Tutankhamun: The Book of Shadows (26 page)

Ay entered the chamber, followed by Simut, who closed the door behind him.

Ay gazed at me with his stony eyes. I could smell once again the lozenge of cloves and cinnamon that he sucked constantly in an effort to relieve the pain in his rotting jaw. For him to reappear at this hour of the night could only mean bad news. He sat down upon a couch, rearranged his linens meticulously, and nodded to Ankhesenamun to sit opposite him.

‘Horemheb's ship of state has been sighted to the north of the city,' he said, quietly. ‘He will arrive here soon. When he does so, I am certain he will request an audience with the Queen. I suspect he must know the King is dead, even though there has been, and will be, no announcement. How he knows this is a matter for investigation. But we have priorities. First, we must agree a strategy for managing this unfortunate eventuality.'

Before Ankhesenamun could reply, he continued.

‘Clearly, he will have considered, as I have done, the advantages or otherwise of an alliance with you. Like me, he will recognize the value in your ancestry and the contribution your image might make to the continuing stability of the Two Lands. I am sure he will make an offer of marriage. He will couch it in favourable terms, such as: he will father sons, he will promote you as Queen, and he will bring the security of the army of the Two Lands to support your mutual interests.'

‘These are interesting and, on the surface, favourable terms,' she replied.

He glared at her, and continued: ‘You are still a fool. He will rid himself of Mutnodjmet, and marry you to promote his own legitimacy within the dynasty. He will father sons for the same reason. Once you have supplied him, he will dismiss you, or worse. Look what he has done with his own wife. Accept his offer, and he will destroy you in the end.'

‘Do you think I do not know this?' she replied. ‘Horemheb despises my dynasty and all it has stood for. His ambition is to create his own. The question for me is whether my survival and that of my dynasty through my future children is more assured with him than it would be otherwise. What other choices do I have?'

‘It would be naive to the point of idiocy ever to think anything of yours would be assured with him.'

She rose and paced the chamber.

‘But my life and the future of my dynasty is not assured with you, either,' she replied.

He did his crocodile imitation of a smile.

‘Nothing in this life is certain. All is strategy and survival. And so you should consider the advantages that might lie in an alliance with me.'

She gazed at him imperiously.

‘I am no fool. I have considered instead the advantages to you of an alliance with me. Marriage to me would grant you the final legitimacy of my dynasty. I would be the vessel of your ambitions, now that the King is dead. You could assert your authority even more extensively, as King in name and deed,' she said, as she walked around him.

‘My own ancestors have been intimately allied to the royal family for several generations. My parents served your parents. But as King, in return for marriage I would offer you the support of the priesthood, the offices and the treasury, as protection against Horemheb and the army. For make no mistake, he is planning a coup.'

‘I see. That is also an interesting prospect. But what of the future? You are very old. When I look at you I see a sad, old man. A man sick of the pain in his teeth and his bones. Sick of the effort of it all. Sick of being alive. You are a bundle of old sticks. Your virility is a withered memory. How could you provide me with heirs?'

His eyes glittered with hate, but he refused to take the bait and reply in anger.

‘Heirs can be provided in many ways. A suitable father to your children could easily be found, with my help. But we speak too personally. What is most important is the exercise of authority for the sake of
maat
. All I do is for the stability and the priority of the Two Lands.'

She turned on him now.

‘Your progeny is shadows. Without me your paternity will amount to nothing but dust. After your death, which will not be long–for all the powers in the kingdom cannot save you from mortality–Horemheb will erase your name from the walls of every temple in the land. He will bring down your statues, and demolish your offering hall. You will be as nothing. It will be as if you never lived. Unless I decide that you are useful to me. For only through me can your name live on.'

He listened without emotion.

‘You make the mistake of hatred. Emotion will betray you, in the end, as it always does with women. Remember this: only through me could you survive to accomplish all that you wish. You should know by now death holds no fear for me. I know it for what it is. He understands.'

And he pointed at me.

‘He knows there is nothing to come. There is no Otherworld, and there are no Gods. It is all nonsense for children. All that exists is power in the crude hands of men. That is why we are all so desperate
for it. Otherwise what is there for men to shore against the inevitability of their own ruin?'

No one spoke for a long moment.

‘I will consider everything you have said. And I will meet with Horemheb. And in my own time, I will come to a decision. It will be the right decision for me, and my family, as well as for the stability of the Two Lands,' she said.

He rose from the couch, and shuffled towards the door. But before he departed he turned around, stiffly: ‘Think carefully which of the two worlds is the lesser in evil. Horemheb's army, or mine. And then make your choice.'

And he left.

The Queen immediately began to pace the chamber again.

‘Horemheb is here already. That is too soon! But why is he waiting?' asked the Queen.

