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Authors: Paul Doherty
The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries) (38 page)
BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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We took up quarters at the heart of the palace, in rooms which looked over a central courtyard where the passageways and entrance could be easily guarded. The next few weeks were busy with the unloading of cabinets, beds, chairs and chests. Flowers had to be gathered for bouquets, the kitchen organised. Djarka and I interrogated all the servants, sifting out those who might be spies, though, of course, Ankhesenamun was the principal source of information for the Lord Ay. My mercenaries I trusted, men of the Medjay, Kushites and a few Libyans, braggarts, drinkers, but good fighting men. I paid them well and made sure they were comfortable in defensive rings around our quarters. They were under strict orders: people were only to be allowed to pass if they carried warrants or letters bearing my seal. Anyone else was to be treated as hostile. Colonel Nebamun’s chariot squadron arrived, organised on a rota basis; they set up permanent camp along the clifftops with regular forays out into the eastern desert, whilst General Nakhtimin’s guards supervised all river traffic.
The news of the Prince’s return soon became well known. The city became an attraction for the merchants and traders eager to sell their goods and produce to the court. The weeks slipped into months as we settled down, establishing a harmonious if boring routine. I was determined on that. Naturally, I listened to the news from Thebes. If Ay and the rest had their spies in the City of the Aten, I still controlled a legion of whisperers and tale-tellers in Thebes organised by Sobeck, who was always eager to pass on the chatter and gossip of the city drinking-booths and eating-houses. Lord Ay was quick to move, establishing his power as First Minister in practice if not in name. Justice was ruthlessly and speedily dispensed. The usurper and all his companions were paraded in chains through Thebes for the mockery of the mob. Ay himself carried out public executions in the incense-filled courtyards of Karnak, crushing the skulls of his enemies and hanging his victims in chains from the Wall of Death. Huy and Maya were equally busy. New taxes were raised, the House of Silver replenished, granaries filled, whilst envoys were sent across Sinai and beyond the Third Cataract to inform our allies that the new power of Egypt was not to be taken lightly. Ay also kept his word about the dead. Slave gangs were moved into the Valley of the Kings, where caves were dug, tombs constructed, the Mansions of Eternity prepared for those whose corpses mouldered above the City of the Aten.
Late in the season of Shemsu, the second year of Tutankhamun’s reign, Ay dispatched a letter asking that the tombs in the eastern cliffs of the City of the Aten be emptied and the coffins and sarcophagi be transported by night along the Nile to Thebes. I personally supervised this. I had made my preparations well. The tombs in the limestone cliffs above the City of the Aten, about thirty in all, were arranged in two patterns, some in the northern cliffs, others in the south, whilst Akenhaten had chosen a sepulchre in the centre of these mountains, in line with the rising sun. Of course, Ankhesenamun, and even Tutankhamun, wished to be present. The tombs themselves were ringed by high protective walls, entered by a double-barred gate, which was guarded by my mercenaries. Some of the tombs contained nothing, empty caverns with little more than wall paintings; others were full. I began the grisly task of bringing out the dead. The tombs were treasure troves, full of costly possessions and beautifully gilded coffins and caskets. My scribes made a precise inventory. Each item was tagged and carefully noted before being lifted on to a waiting cart and transported down to the quayside. I had commandeered certain warehouses where these relics could be stored till the barges arrived. It was an eerie experience to walk amongst the dead, to stand in a burial chamber, the oil lamps and torches flickering, the air thick and cloying with the smell of natron, perfume and the rich odours of the embalming oils.
In some cases the task was easy. The coffins and caskets were all carefully prepared, but I also witnessed the devastating effects of the hideous plague which had swept through the City of the Aten. The embalmers had been too busy, their ranks depleted by the ravages of the pestilence. Bodies had been hastily prepared, often doused in baths of pure natron, which dried the flesh and turned the bones brittle, before being hastily lifted into makeshift chests and boxes and lodged in the burial chambers with little ceremony. Many of these had rotted and crumbled, the remains inside nothing more than a heap of bones and dust. I did my best, with the help of the priests and scribes, to observe the rites, to honour the dead, yet it was a thankless task. I did not believe in the afterlife. When a man dies, his soul dies with him. Standing in those gloomy chambers where dried-out corpses half protruded from arrow chests or wooden boxes, it was difficult to conceive of the Land of the Blessed, of the fertile fields of Yalou where the green-skinned God Osiris ruled. We worked, our mouths and nostrils covered with strips of linen dipped in perfume. Occasionally we had to stop, to be free of the dust, to go out and catch the soothing air, or simply to sit in the sunlight so as to drive the shadows away.
