“My lady.”
As for Dashir, he was less than enthusiastic. He half expected what it was that she would now ask him to do another tomb robbery. And the only reward was the ex-queen’s continued confidence or a painful death for him and his helpers including, perhaps, his only son.
As if to anticipate his thoughts, Ankhesenamun launched into the matter immediately. “You will need help this time, my friend. Do you have friends whom you would trust with your life?”
“I do, my lady, as most men do.”
“That is good. I, for my part, just have you. My ladies I can trust, yes. But the men about me, since the passing of my beloved Tutankhamun, have become, if they were not so already, totally self-serving. Thank the gods for Dashir!”
She was absolutely sincere in her plaudit. Without his faithfulness she could never have the means to execute her plan murder most absolute.
“You are to sack Pharaoh Ay’s tomb. Completely. Destroy even the mummy in your frenzy to find the jewellery. I want nothing left NOTHING! Do you hear me?”
“My lady,” Dashir acknowledged. This was no surprise he feared her demands, but it was no surprise.
“As before there will be no guard. You and your men, and your son...” she had not forgotten. “...will return safely.”
“On what nights must we do this thing, my lady?”
“On the fifth night from tonight, Dashir, there will be no moon. And the sixth and the seventh. No more. All must be accomplished within three nights.”
“It will be so, my lady. What we cannot take we shall destroy.”
“Bring me Pharaoh’s ka, that I may destroy it myself.”
The light from the oil lamps glowed pink in Ankhesenamun’s eyes.
“Now leave, before the guards begin to talk.”
Dashir had men he could trust all right, but nevertheless he had to be selective, very selective. If a breath of this got out after the fact, all of them would be killed, perhaps also the ex-queen. He understood how important his task was. Ay must be stopped from entering the afterlife. Having shared the ex-queen’s bed, he could not be allowed to inhabit the same world as her consort. It was unthinkable.
Later that evening, Dashir made his way pensively towards Hammad’s bar at the end of the narrow, cobbled street. As he approached, echoing between the confining walls of the stone buildings he could hear the uninhibited noise of those who had been there some time already. There would be little chance of a discreet entrance. Sure enough, as he entered nearly everyone in the bar shouted, “Dashir!”
He took some wine and sat with a few friends. Some of these he would trust with his life, but a few of the others he found wanting.
As the evening wore into the early morning hours, people at last began drifting away to their beds. Dashir signalled to his closer friends to stay. By the time all but Dashir’s most trusted friends had left, the goldsmith had so much wine inside him that he had forgotten the purpose that had taken him to the bar in the first place.
Mechanically he began, “Now, my friends...” and stopped.
“Yes, Dashir...” they all answered, and stared at him expectantly.
There was a long pause. “I... I have something important to relate to you...”
“In secret?” asked one.
“Aye... Aye... In secret,” mumbled Dashir slowly, not at all sure what he was going to say next. “This is something...” He looked furtively about the room.
“Yes... Yes...” his men spoke with anticipation, almost in unison.
“This is something...” Dashir repeated. “Something...” His words faded to a whisper and died.
“Dashir!” Ugele shouted and prodded him in the chest at the same time. “Wake up, man. We wait on your message.”
“Mmmm?” Dashir was hardly able to talk. He was close to sleep. “Some... thing...”
Ugele realised that Dashir indeed had something of importance to share with them but equally he realised the hopelessness of the messenger’s condition and he decided it was time to close the evening.
“Come on, lads. He’s had enough. Let’s take him home. Besides, we are all in need of our beds. We can reassemble tomorrow my house at sunset.”
His colleagues expressed their relief. Beside his profligate drinking Dashir’s solemn behaviour had been seriously out of place with the evening’s otherwise light heartedness. Everyone was pleased he had all but expired. They each happily played their part in helping to bear him homeward. It was not that far. They left him propped up in his doorway and took care to evacuate the area immediately lest they expose themselves to the venom of his wife.
Awoken by the commotion outside, she was not long in coming. Dashir felt no pain. Her instant wrath was quite wasted. With considerable effort she dragged him inside and left him, totally unconscious, on the cool stone floor. She went back up to the roof and settled back to sleep, dreaming irritable dreams.
It was very, very late that morning when Dashir finally opened his eyes. He was conscious but in indescribable distress. His wife, cooking bread at the time, noticed his body stir and launched herself mercilessly at him. There was not a family in Pademi that did not hear her that day. The ringing in Dashir’s ears lasted until evening.
When Meneg came for him for he knew Dashir would not be able to leave of his own accord and might not even remember to do so Dashir’s wife answered the door. This was not an event Meneg felt strongly inclined to deal with. To Dashir’s wife this was evening, this was a friend coming for her husband and there was only one reason for the visit they were off to Hammad’s again. As she began her incomprehensible tirade, Meneg closed his eyes tightly as if he were about to be smitten.
“Do not strike me, madam,” he implored. “I am come but to summon your husband to a meeting of the Council.”
It was quite evident she did not believe him. He had not heard such obscenities issue from the mouth of a woman before a married woman at that. He stood his ground until she had finished, whereupon, by this time fully vented, she slammed the door in his face. With relief he turned to leave.
