Tutankhamun: The Book of Shadows (12 page)

All eyes turned upon Ay. His patrician face showed no reaction. He flicked his hand commandingly at one of the scribes, who hurried forward with his ivory palette and reed pens, and as Ay began to speak, he began to write.

The only sound in the chamber was that of the scribe's reed pen brushing across the surface of the papyrus scroll as he recorded Ay's reply. He passed it to Ay for his seal. Ay scanned it, rolled it up, tied it and then added his seal to the cord, before passing it to the soldier, who bowed his head as he accepted it, exchanging it for the one he had carried so far.

And then Ay leaned forward and spoke quietly into the soldier's ear. No one could hear what he said, but the effect of it was very clear on the man's face. He looked as if he had heard the curse of his own death laid upon him. I had by now conceived a considerable sympathy for him. He saluted and left the chamber. I wondered whether he would live to deliver the reply.

But Ay's words, no matter how forceful, could not put back together what was now broken. For the message of the general had had the effect of shattering the illusion of political certainty. And the low roar of excited and dismayed discussion that began as soon as the soldier left the chamber was the sound of its building blocks collapsing into rubble. I saw Ankhesenamun discreetly touch her husband's hand, and Tutankhamun unexpectedly rose to his feet. He looked for a moment to be uncertain why he had done so. But then he grasped the moment, commanded the trumpeters, whose fanfare silenced the hall again, and spoke.

‘We have heard all that the great general has confided in us. He is wrong. The Great Estate is sure and strong. A kingdom as pre-eminent, as sublime and as eternal as the Two Lands draws envy and enmity. But any attacks will be dealt with swiftly and surely. No dissent will be tolerated. As for the “conspiracy” to which the general alluded, it is nothing but a distraction. Those responsible are being investigated, and they will be eliminated. We have placed our trust in this man.'

Suddenly every man turned to look at me, the stranger in their midst.

‘This is Rahotep. He is Chief Detective within the city Medjay. We appoint him to investigate the accusations of the great general regarding our personal security. He has his orders. He has the powers we invest in him to follow his investigation, regardless of where it may lead him.'

There was absolute silence in the chamber. Then he smiled, and continued: ‘There is much business of state to be accomplished. The work of the day has just begun. I look forward to seeing you all at the dedication of the Colonnade Hall.'

For the second time on that day, Ay was caught out. Ankhesenamun gave him a brief look. Something in her spirit seemed to have taken courage from these moments, and her eyes revealed it. A spark of determination was now kindled there, which had been dormant for too long. As she processed out of the chamber, she glanced at me with a tiny smile on her lips. Then she was gone, gathered up by the procession of guards and taken away, back to the palace of shadows.

 

Nebamun wasted no time in loping over to me. He was perspiring. His linens were damp, and the little red veins beneath his bleary eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. His breath came short as he held up one fat little finger in my face.

‘Whatever you're up to, Rahotep, remember one thing. Keep me informed. I want to know everything that's happening. No matter what powers the King gives you, do this, or else, believe me, when this is all over, and your little private assignment is concluded–assuming you get anywhere at all, which I doubt–you'll have to come and see me. Come and see what's left for you at the city Medjay.'

I smiled and bowed.

‘All glory is brief, and it's a long way back down to the bottom of the heap. I'm going to be busy. I'll write you a report.'

Then I turned and walked quickly away, knowing with these words I was risking my future for the sake of my contempt, but hating him too much to care.

As I left the temple gate, Khety appeared suddenly out of the crowds assembled behind the security lines.

‘Come quickly,' he said, breathlessly.

‘Another victim?'

He nodded.

‘But this time the killer was disturbed at his work. Hurry.'

I hesitated. I was supposed to attend the interviews of all those who had access to the royal quarters, with Simut. But I knew I had no choice.

 

We ran through the crowds to reach the house, which was in a distant quarter of the city. Everything and everyone moved too slowly; people turned or stopped right in our tracks, mules loaded with mud-bricks or rubbish or vegetables blocked narrow passages; all the old people of the city seemed to be taking for ever to cross the ways–so we dodged and darted, shouting for precedence, pushing and throwing fools,
workmen, officials and children aside, leaving a wake of aggravation and disturbance behind us.

The young man lay on his couch. He was about the same age as the first boy, and with a similar infirmity. The bones of his body had been shattered as well. His skin was horribly bruised from the attack. But this time, over his head, the killer had fitted the scalp, the long, black, dull hair, and the now-distorted face, like a leather mask that had melted in great heat, which must have belonged to the young girl. The cut edges of the skin of her face had been sewn around the top of the boy's own face with an exemplary precision–but he had not had time to finish his gruesome work. The dead girl's lips, dried out and curling up, opened around the small, dark hole which would once have been her mouth. I put my ear carefully to it. And then I heard it: the faintest respiration, slight as a feather brushing my face.

Very carefully, very gently, and as quickly as possible, I used my knife to snip away at the stitches and eventually, carefully removed the hideous mask. Sticky fluids and traces of blood had helped the girl's face adhere to the boy's, and I had to tease it off; the two faces peeled apart reluctantly. His own face was very pale, as if bloodless, and embroidered now with spots of blood that sprang from the killer's needlework. More terribly, where his eyes should have been were empty, bleeding sockets. I passed Khety the girl's face, for even in this lamentable state it was still an identity–something to go on.

Then suddenly the boy drew a tiny inward breath, more like a small cry. He tried to move, but the shattered bones made no sense; and then a flash of pain arched through him.

‘Try to stay still. I am a friend. Who did this to you?'

But he could not speak, for the bones of his jaw were broken.

‘Was it a man?'

