‘What, medically?’
‘Yes. Apparently, Akhenaten displays the classic symptoms of Marfan syndrome, a genetic defect. This here is a perfect example. Look. Long head, neck, hands and feet,’ explained Carrington, pointing to the statue in front of them. ‘Short torso, pot belly over here, heavy thighs. He has all the features. And thanks to the new art form he favoured, he was portrayed exactly as he looked; warts and all, as they say.’
‘They tell me you’re a barrister as well,’ joked Jana, interrupting the lecture.
‘Vicious rumour, ignore it. But the most fascinating thing about this statue is this here,’ continued Carrington, pointing to the pharaoh’s hands. ‘Am I boring you?’
‘Certainly not, Professor.’
‘Look, he’s holding a disk. This is a complete break with tradition. Normally, the pharaoh’s arms would be crossed in front of the chest. He should be holding the flail in his left hand and the heka sceptre in his right. Those were the classic symbols of royal power; but not here. Akhenaten’s source of power is the sun disk – Aten. Amazing, and perfectly preserved,’ said Carrington. ‘Well, almost perfect – a small piece of the beard has broken off right here at the tip as you can see. Pity.’
‘The mystery still remains – what’s he doing here?’
‘Obviously he was hidden here much later, perhaps by secret Aten followers trying to protect the image of their god-king from tomb robbers, or more likely, the priests. This was not uncommon. Tomb robbers were a great menace in ancient Egypt right from the beginning. Superstition and fear of detection were no match for greed, even then. Mummies and statues of kings and royal family members were often hidden in other, less prominent tombs to preserve them. Speaking of tomb robbers, that reminds me. I’ve arranged for guards to patrol the site during the night. I just hope they arrive in time. We’re moving the statue to the Museum tomorrow.’
‘Guards? Is that really necessary? It’s not as if you could just pick him up and carry him away from here, is it?’ Jana joked.
‘The world is awash with money. You’d be surprised what wealthy collectors would be prepared to do to acquire something as unique as this,’ explained Carrington. ‘I can tell you there are people who wouldn’t hesitate to pay several million dollars – no questions asked, mind you – to own this treasure. Certain things haven’t changed at all through the ages.’
‘I had no idea it was so valuable.’
‘Something like this is really beyond price. It cannot belong, or rather it shouldn’t belong, to just one person. It belongs to humanity. It’s irreplaceable. We can’t just travel back a few thousand years and order another one, can we?’ Carrington argued passionately. Jana enjoyed listening to him.
All of a sudden, Carrington’s mood appeared to change. He was staring intently at the statue in front of him. For a moment he looked like someone who had glimpsed something frightening, something profoundly disturbing reflected in the serene features of the Heretic King.
Jana noticed the worried expression on Carrington’s face and moved closer for a better look. The stone floor in front of the statue was uneven and covered with rubble. Stepping forward, Jana stubbed her toe against something hard and almost lost her balance. Carrington reached for her arm to steady her and looked down.
‘I don’t believe it! No, it couldn’t be,’ he called out and bent down to pick up a small piece of stone. Black in colour like the statue, it was smooth and polished on one side, jagged like a broken tooth on the other.
‘What is it?’
‘Have a look. Better still, here, hold it. After all, you found it. What do you think it is?’ Carrington brought the torch closer. Turning it from side to side, Jana began to examine the piece of stone in her hand. Suddenly, her face lit up and she held the fragment carefully up against the broken tip of the pharaoh’s beard. It fitted perfectly.
20
Mustafa nodded to the beggar guarding the entrance to the spice-seller’s shop in the bazaar and hurried inside.
‘What brings you here at this late hour, my son?’ asked Sheikh Omar. He pointed to a stool and handed Mustafa a plate of dates. Running his fingers playfully through the cinnamon sticks in one of the spice sacks, Sheikh Omar sat down next to him.
‘Good news. A find at Saqqara, a big one this time. I came as soon as I could,’ Mustafa replied excitedly, stuffing handfuls of dates into his mouth. ‘It’s worth a fortune, I overheard them talking about it.’ Sheikh Omar put more dates on Mustafa’s plate without interrupting him. ‘It’s still in the tomb. They’ll move it tomorrow, we have to be quick.