The news spread through the city. Crowds of sightseers surged up the cliff paths. There were few protests. The tombs had been the preserve of members of Akenhaten’s family and court, the coffins of the workers and traders being buried elsewhere. Every day the macabre work continued. After sunset, a sombre torch-lit procession escorted the creaking carts, pulled by lowing oxen, down from the clifftops. The treasures, of course, were carefully hidden under cloths and closely guarded. We began in the north and then moved to those in the south. Pentju was present when his family tomb was opened. He cried quietly as the coffins of his wife, children and kinsmen were taken out into the sunlight, the treasure buried with them stacked about. The coffins were sealed and secured. I would have loved to have examined their contents, but that would have provoked a major confrontation. I hid my curiosity, putting more trust in the letter I had sent to Sobeck in Thebes.
On my return to the City of the Aten, I had made careful examination about the chief embalmer Nefertiti had used, the one Khufu described as ‘the Stammerer’. At first no one knew of his whereabouts; a few claimed he had died. However, a well-to-do trader who did business with the fishing fleets sold me the information that the Stammerer, together with his wealth, had boarded a barge shortly after Queen Nefertiti’s death and secretly returned to Thebes. I decided to wait on developments.
At last all the tombs were empty. I let matters rest for a while and then, accompanied by my mercenary captain, entered the courtyard which led to Akenhaten’s tomb, the royal burial place in the centre of the limestone cliffs. The courtyard in front of it was empty of all statues, the flower baskets had long rotted to nothing but dark dried masses in the corner. The workmen I had brought were most reluctant to start, but I paid a chapel priest to gabble a few solemn prayers. I informed the workmen that their task was blessed by the Gods and would be the source of great profit for themselves and their families. The wall leading into the entrance of the tomb was shattered, the plaster and brickwork beyond pulled away to reveal a long passageway. The tomb followed the pattern of others except that its tunnels and chambers were most majestic, a truly sombre underworld. The torchlight illuminated the paintings on the walls. The tomb had been planned as a place of glory, though its artwork had never been finished, due to the plague as well as the crisis caused by the rift between Akenhaten and Nefertiti. I walked into the royal burial chamber, which housed the coffins of Akenhaten’s five daughters and the blue and gold casket of his Queen, the Glorious Nefertiti. I stood for a while staring down at this, recalling how after her death the Lord Ay had given his daughter’s corpse over to the embalmers. The seventy-day funeral period had not been observed. Haste had been the order of the day. Nevertheless, she had been given a coffin worthy of a queen, though probably not the one she had intended.
I went back to the entrance and led the workmen in. The coffins were taken out whilst I continued my search of the underground passageways and chambers. It was like walking the empty cellars of a house. Here and there frescoes caught my eye, yet there was nothing else. A gloomy place, manifesting the glory and majesty of Akenhaten’s court. I reached the end of the tunnel and walked back. Ahead of me I could hear the cries of the workmen as they manoeuvred the coffins up the steps. I had to walk carefully; the floor was still strewn with rubble, and in many places the walls of the tunnel were of rough, undressed stone. When I reached a part of the tunnel where the wall was smooth, I stopped and peered closer, raising my torch to make out the outline of a small square neatly plastered over. I shouted at the workmen, and their supervisor came hurrying down. He too examined the plaster carefully, tapping at it, pressing his ear against it.
‘My lord, there is another chamber beyond. A secret one. This is not a door, but a window leading into it.’
I stood back. The square was about two yards high, the same across.
‘Break it down,’ I ordered.