He struggled to comprehend me.

‘A young man or an old man?'

He was trembling now.

‘Did he give you a powder or a juice to ingest?'

Khety touched my shoulder.

‘He cannot understand you.'

Now the boy began to moan, a low, mournful sound like an animal in appalling distress. He was suffering the memory of what had happened to him. Drawing breath seemed suddenly impossibly painful. Instinctively I touched his hand with mine, but the moan became a terrible wail of pain. Desperate for him not to die, I moistened his lips and brow with a little water. This seemed to revive him. He opened his mouth a fraction, as if pleading for more water, which I gave him. But then he slipped from consciousness. Horrified, I leant down to listen again at his mouth and heard–thanks be to the Gods–the lightest of breath. He was still alive.

‘Khety–we need a doctor. Now!'

‘But I don't know any doctors,' he stammered.

I racked my brains. And then suddenly it came to me.

‘Quickly, we have to carry him to Nakht's house. We don't have much time.'

‘But how…?' he began, his palms waving uselessly in the air.

‘On his bed, you idiot, how else?' I shouted back at him. ‘I want him kept alive, and Nakht can do it.'

And so, to the amazement of the boy's family, I covered the boy's body with a linen cloth as if he was already dead, and the two of us took up the bed–which was light enough, and his frail weight added very little to our burden–and made our way through the streets. I went first, shouting at everyone to make way, and trying to ignore the curious faces of the people, all pushing to get a glimpse of what we were carrying, and what was causing such a stir. But when they saw the linen over the body they assumed we carried a corpse, and backed away, losing interest quickly. Their reaction was very different to Nakht's, when I revealed the damaged body beneath the cloth to him. Khety and I were drenched in sweat, and desperate for a long draught of cool water; but my priority was the boy. I had not dared to check on his state in the street, only praying that the inevitable rocking and jostling of the bed in our hands would not cause him too much agony.
I hoped he was only unconscious, but not, please the Gods, already in the Otherworld.

Nakht ordered the servants to carry the boy into one of his chambers, and then he examined him carefully. Khety and I watched him nervously. Once he had concluded, he washed his hands in a bowl, and nodded sternly to us to join him outside.

‘I have to confess, my friend, this is the strangest gift you have ever brought me. What have I done to deserve it? A boy's lame body, the bones shattered, the face so curiously scored by needle-holes, and the eyes removed? I am at a loss, a complete loss, to understand whatever persuaded you to bring him to me, like a cat bringing home the remains of her kill…'

He was angry. And so, I realized, was I.

‘And to whom else should I bring him? Without expert attention he will die. But I have to keep him safely, until he is well. He is my only lead. Only he can tell me who did this to him. He might be able to help us identify his attacker. He will recover?'

‘He has a dislocated jaw. His arms and legs are both broken in several places. I fear infection in the cuts around his face and in the eye-sockets. And among all the great mysteries of the cruelties that have been so precisely inflicted upon this boy's body, why does he have the marks of needles upon his face?'

I pulled the girl's face from my bag and showed it to him. He turned away in revulsion.

‘We found this sewn on to his face. It belongs to a body we also found. The face belongs to a girl. Her name was Neferet.'

‘Please, put that thing away. I simply can't talk to you while you are thrusting the remains of a human face at me,' he cried.

I saw his point. I passed the face to Khety, who took possession of it reluctantly, fastidiously placing it back in the bag.

‘Now can we talk?'

He nodded.

‘I am not accustomed, as you are, to the more brutal acts of our
kind. I have never been in battle. Never been robbed or attacked. Never even been in a fight. I abhor violence, as you very well know. The thought of it makes me sick. So forgive me if what, for you, is all in a day's work, is for me something more of a profound shock.'

‘I forgive you. But tell me now: can you save him?'

He sighed.

‘It is possible, provided there is no infection. Bones we can set. Blood we cannot heal.'

‘And when might I be able to speak to him?'

‘My friend, this boy has been literally shattered. It will take weeks, months, for these injuries to heal. His jaw is a mess. If he lives, he will need time to recover from his blindness. It will be some time, a month at the very least, before he can speak. This is assuming his mind remains undamaged by the experience, and that he is capable of articulation and comprehension.'

I gazed down at the boy. He was my only hope. I wondered what he could say to me, and whether, in a month, it would all be far, far too late.

 

‘So what do we do now?' asked Khety quietly, as we stood outside Nakht's house. He looked shocked.

‘Have you got a lead on Neferet's place of work?'

‘I've narrowed it down to a couple of places. We should visit them,' he replied.

He showed me a list of establishments.

‘Fine. When?'

‘After sunset would be best. When they get busy.'

I nodded.

‘Meet me at the first one. Bring that with you,' I said, meaning the face which he had replaced in its leather bag.

‘What are you going to do now?' he asked.

‘I feel like going home and drinking a bottle of decent red wine, and feeding my son his dinner. But I have to return to the palace. The interviews of all those who have priority access to the royal quarters took place this afternoon. I should have been there.'

I glanced up at the afternoon sun, which was now descending to the west. I might already have missed everything.

‘Do you want me to come, too?'

I shook my head.

‘I want you to go back to the boy's family and explain we're taking care of him. Tell them he's alive, and we have good hopes. And above all make arrangements for the boy to be guarded. Set a pair of guards inside the entrance to Nakht's house at all hours. We don't want anyone to hurt the boy any more. We can't risk losing him.'

‘What happens if he dies?' asked Khety quietly.

‘I don't know,' I replied. ‘Pray to the Gods he lives.'

‘You don't believe in Gods,' he replied.

‘This is an emergency. Suddenly I am reconsidering my point of view.'