‘What is it, my son?’
‘A large statue.’
‘Of a god?’
‘No, a pharaoh.’ Mustafa looked up and grinned, exposing a row of yellow, broken teeth.
‘Allah be praised! It’s a sign. He’s showing us the way, my son. If we hurry, we can still make the boat.’
The Sobek was due to leave Alexandria the next day. It would sail to the Greek Isles to exchange its cargo of stolen antiquities for instruments of Holy War. If Mustafa was right, thought Sheikh Omar, the statue could be worth more than the entire hoard of antiquities the Brotherhood had painstakingly accumulated over the past two years.
Sheikh Omar decided to lead the raid himself. That way, he thought, nothing would go wrong. Two of his best young fighters had just returned from a training camp in the Sudan. They were hiding in the flat above the shop and were eager to prove themselves.
Heavily guarded by soldiers during the day to protect the foreigners, Saqqara was deserted by night. Shielding their faces from the sandstorm with their scarfs, the raiding party moved past the four-stepped pyramid of King Zozer and turned into the notorious rue de tombeaux. Sheikh Omar knew every stone in Saqqara and guided them through the maze of ancient Memphis. There was no sign of any guards. Usually, the dead did not require protection. When they reached the tomb, Mustafa moved forward alone.
‘There are two soldiers behind those stone pillars over there, near the shaft,’ whispered Mustafa, wiping sand out of his watery eyes. He pointed towards a narrow path leading to the tomb. ‘I don’t think there are any others.’
‘My sons, this is Jihad. You are warriors now. You know what to do,’ said Sheikh Omar gravely. He placed his hands on the shoulders of the two excited youths crouching next to him in the sand. ‘Allah will guide you and give you courage. Go!’
Carrington was clutching the sweat-soaked blanket to his chest and kept turning restlessly on his narrow camp bed. The nightmare haunting his mind did not allow his exhausted body to relax. Instead, he found himself back in the tomb, alone with the statue of the Heretic King.
In the dream, the pharaoh spoke to him. Carrington could not understand the words, but the troubled expression on the king’s face suggested a warning. Suddenly, the walls of the burial chamber began to bleed. Blood oozed out of gaps in the rock and dripped from cracks in the ceiling. The king raised his long right arm and pointed to the sarcophagus. Slowly, the heavy lid began to rise up all by itself until – suspended in mid-air – it was hovering weightlessly above the limestone chest. Drawn irresistibly towards the open sarcophagus, Carrington walked over to it and looked inside. At that moment, he was woken by his own scream and sat up. He could remember every detail of the dream, except for what he had discovered inside the sarcophagus.
Carrington turned on the light and looked at his watch. It was too early to return to the cemetery; he would have to wait until dawn. To calm himself, he reached for the manilla folder Jana had left with him the day before. He put on his glasses and, moving closer to the naked light globe dangling from the ceiling, settled back into his pillow and began to read about Sir Eric Newman.
21
He should have been here an hour ago, thought Jana, looking impatiently at her watch. She was about to leave when she noticed a man jump out of a taxi and come running up the museum stairs towards her.
‘I can see you’re mad – sorry,’ Ca
rrington said breathlessly. ‘Something terrible has happened. Come, let’s go inside.’
Carrington looked exhausted. He wore the same dusty clothes from the day before and had obviously not shaved. They entered a long hall crammed with statues of hawk-headed gods and feline goddesses. Carrington took a deep breath and sat down on a bench facing a gigantic granite effigy of the god Amun.
‘He’s disappeared; it’s quite unbelievable,’ Carrington explained, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
‘Who’s disappeared?
‘The Heretic King is gone. Someone broke into the tomb during the night and stole the statue.’
‘No! What about the guards?’
At first Carrington didn’t answer. ‘I asked for armed men, they sent two boys with guns. They’re both dead, I’m afraid. I found them this morning with their throats cut,’ he said quietly.
‘How awful.’
‘The site’s been closed. The whole of Saqqara was swarming with soldiers this morning. All our workmen have been detained.’