‘My lord, be careful.’ The overseer’s dusty face was full of fear.
‘Why, man, what’s the matter?’
He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
‘It’s a hidden chamber.’ The overseer pointed to the marks around the plaster, ones that I hadn’t noticed. I lifted the torch and peered at the magical symbols cursing anyone who broke through this wall. The usual nonsense: the eye of Horus, the striking Cobra …
‘The Gods are far too busy,’ I replied, ‘to care about a hole in the wall.’
‘It’s not the Gods,’ the overseer replied, ‘but what might lie beyond.’
I told him to break the plaster down, and stepped back as he and his companions swung their mallets and picks. The plaster was thick, but eventually they cleared a space no bigger than a window. I peered through the darkness and glimpsed pinpoints of light, as if there had been holes drilled in the rocks above. I tossed the torch inside. It extinguished as it fell, but in its final flare, I glimpsed the outline of a red quartzite sarcophagus at the far end of a low-ceilinged chamber. The workmen stood back, chattering amongst themselves. I returned to look at the hieroglyphs and could make out the faint words Shesha Shemet, the Arrows of Sekhmet. It was a common curse, threatening an intruder with the fury of the Destroyer, but it only whetted my curiosity. I reasoned that this was the Royal Tomb, and that the only people who had had control over it were Akenhaten and Nefertiti. Akenhaten had given up all hope of realising his vision about the City of the Aten, so this secret chamber and its concealed entrance must be the work of his estranged wife.
Once the dust had cleared, I poked my head through. The faint streaks of light came from small holes or vents piercing the rock above. The overseer was now jabbering with his comrades. An argument broke out. I was about to intervene when a young man pushed his way through, boasting that he was not frightened, openly deriding his companions’ fears.
‘My lord, I will go in.’
‘Are you sure?’ The workman was free-born, not a slave or servant.
‘My lord, I am not afraid.’
He jumped on to the crumbling sill and stepped down. He had hardly taken a step forward when, with a hideous crash, he disappeared in a cloud of dust. The entire cavern was riven by his shrill cry, followed by the most hideous screams. I seized a torch and looked over. The floor beneath the opening had concealed a trap: a simple plaster covering concealing a pit with sharpened stakes. The young man lay gruesomely impaled, eyes bright with agony, blood-smattered mouth gasping in horror. The stakes were long and sharp as spears and had pierced his body in a number of places. He screamed, trying to raise his hands, then sagged, head falling to one side. There was nothing we could do for him. Planks were brought and lowered over. The ground beyond the pit seemed firm and hard. Another workman, bribed by the overseer, gingerly climbed on to the plank and clambered down. The light of the torch he carried revealed more of the chamber. It was roughly cut, the walls unplastered, and contained nothing but the blood-red quartzite sarcophagus. The workman reached the end of the plank and probed the ground before him with a stick.
‘It stands firm,’ he called out. He stepped off the plank, moving towards the sarcophagus, but tripped face down. He rolled in agony, screaming and yelling, then pulled himself up, still clutching the torch. He lifted his head: a nightmare sight. His face and chest were streaked with blood. He staggered back, dancing in pain, and scrambled towards the plank across the pit, but screamed, lost his balance and tipped on to the stakes below.
The workmen would have fled, but by now the mercenaries at the entrance, alarmed by the noise, had come hurrying down and forced them back. I ordered skins of oil to be brought, cut and thrown, one after the other, into that hellish chamber. Flaming arrows were loosed in a volley of fire. The arrows caught the oil and the fire leapt up. In its glare the true horror of the chamber was revealed. I glimpsed the trip cord pulled across the floor and the razor-sharp glass, copper and bronze blades embedded in the ground, but the real danger were the black curling shapes, rock vipers, coiled skins gleaming in the light.
‘A common trick, my lord,’ the overseer whispered hoarsely. He pointed to the gaps in the roof. ‘They were placed here and allowed to nest.’
In the flames I could see how the far wall of the chamber jutted out like a ramp. The snakes could leave, squirming out into the daylight whenever they wished, and return the same way.
BOOK: The Season of the Hyaena (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)
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