Tutankhamun Uncovered

by Michael J Marfleet

  Davis was ecstatic with the outcome of the project and he pressed Carter into publishing an account of the discovery. Edouard Naville himself supplied an historical narrative on Hatshepsut. The publication would be put together abroad during the summer recess.

  For Davis, there were many years and considerable money left to search out more treasures in the Egyptian dust and he was keen to get on with it; but he would not work with Carter again. The inspector of modest means had had quite enough of the wealthy lawyer. Their parting was mutually and willingly agreed with no embarrassment on either side. There were others available to help Davis accomplish his goals. For him the best was yet to come.

  For Carter, there would be years yet, too. For him, alike, the best was yet to come and the worst. With his tenacious regard for principle, his respect for his Egyptian employees and his personal pride, he was developing a stubborn complacency that would, in times of crisis, cause him to forget that to successfully achieve his ends he was and always would be entirely dependent on the goodwill of others considerably more well-to-do than he. That was a fact. Alas, he would blind himself to it.

  Chapter Seven

  Misadventures

  Ipay reached a vantage point from which he could survey the length and breadth of the wadi. He looked back to check for telltale signs of dust that might indicate he was being followed. There was a haze but for all he could make out, squinting southward with the sunlight across his face, no dust. He rode on a little further to take advantage of the shade provided by some large boulders. This was far enough. He could wait here until he spotted the approach of the Hittite prince and then take off towards him to arrive sweating as if he had galloped all the way from Thebes without stopping. There could be little danger to travellers this far from habitation. Ipay sat down to rest.

  The ground surface was uneven and he had to push a few of the larger stones out of the way before he could lie down without too much discomfort. He pulled off his goatskin water bag and laid it down as a headrest on the shaded rocky surface. He eased back until his head and neck made contact with the cool surface of the water bag. A soothing sensation ran through his senses. He had another bag date wine and settled down to drink a little.

  Ipay awoke to the sawing cries of buzzards. The shadows had gone and the full force of the late afternoon sun shone down directly and reflected off every facet of rock about him. The gaunt birds’ dark forms wheeled overhead and flashed occasional menacing shadows across his eyes. By now the temperature of the water in the goatskin was the same as that of his body. He felt the sweat curling down his cheeks. Discomfort compelled Ipay to get up.

  He drew himself back to the shaded side of the boulder he had used for shelter and searched the northern horizon for some sign of movement. It took his sleepy and still somewhat drugged eyes a moment or two to accustom to the light. There was nothing no sign of motion. He turned to look south. There was some haze, or was it dust? In the distance there was just a suggestion of a shimmer. Could he have missed him? By the angle of the sun he estimated he could have been asleep for at least half the day. The Hittite prince could have passed well by in that time. An intensity began to build within his head, soon maturing to a sense of panic.

  ‘The queen will have me put to death! The gods will execute my spirit! There will be no afterlife!’ The visions and his pounding heart compounded within his mind until the pressure on his temples felt like it would cause him to go blind.

  The dust that he had seen to the south might have been nothing more than another traveller. Nevertheless, he had to check, just in case. Pulling his horse behind him he stumbled down from his vantage point and made chase. Ipay galloped as fast as his horse would allow him. The dust was so far away, he might never catch up in time. And if it were not the prince, then he would have to turn once again and go back. His panic grew all the greater. His mind wheeling, Ipay jabbed his heels into the horse’s flanks. Then, all of a sudden the animal faltered, pitched headlong, and fell to the ground. Ipay was thrown forward and came to an inelegant stop face down, spread-eagled across the desert gravel. The startled horse leapt up, cantered off a short distance, then stopped and began grazing on the spare desert scrub.

  Ipay looked up. He was sore. He turned over and examined himself. What a sorry sight. His palms, his forearms and his chin were grazed and bleeding where he had connected so unceremoniously with the coarse gravel. He removed the cloth that he used to shield his head from the sun and dabbed at the bloody scores on his arms. The grit partly came off with the congealing blood but not all of it. He lamented his disfigurement and began to worry about possible infection he had always had a personal tendency towards hypochondria. He yielded up a quick prayer to Isis.

  Ipay drew himself up to a seated position and, for the first time, looked back at what had caused his headlong tumble. It was a broken spear a freshly broken spear. His preoccupation with his personal wellbeing was immediately extinguished. The icy chill of deep fear descended on him. He looked all around. To his horror, there were the bodies of soldiers, three of them, scattered about in the dust. To the left lay a dying camel, a pike through its neck, still struggling for breath. Its decorative saddle ware lay crushed under the weight of its own body.