‘Why?’
‘Not surprisingly, the police think it was an inside job. Apparently Mustafa, our foreman, didn’t turn up this morning. They’re looking for him. Everybody is to be interrogated. It was chaos and confusion as usual. Too little, too late; that’s Egypt I’m afraid.’ Carrington shrugged. ‘I suppose that’s it for the season,’ he added sadly.
‘I’m sorry, I really am, but with all those tourists in the country for that big musical extravaganza, you can’t really blame them for being a little nervous, can you?’
Carrington shook his head. Jana sensed his dejection and felt a strange need to put her arm around his shoulders to comfort him. It seemed the most natural thing to do. She was about to raise her arm, but checked herself.
‘You’re right of course. I’m just disappointed, I guess,’ Carrington replied. ‘That’s nothing really, when you think of the two lads who were murdered this morning. And all because of a chunk of carved stone – just like this one, only a little bigger.’ Carrington pulled the small piece of Akhenaten’s beard Jana had found out of his pocket and held it up towards the light. ‘That’s all we have left for now. Perhaps one day we can put it back where it belongs.’
‘What will you do now?’
‘My wife and daughter are on their way to Luxor by boat,’ Carrington explained. ‘A long overdue Nile cruise I promised them years ago. They’ll arrive there tomorrow. I was going to join them in Luxor for the opera.’
‘So, this thing is an opera – in Egypt? How exotic.’
‘Yes. Verdi’s Aida; it’s quite an event. They’re performing it in front of the Luxor temple with a cast of thousands, I’m told. Nubian slaves, elephants, lions, the lot.’
‘How romantic,’ Jana said with a mischievous sparkle in her eye and a hint of regret in her voice she couldn’t quite conceal.
‘Or reckless,’ Carrington said quietly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. Forget it, I’m just tired.’ Carrington stood up and began to walk away from the approaching tourists. ‘Let’s have a look at Akhenaten while we’re here, I think you’ll find it interesting.’ Jana had to smile; she had guessed the real purpose of their meeting all along. Carrington wanted to look at statues of Akhenaten in the museum and compare them with the one he had found in the tomb.
‘If I remember correctly, you asked me yesterday to meet you here to discuss the brief,’ Jana reminded Carrington jokingly, ‘not to examine the strange features of pharaohs with ... what syndrome?’
‘Marfan. We can do both, come.’
Jana followed Carrington through a maze of corridors and rooms filled with exotic treasures. She was sensing his change of mood and it made her sad. What if he’s already decided to decline? What if he just wants to let me down gently?
‘Here he is. What do you think?’
The similarities were striking: the same elongated face, the pot belly, the wide hips, the long arms. Carrington took Jana by the hand and guided her around the statue like an excited schoolboy showing something to his teacher. ‘Apart from the workmen, you and I are the only two people who’ve seen him, you know,’ he said. ‘Imagine, a life-sized statue of the Heretic King, holding a sun disk in his hands. What a discovery!’
‘Will they believe you?’ Jana asked. As soon as she said it, she realised it was a rather tactless question and bit her lip. Carrington let go of her arm; reality had intruded into the fairy-tale.
‘Without the statue, I doubt it. And besides, the authorities will do their best to cover up the whole incident. It’s the last thing they need at this crucial time.’
‘In that case, we’ll just have to wait until he turns up again, won’t we?’ said Jana, trying to undo the damage.
Carrington began to laugh. ‘Stranger things have happened in this country, you know. Come on then, let me show you some of my other favourites,’ Carrington said, changing the subject. ‘We shall continue this conversation as soon as our friend decides to show himself again, okay?’ Jana nodded. ‘You do know, of course, who his wife was?’
‘Sorry Professor,’ Jana replied, ‘they taught us all about gunshot wounds and powder burns in the academy, not Egyptian dynasties.’
‘Nefertiti, the most beautiful woman in ancient Egypt. Her famous bust is unfortunately in Berlin. It should be right here, next to him. The plunder of Egypt’s heritage knew no bounds, just like the Nazi rape of occupied Europe.’ Carrington pointed to a stone relief depicting the defeated Hittite army on the battlefield of Qadesh. ‘Somehow, the strong always subjugate the weak; it’s a timeless cycle of greed and lust for power. I can show you several examples right here in this room alone.’