‘Because he knows he can create a situation of tension and fear. This is strategy. He wants to make it seem as if he is in control of what happens. Do not give him that power over you,' I replied.

She gazed at me for a moment.

‘You are right. We have our own strategies. I must maintain them. I must not be misled by fear.'

I nodded and bowed.

‘Where are you going?' she asked, anxiously.

‘I must talk further to Ay. There is something I need to ask him. Simut will remain with you until I return.'

 

I closed the door, and quickly followed the shuffling figure up the dark corridor. As soon as he heard footsteps he turned, suspiciously. I bowed.

‘What is it now?' he snapped.

‘I would like to know the answer to a question.'

‘Do not waste my time with your foolish questions. It is too late. You have failed in your task. Go away.'

And he waved his bony hand dismissively at me.

‘Mutnodjmet is incarcerated here in the Malkata Palace. This was originally done years ago, under your orders, I assume in agreement with Horemheb. And I assume she has been more or less forgotten.'

He looked surprised at the mention of her name.

‘So what?'

‘She is an opium addict. Who supplies her with the drug? The answer is: someone who attends her, in secret. She has obeyed his instructions in return for the gift of the drug for which she has, of course, a desperate need. It was she who left the death mask, and the carving, and the doll, in the royal quarters. Shall I tell you what she calls this mysterious man? She calls him the “Physician.”'

Ay was listening seriously now.

‘If only you had discovered this weeks ago.'

‘If only someone had told me about her weeks ago,' I replied.

He knew I was right.

‘I think you must know his name. For it can only have been you who appointed him to her care in the first place,' I continued.

He considered everything for a long moment. He seemed profoundly reluctant to speak.

‘Ten years ago I appointed a physician. He had been my Chief of Physicians. But he failed to be useful to me. His gifts deserted him, and his knowledge was of no help in curing me of the maladies that beset me. So I made Pentu Chief Physician, and I gave that man the task of caring for the needs of Mutnodjmet. It was a private arrangement, in return for which he would be paid well, both for his work and his absolute discretion. He was to keep her alive, for the time being. There were severe penalties for any failure of secrecy.'

‘And what was his name?'

‘His name was Sobek.'

 

My mind raced back through everything that had happened, to the day of the festival, to the day of the blood, and the dead boy with the broken bones in the dark room, and the party on the roof of Nakht's city house. I remembered the quiet man of late middle age, with short
grey hair untouched by dye, and the bony, minimal physique of someone who does not eat for pleasure. I recalled his unremarkable, almost simple face–hollow, as Mutnodjmet had said–and his stony, cold grey-blue eyes bright with intelligence, and with something like rage. I heard him say: ‘
Perhaps it is the human imagination that is the monster. I believe no animal suffers from the torments of the imagination. Only man
…'

And I remembered Nakht, my old friend, and now it seemed also the colleague or acquaintance of this master of mutilation and mystery, replying: ‘
And that is why civilized life, morality, ethics and so on, matter. We are half-enlightened, and half-monstrous. We must build our civility upon reason and mutual benefit
.'

I saw in my mind's eye the grey man raising his cup and replying:

‘
I salute your reason. I wish it every success
.'

Sobek. The Physician.

‘You look like you have seen a ghost,' said Ay.

Simut's elite guards took up positions along the dark, adjoining streets, and on the neighbouring rooftops. The city was silent, under the night curfew, apart from solitary dogs barking aggressively to each other across the darkness, under the moon and stars.

Khety had returned Thoth to me, and the animal danced and chattered quietly at my side in pleasure at our reunion. But time was short. Khety and I had urgent news to communicate. As we made our way to this place, he had told me quickly, in urgent whispers, that my family were safe and well; and under Nakht's care, the boy was improving. He had not died. Then he had wanted to know how I had identified Sobek. I explained it all.

‘Then we've done it,' he said, delighted.

‘Unfortunately not,' I replied.

And having made him swear to keep the secret, I told him the story of the King's death. For once he was utterly silenced.

‘Say something, Khety. You always have something ludicrously optimistic to say.'

He shook his head.

‘I can't think of anything. It's an absolute disaster. A calamity.'

‘Thank you.'

‘I don't mean it was your fault. You did everything that was asked of you. You followed your orders from the King himself. But what's going to happen to us all now? The city's already restless. No one knows what's happening. It's as though the whole of the Two Lands is on the precipice of an abyss, and at any moment we could all go tumbling in.'

‘These are dark times, Khety. But don't be so melodramatic. It doesn't help. Have there been any more murders in the city, like those of the boy and Neferet?'

He shook his head.

‘Nothing. As far as I know. Nothing has been reported. It has all gone very quiet. Word got out on to the streets of the other murders. It travelled around the clubs very quickly. People are spooked. Perhaps they are just taking much more care.'

I was puzzled.