  Ipay stood up and limped over to the animal. He was no longer conscious of the pain from his injuries. In his worst fears he knew what he would find inside the broken canopy. He raised one of the decorated curtains. A dark-skinned youth half of him trapped under the beast, his upper body only showing from beneath the belly of the camel, a virtual mat of congealed blood covering his neck and chest, the fear still showing in his open eyes lay frozen in death. By his clothing the young man was clearly a person of some importance and definitely not Egyptian. Ipay at once knew he had failed. His future was sealed in the drying blood of the young, dead Hittite. So was Ankhesenamun’s.

  Unable to return to the palace with this dreadful news and unwilling to face his family, for one final moment of pleasure Ipay took a northern village prostitute for the evening. Following that moment he rolled onto his back. Holding an effigy of Min close to his chest he asked the girl to hand him the beer he had poisoned.

  When he was discovered, his penis was still erect. A poison of passion no doubt. His wife thought he had died coupling with the gods no better end for any man. Feeling a curious mixture of joy and sadness, she hurried to prepare for his embalming.

  General Horemheb received the news with characteristically suppressed gratification. He had had the assassins jailed and beheaded that same evening for sundry crimes against the community, most of which they had indeed committed. That night he slept a deep and most satisfactory sleep.

  The following morning he remained in bed until late, reflecting on his future. Reclining in the cushions, he gazed up at the ceiling. He had goals: he would be Pharaoh. He would have a long, peaceful and comfortable reign. He would die while on the throne and would be entombed in the largest and finest tomb yet created within the holy bowels of The Valley of the Kings. Eternity as Pharaoh then would be assured. He did not seek the people’s adoration. He just did not want to be disliked so much that every waking hour he might fear for his life.

  Establishing himself on the throne should not be hard, his lack of royal blood notwithstanding. He would marry it. That, and his historical achievements which had flawlessly ensured the personal security of his three previous kings throughout their individual reigns, should be endorsement enough.

  But keeping himself securely established on the throne would be another matter. The legacy left by Akhenaten, still in living memory of the people, was one of negligent stewardship and bold blasphemy. The dead heretic’s energies had been wholly dedicated to the new religious order. He had all but ignored his duties as administrator of the State. These he had left entirely in the hands of Nakht.

  The subsequent tenures of Smenkhkare and Tutankhamun were too brief to achieve much visible change. And the forthcoming reign of the aging Ay surely this
would be little more than ephemeral? These were not hard acts to follow so long as he prepared himself well and was careful to avoid any glaring errors.

  The longevity he sought he would secure for himself through force of arms only if absolutely necessary. Brutality was such hard work and he was experienced enough to realise that the factions that might rise against him would be difficult to eliminate completely. In one part of the empire or another the fighting would continue. It would be costly and he would perpetually fear for his personal security. He was not getting any younger. It would be all too troublesome a sovereignty all just too hard.

  No. In the land of Egypt, blessed as it was with such bountiful resources those for subsistence, for trade, and for art, and all this combined with the intellectual and artistic capital of the people themselves there were far easier and less painful ways to mature a contented populace. He would redouble efforts to re-establish the old religious order at Thebes. He would make these projects highly visible. There would be new construction on a grand scale. There would be no idle hands with time for thoughts of mischief. Labour would be adequately compensated. The workers’ families would have full bellies. He would wipe the forbidden city off the face of the earth and let the desert reclaim it. He would use stone from the dismantled buildings as foundation and filling for the enormous new façades he would have commissioned in the old holy city, hiding the heretic’s art form from public view for ever. What he could not make or usurp he would destroy and bury. He would eradicate the corruption that presently infested officialdom. This he would achieve by ensuring that those highest in the pecking order maintained the standard of living to which they had by then become accustomed. He would ensure that these men, including his most senior military leaders and their large families, were well paid and provided with the best of creature comforts. For the plethora of lesser officials, including the walking militia, all those of no influential consequence to him, he would sign into law the severest penalties for any caught overzealously practising their official mandates and likewise reward those who identified such persons. And he would be ruthless in his execution of the law, making public examples of all those convicted and exacting punishment where he was assured the largest audience.

  In this manner, he had no doubt, the people would observe real signs of prosperity and change for the better. The old religious order would renew their confidence in an afterlife. They would warm to him. And he would achieve that which he desired most maat on earth followed seamlessly by paradise in heaven and for all eternity.

  Many commented on the general’s uncommon good spirits that day.

  Ankhesenamun waited. Ipay did not return. No one came. There had been rumours heard mostly from her maidservants, and by now much embellished, who had heard them from those who brought supplies to the palace, who had heard them from tradesmen and tax collectors, who had heard them from nomads that the Hittite boy had set out on his journey but had expired in transit. The exact manner of his disappearance became the subject of many different interpretations. No one story prevailed.

  The queen resigned herself to the finality of this setback. ‘Whatever is written’, she thought. But she could write history, too. In the weeks of waiting for her unfortunate suitor she had constructed a parallel plan much simpler, less dangerous and considerably less visible than that perpetrated by Horemheb. Its execution could attach no blame to her and, so far as Egyptian beliefs were concerned, it would be far more finally fatal to the general than the untimely death of her husband.