‘That’s a little too fatalistic for me,’ Jana said.
‘Perhaps. But tell me about Sir Eric. Give me your impressions.’
Jana described the strange meeting in Newman’s house on that hot, humid Sydney afternoon. She spoke of his ice-blue eyes and the strange hold he appeared to have over his two sons. Carrington was a good listener.
‘How lucid was Lena Abramowitz?’ he wanted to know. ‘I’ve seen old people who couldn’t tell you where they lived, or what day of the week it was, yet give accurate and reliable evidence about events half a century ago. Miss Abramowitz strikes me as one of those. It would be a mistake to disregard her story,’ Carrington observed. ‘The suffering of the Jews, now there’s another timeless topic for you. This is the great Ramses himself, over here,’ Carrington said, pointing to another life-sized statue of a seated pharaoh at the end of the corridor. ‘Look at his face: the prominent cheek bones, the hooked nose, those piercing eyes, the intelligence radiating from his features. It’s possible, you know, that this is the face of the man who spoke to Moses; the face of the pharaoh who allowed the Jews to leave Egypt – after a little divine persuasion, that is. Quite extraordinary, don’t you think? It puts the true antiquity of these pieces into a rather different perspective. History carved into stone by the hand of man,’ Carrington said quietly, ‘right here for us to touch.’
‘Did you sleep at all last night?’ Jana asked. ‘I know you promised to read the brief, but you didn’t have to learn it by heart.’
‘Years of cramming information into your head, somehow always at the last minute just before going into court, does wonders for your memory, I can assure you. The ever-present fear of embarrassment makes you remember everything you read,’ Carrington explained, shrugging off the compliment. ‘Don’t look so glum. I can clearly see the question written across your face,’ he continued, laughing. ‘Let me answer it for you and put you out of your misery.’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘It is, but you don’t have to blush.’
Jana shrugged and managed a crooked smile. ‘What’s the verdict?’
‘As any first year law student will tell you, to consider prosecuting a man after more than fifty years for a serious war crime, without a body, without a single reliable witness, withou
t any credible identification, based on intuition, an old photograph and a little, I stress little, circumstantial evidence is nonsense.’
Jana’s mouth went dry. As quickly as it had appeared, the colour began to drain from her face. ‘The answer then is no, I take it?’ she said quietly, unable to hide her disappointment. It was more of a statement than a question.
‘No, it’s not!’ Carrington replied emphatically. ‘Like you, I also happen to believe Dr Rosen is right. We just have to find a way to prove it.’
Jana reached for his arm and squeezed it hard.
‘Ouch! Don’t get too carried away. I still have to discuss it with my wife before I can give you a final answer. After all, it would mean the end of my sabbatical and the family holiday.’
‘I understand.’
‘Well then, why don’t you come to Luxor with me and we can both talk to her. And you can work on Isabella,’ he added. ‘Now, there’s a challenge for you.’
Jana’s face lit up. ‘Isabella?’
‘My daughter – sixteen going on thirty-six. And besides, a few people around here owe me a favour or two. I’m sure I can wangle another opera ticket for a famous Aussie detective,’ Carrington said, winking encouragingly at Jana. ‘How about some lunch? I’m starving.’ Taking Jana by the arm, Carrington steered her towards the crowded exit without waiting for an answer.
22
‘Is this your first visit to Australia, Father?’ Newman asked, sizing up the tall, black priest. It was impossible to guess his age, but the short wiry hair greying at the temples suggested a man in his fifties. Newman watched the priest’s eyes – penetrating and cruel – and instantly recognised the look. He had seen it many times before; the look of a zealot. Newman waited for his housekeeper to leave the room before asking the next question. ‘How is the Cardinal?’
‘His Eminence sends his regards, Sir Eric,’ answered Father Habakkuk politely, ‘and his congratulations on your extraordinary find ... I believe you now have a copy of the complete text?’
The Empress Holds the Key Page 10