‘But a killer like this will always find a fresh victim. The desire for the act grows greater with each murder, usually. It becomes an unassuageable hunger. We know he is an obsessive. So where has his obsession led him now? Why would he stop killing?'

He shrugged.

‘Perhaps he has gone to ground.'

He nodded at the house.

‘Perhaps he's in there now. Perhaps you've got him.'

‘Don't speak too soon. It makes me feel superstitious,' I replied.

 

Sobek's house stood in a street of discreet residences, in a good quarter of the city. Nothing distinguished it from the others. I nodded to Simut. He made a signal to the guards stationed on the rooftops, who leapt silently from roof to roof like assassins. Then, at another brief gesture of command, the guards who accompanied us attacked the solid
wooden door with their axes. Quickly it was smashed down. A few neighbours, alarmed by the sudden commotion, peered out into the lane in their night robes, but they were peremptorily ordered back into their houses. I pushed ahead into a vestibule, followed by the guards who spread out silently, their weapons poised, and took command of each room, one at a time, gesturing in silence to each other. Others entered via the roof to secure the upper rooms. Each room was less interesting than the last. It seemed like the home of a solitary man, for the furniture was functional, the decoration modest in the extreme, and there was none of the normal detritus of everyday life. The place seemed lifeless. Upstairs were wooden chests containing efficient but unsophisticated clothing, and a few pieces of nondescript, daily jewellery. The place was deserted. He had eluded me again. Surely we had missed something? It was as if he had known we would find him. And he had left us no clues. But how could he have known? Bitterly disappointed, I walked through the rooms one by one, looking for anything that could give me a way forward.

But suddenly a shout came from the back of the house, beyond the inner courtyard. Simut and his guards stood around a small door, like that which would lead to a storeroom. The cords were tied in what looked like the same magical knot as that which had tied the box containing the rotting death mask. On the seal, I saw a single sign I recognized too: a dark circle. The Sun destroyed. Suddenly elation gripped me. I tried to remain calm as I slipped my knife through the cord, so as to preserve the knot and the seal; and then I pushed open the door.

I smelt at once the chilly, airless, hollow odour of a tomb opened after a long time–as if the darkness had slowly suffocated the air itself. Khety handed me a lamp, and I entered, cautiously. The thought that this was a trap flitted across my mind. I held the lamp up before me, and tried to see beyond its shivering light.

The room seemed to be of a moderate size. Along one wall was a long bench, holding clay vessels in various sizes, and an astounding array of surgical instruments: obsidian knives, sharp hooks, long
probes, cupping vessels and vicious forceps, all precise and highly ordered. Further on were a series of small glass phials with stoppers, each with a label. I opened one. It seemed to be empty. I kept it to examine in the light of day. Further down the shelves were more jars. I opened them at random; they seemed to contain a variety of herbs and spices. But the last one contained something I recognized: the powder of the opium poppy. Further along the shelf were several more jars, all containing the identical substance: a substantial supply. The bench was highly ordered and efficient.

But as I stepped forward, I felt something crack and shatter beneath my sandals. I squatted down with the lamp and saw the floor was littered with bones: the little skulls and wing-fans of birds; the miniature skeletons of mice, shrews and rats; the jaws and legs of dogs or baboons or hyenas or jackals; and also pieces of larger bones, which I feared were human, smashed into shards. It was as if I had trespassed into a mass grave of all life. I held the lamp up to peer further into the dark. I saw something still stranger: from the ceiling on twine hung many bones, and broken pieces of bones, to make the shattered skeletons of strange, impossible creatures, part-bird, part-dog, part-human.

Shuffling forward, trying not to tread on any more of the remains at my feet, and loathing the creepy touch of the hanging bones in my hair and on my back, I made out a large, low, shadowy object that stood at the end of the room. As I came closer, I saw it was an embalmer's bench. On the bench was a small wooden box. Behind the bench, I saw a big black circle had been painted on the back wall. The Sun destroyed. I held the lamp up closer, and all around the perimeter of the circle were those strange, disturbing signs I had seen around the box: curves, sickles, dots and dashes. Spattered all across the dark circle were dripping lines of dried, dark blood. I looked again at the embalmer's bench; in contrast to the wall's record of butchery, it was as fastidiously clean as the surgical instruments that lined the walls. But they were not for healing. They were for torture. How many victims had he experimented on in here, as they screamed for mercy, for their lives, or for the mercy of death?

The wooden box carried a label. On it was written, in a neat cursive, one word: ‘
Rahotep
'. It was a gift from Sobek to me. I had no choice but to open it. Inside I saw something I know I will always see whenever I try to sleep. Eyes. Human eyes. Arranged in identical pairs, like jewels on a tray. I thought of Neferet, and the two boys. All had missing eyes. And here was a box full of staring, quizzical, startled eyes, like a tiny audience paying me the closest attention.