  The Egyptian people fervently believed that tomb robbery and elimination of the inhabitant’s name shortly after burial, though common enough in practice, if not rectified through early reburial and accompanied by all the traditional ceremony, would bring eternal oblivion. The ‘journey’ could not be completed. If, once Horemheb himself had died and become entombed, Ankhesenamun could contrive to ensure the total loss of every piece of the grave equipment so judiciously placed to help speed the general’s spirit to the afterlife, including the complete destruction of his mummy, his death would become absolute.

  She need take no active part in accelerating Horemheb’s mortality. She had trusted servants to whom she could discharge that duty. Even if she died before him, they would willingly and most assuredly execute her instructions.

  But much time would have to pass before she achieved this final revenge. For now she must put her recent disappointment behind her and busy herself with her husband’s transition, the preparations for which had to be completed on time and without fault. As it was with the people, she also must ensure that Tutankhamun lived on so that she may join him later, ultimately blissfully in a world without end, and without the general.

  In the midst of these thoughts she was interrupted by Tia, her oldest and most trusted maidservant. The woman announced that Ay was at the door to her chambers and wished an audience. The queen knew why he was here. She had considered the option herself now that it was certain the Hittite prince would never arrive. The thought had rested distastefully in her mind for some days, but she had never dismissed it entirely.

  However, the sight of Ay at the door to her rooms his thin, lined face, his pale, almost opalescent eyes, his narrow lips, wet with the drool of advancing senility, his missing and blackened teeth, his wheezing, his arched back, his bony, gnarled hands, the rings hanging loosely around his fingers, the support of the guards on each arm did not endear him to her, and she knew he was about to ask for her hand in marriage.

  He needed her to cement the line fully and, hopefully, to provide an heir. She needed him to be certain of acceptance at court through the next few vital years during which she would seek to complete her plan for reunion with her departed husband. Without endorsement through royal marriage she could be exiled. To contemplate the additional requirement that of the provision of an heir was, however, unthinkable.

  Before Ay could take a breath and open his mouth to speak, the queen raised her hand. “I know why you have come. I accept your invitation. Legitimacy it is necessary for us both. However, there is a condition to our union. I will not share your bed. I will not bear your children. It is to be understood that this is a marriage of convenience for the two of us. I bring to it the substance of bloodline. You bring to it...” she paused, “...authority.” Her last word almost faded away to a whisper. “It is done,” she continued. “Summon the priests. We shall be married in the morrow. You may leave.”

  The old man smiled ingratiatingly and withdrew.

  It was with some considerable surprise and great pleasure that Ankhesenamun observed Horemheb demonstrate detailed, even devoted attention to the preparations for Tutankhamun’s funeral. He visited each grave goods workshop every day to check on progress with assembly and collection of the funerary paraphernalia. He had compiled the inventory himself. Some items were being manufactured especially for the burial, and some would be brought from the king’s quarters at the palace the dead king’s most personal things, those he used most frequently, those he loved to use, the trappings of everyday life that would provide him with comfort and security in their familiarity. Other items would be brought from available stock; some, originally meant for others, would be usurped and altered to personalise them to the boy king, particularly some of the larger objects, those more difficult to manufacture in the time remaining these were to come from the tomb of his brother.

  The general had anticipated delay and had prepared for it. From Smenkhkare’s tomb the sarcophagus already had been removed for alteration. The outer coffin had been found to fit within that of the boy king almost perfectly and its interior was large enough to accept Tutankhamun’s inner coffin currently being manufactured in the goldsmiths’ foundry. Smenkhkare’s canopic chest had been usurped also and would be re-inscribed with the names of its new owner.

  The stoppers to this chest were another matter. To establish a true likeness of Tutankhamun, Horemheb had ordered that they be remade. But the mason fashioning the heads had bro
ken or chipped many pieces and had begun again so many times that he was falling well behind schedule.

  “With respect, sire,” the unfortunate artisan complained to the general, “I am not used to repetitive work. Each piece I create is unique and unrepeatable. I cannot stop my hands from adjusting the pattern. Worse still, this type of work stifles my creativity. I cannot excel at it.”

  The artisan felt well satisfied with this statement and mentally congratulated himself on the eloquence of its delivery.

  Horemheb was not so impressed. He stared earnestly at the man. “At the discretion and generosity of the royal family you are granted supplies of food and drink more than sufficient for the sustenance of your wife, your children and the elders in your family. Are you not?”

  The artisan gave a hesitant nod.

  “What we ask in return is nothing more than the perfect product of your skills. If you are unable to perform this requirement, then return to the fields. I shall find another who can.”

  The artisan opened his mouth as if to respond but became fearful that if he kept talking things could become a whole lot worse than working in the fields. Without a murmur he turned back to the work at hand.