“Meneg!”
An urgent whisper came from the rooftop. Meneg looked up.
“Help me down, man, before she finds us! Be quick!”
Dashir shinned down the wall onto Meneg’s shoulders and in a twinkling they were absorbed into the shadows and hurrying toward’s Ugele’s house.
“Feeling better, Dashir?” enquired Meneg as, now out of sight and out of earshot, they slowed to a walk.
“Oh, Meneg. What made me do it? Never again. Never again. Never again. Never again.”
“I understand, Dashir.” At one time or another they had all said it as many times.
Ugele welcomed them at the door and ushered them into the small room. All Dashir’s most trusted friends were assembled before him, some sitting on chairs, some on the floor, some standing. All had wine.
“A drink, Dashir, before we begin?” Meneg grabbed the wine flask and a cup and presented them to his friend. Dashir thrust out the flat of his hand. “Thank you, no. But I will surely need a drink once we have finished the task set us by her Royal Majesty.” That got everyone’s attention. It was clear from his remark that there would be something distasteful in what he was about to tell them.
“First you must all be clear on one thing. Not a breath of what I am about to say to you must leave this room not today, not before, and not after this thing is done NEVER.”
He looked at each of their faces one by one, searching for a sign of acknowledgement in their eyes. Satisfied he had their silent vows, he continued. “We are commanded to sack the tomb of our recently departed Pharaoh Ay and...” Before any could react he added, “...there will be no guards for three nights. This should be sufficient time to complete the deed.”
There was little apparent outward reaction as if his colleagues had expected something like this, as if it was a relief to know at last.
“What about our wives?” asked one of them astute
ly after a pause. “They will have to know. Three nights away from home. It is more than my life is worth to allow her to speculate.”
“And you know how women talk!” chimed another. Dashir was quite matter-of-fact. “Tell them the truth and tell them you will be killed if they talk.” “In my wife’s current mood, I’m not so sure she wouldn’t happily spread the word!” claimed one.
“Mine, too,” said another.
It was easy for him to tell the others how it should be done. How he himself was to accomplish this same task with his wife, still fuming and unforgiving from last night’s nonsense, only the gods knew. Of all in this band of reluctant thieves, he probably had the hardest task of all.
“It is decided then. Three days from now we shall assemble at the head of the west bank canal one hour after nightfall. We shall each make our own way across the river. Groups of people attract unnecessary attention. I will have my son with me so there will be eight of us in all. If we are not all accounted for, we will not do the deed. And he who is absent shall be cursed in the name of Seth.”
Dashir hadn’t needed to add this last warning.
“We are friends, are we not?” said Meneg. “We always stick together or there would be no friendship. I remember the burial of Tutankhamun.” He smiled. “All of us shall be there, Dashir. All or none. Have no fear.”
But, unlike Dashir himself, none of these men had robbed a tomb before. On the contrary, like he they were the artisans who had helped craft and fill the tombs with great works of art. Indeed, much of what they would plunder would have the mark of their personal skill on it. They did not give a second thought to how they might dispose of their booty for gain or even where they might hide it.
When they finally collected together on the west bank, it was absolutely pitch black. They dared not use their lamps until they were inside Ay’s tomb, so the walk into The West Valley was long and difficult. It was located at the distant head of a ravine, close to the unused tomb of Ay’s original master, the heretic, Pharaoh Akhenaten. They walked in single file, close enough that they could touch each other’s robes for reassurance.
Dashir’s instructions were explicit they must remove everything. They could take all they wanted for themselves, but not the ka statue, not the spells, nor the mummy itself. The statue and the spells were to be delivered into the hands of Ankhesenamun; the mummy must be totally destroyed. Not a single identifiable fragment must be left not any recognisable image of the dead Pharaoh within the tomb or on its walls. The ex-queen’s anger was not so much at Ay for his own sake much as she reviled the very thought of her nights within his bed it was more to appease her Tutankhamun. The tomb in which Ay now lay had been intended for the boy king and had lain but half completed at the time of his untimely death. If her young husband could not enjoy it, neither should any other. She wished it to remain empty and anonymous for eternity.
The party moved around the valley flank to the place where the freshly sealed tomb was situated. Dashir, who was in the lead, suddenly stopped. He thought he could hear voices up ahead. Something was moving in the darkness right about where the tomb entrance was situated.
He turned to his men and, raising a finger to his lips, whispered, “We have company.”
A stunning cold coursed through their veins.
“Donkeys,” whispered Dashir to his men. “I can make out heavily laden baskets on their backs.”
They were not the first.
Dashir drew back to his men. “The tomb is being plundered as we speak,” he whispered. “This is an incredible piece of luck!”
The men looked puzzled.
“Don’t you see, my friends? We can let them do our work for us. We will not need the three nights. We will be able to accomplish the queen’s wishes with almost no effort and in far less time. Best of all, others will be culpable of this crime. This truly is a gift from the gods.”
“But we shall have no booty,” spoke up one.
“We did not come here for booty! We came here at the queen’s behest. Any booty would have been incidental and should not have been expected.”
“You mean we risk our lives and the livelihood of our families for nothing more than... than duty?”
