with the colours of flowers, carvings in wood, ivory and stone, statues clothed in silver and gold, jars of oil and wine, flasks of perfume, pots of unguents, papyrus scrolls containing the Book of the Dead, models of horses and beautifully decorated sledges, a model barque and a full-size gilded chariot.

Naturally, many ushabti would also be interred with the King, for these small figures of soldiers, officials, scribes, servants and slaves would be transfigured into a host of subjects who would serve the King in the Afterlife and ensure that his every need was met.

The funeral procession wound solemnly through the desolate valley to the Pharaoh’s final dwelling place. A full moon shed an unearthly light over the stark hills, naked as bones, and cast deep shadows across the canyons through which the long line snaked. The incantations seemed to echo in the vast amphitheatre:

“The being for whom you do this will not perish for ever.

He will live on as a glorious god.

No evil will befall him
.
”

Yet despite these words it seemed to me that Seth and his devils lurked in the dark ravines, that in the shadows Ammit the Devourer panted and slobbered, lusting for a meal, the choice morsel of a Pharaoh’s heart, while monsters and genii eagerly awaited the advent of a lost soul that they could drive into the depths of the Netherworld where howl the unregenerate damned.

“The furious tempest drives him, it roars like Seth
,
”
intoned the priest.

As we marched through the valley in the shadow of death, I was comforted by the thought that the power of sacred spells shielded the spirit of my father the King; I could feel it just as I often sensed the arms of Hathor supporting me.

The voices of the chantresses rose sweetly:

“The reed-boats of the sky are prepared for me,

That I may cross to Ra at the horizon …

I will take my place there, for the moon is my brother
…”

The priest promised:

“The guardians of heaven open the divine portals for him,

He reaches the celestial kingdom of Ra,

And is seated on the throne of Osiris.

His lifetime is eternal, its limit is everlastingness.”

The cortège had now reached the dark mouth of the tomb. The mummy of the Pharaoh was reverently taken from the sledge, put into the smallest of the nest of coffins, and made to stand upright upon the ground. Several priests assisted in ritual purification and anointments. The lector priest recited a eulogy of the departed Pharaoh, emphasising his dedication to Ma’at and his devotion to the gods. Then it was time for my husband, the new Pharaoh, to carry out the task of Opening the Mouth. If this was not done, the dead Pharaoh would not be able to eat or speak – in effect he would die a second time. Meanwhile the slaves would carry the grave goods into the depths of the tomb, so that it would be furnished as a fit dwelling for the Pharaoh when at last he was installed there.

Thutmose, my husband, stepped forward. He wore a white linen tunic belted with a sash of bright colours under a pleated robe with wide sleeves. Bracelets of gold, a jewelled collar and a ceremonial crown glinted in the moonlight. He had the implements ready that are required for the ceremony, and proceeded to carry out his task with grace and gravity, touching the mouth, nose, eyes, ears and chest of the mummy, from which the mask had been removed for the ritual. I was proud of him.

First he touched the Pharaoh’s mouth, intoning:

“I have come to embrace thee. I am thy son Horus.

I open for thee thy mouth.”

Then his nose:

“I open for thee thy nostrils that thou mayest breathe.

I am thy son, I love thee.”

Next, his eyes, now blue jewels:

“I open for thee thy two eyes. Also thy two ears.

The dead shall walk and shall speak,

And thy body shall be with the great company of the gods.”

Finally, he touched the chest where the heart had been preserved beneath the layers of bandages:

“I quicken thy heart, so that thou mayest live.

Neither heaven nor earth can be taken away from thee,

For behold, thou wilt rise again without fail and for ever.”

At last, it was time for the mummy to be borne into the tomb and laid to rest in the huge sarcophagus. As the priests carrying the inner coffin with the mummy disappeared into the dark entrance, the lamentations of the mourners increased in intensity. I, too, lamented as the custom was. I noticed that Thutmose had tears in his eyes. The tomb would be sealed, I knew, with spells and curses to deter tomb robbers. Then the entrance to the tomb would be hidden beneath stones and rubble.

As the slaves set to work carting large boulders and loose gravel, other servants and slaves set out the funeral feast on small tables covered with cloths. We had stools to rest our weary legs. By this time the greater part of the night had passed and the sky was lightening in the east. The moon had paled. I was hungry and I did full justice to the baked meats and tasty cakes and fruit, but Thutmose, who was pale and near to exhaustion, did no more than pick.