In the darkness it was difficult to make out the expressions on the faces of the eight who huddled close to hear one another’s words. Without expressions and delivered in whispers the words carried little impact. To emphasise his meaning, Dashir caught his friend by the nose and twisted it in his fingers until he let out a subdued yelp.
“Yes,” he said. “Duty. Let that be an end to our discussion.” He took a breath and continued. “It is well we did not bring donkeys tonight. Our position would have been revealed. We must withdraw to watch these infidels and descend only when they have finished their business and departed this place.”
Since there was no lookout, Dashir’s party scrambled up the scree face to a rock ledge and settled themselves there, looking down on the access hole dug by the robbers. The band of brothers sat cross-legged and stared into the darkness, searching for some sign of movement. The entrance was faintly visible in the glimmering light of the robbers’ lamps coming deep from within the tunnel. Clearly it had been dug large enough to accommodate two men in an almost standing position and side by side, thereby allowing the passage of objects of some size. The light extinguished for a time as four robbers scrambled out of the tunnel and emerged at the surface. As they came out into the open, the light once more glimmered from behind, framing them in silhouette and picking out golden reflections from the large coffin lid they were carrying.
“They’re in the burial chamber,” whispered Meneg. “They can’t have that much more to do.”
They saw the men place the coffin on a sledge made of poles slung behind one of the donkeys. As the robbers disappeared once again into the mouth of the tomb, Meneg turned to Dashir. “They will surely finish tonight. Why don’t we go home and return tomorrow night to examine what is left? Then we can ensure that the queen’s wishes are fulfilled.”
Each nodded eagerly and the party quickly scrambled back down the slope and made their way back to the river.
Despite the apparent good fortune of being relieved of all the hard labour and much of the risk, Dashir did not sleep soundly. He was troubled. He had already failed one of his queen’s orders. The tomb already robbed, likely he would not be able to bring her the gold effigy she had so vehemently demanded. The hopelessness of this failure would have kept him awake longer had his wife not awoken at his tossing and, gratified that he had returned late but sober this night, in her restlessness turned over and placed her hand directly between his thighs.
Afterwards he slumbered in peace.
The following evening, the small band of eight wound their way back into The Valley hoping that this time all would be quiet. Knowing now what they might come upon, they crept to the spot more carefully than they had done the night before, stopping every few steps to listen for voices. They heard nothing and arrived at the tomb entrance in total darkness no donkeys, not a sound issuing from the throat of the tunnel, and not the slightest glimmer of a light. They carefully filed down the entrance corridor and, considering themselves far enough inside, they lit their lamps. Emptiness glowed back at them. As they penetrated into the bowels of the tomb, they found only pieces of broken pottery, of wood, fragments of gold sheet, a few beads, and a smashed alabaster vase. Everything was gone but for the sarcophagus and the mummy.
The mummy, naked but for a few ragged bandages still clinging to its wrists and legs, lay inelegantly on its face in the corner of the burial chamber. The broken lid of the sarcophagus was lying upside down on the floor. They peeked inside. Even the coffin bed had gone. The entire tomb had been most effectively emptied.
Dashir was the first to speak. “Come, there is no time to lose. We are to destroy the sarcophagus and the mummy, and the name and any images of Pharaoh. Eternal death as the queen has ordered.”
“How do we do t
his, Dashir? The sarcophagus is massive and we have no tools,” said Meneg.
“There are eight of us. It should not be too difficult. Each of you take hold of the upper lip on this side. We shall push it over. The impact will break it.”
“No!” The voice was Enet’s, a relatively junior stonemason.
“You said we were to plunder. You never said we were to work havoc in this place. I made this thing with my own hands. I toiled on it for months. Perfect, is it not? Beautiful. A glorious and enduring statement to the gods. Do you realise how hard it is to carve a piece like this and avoid breaking it? And now all you wish to accomplish is its destruction. I will not let you do this.” He rushed around to the opposite side. “You must stop this foolishness.”
“Ignore him!”
The others pushed, it toppled, and a great echo resounded within the chamber as it fell on its side. The huge stone casket broke into three pieces over Enet’s toes. The mason let out an ear-splitting scream.
Enet fell, crying, to the floor, unable to move. Dashir asked his son to see to the bleeding and then turned to the others. He instructed them to continue pushing the pieces over and onto the fragments already scattered about until they were small enough for a single man to lift and smash them down on the floor. Soon, all was rubble.
As his colleagues laboured, Dashir picked up a piece of the broken wall of the quartzite sarcophagus that was small enough to use as a hand adze and set to chiselling at the paintings on the wall of the tomb wherever he saw the name or image of Ay. The soft limestone yielded to the quartzite easily and within a few minutes he had successfully removed all trace of the late Pharaoh from every text and panel. Meneg dealt the last blow to the sarcophagus, dropping one last large piece to the floor. The rubble scattered in all directions and the dust billowed around them, glowing eerily in the light of the lamps. A strange quiet descended on the emptied place. It was a solemn moment. They each felt it. A gnawing guilt for the desecration they had accomplished. They were this day, each of them, for the first time destroyers, not creators.
Tutankhamun Uncovered Page 39