He closed the book and sucked on the end of his pencil. Must cable Carnarvon tonight. Won’t tell him about Tutankhamen just yet. Much better to save that for his arrival.
Carnarvon was having a restful breakfast in bed. The butler brought the telegram on a silver salver. The earl slit it open with a paper knife. The crisp, dry paper cracked as he opened it.
“It’s from Carter. Dammit, it’s in code. Get me my folio from the library desk drawer. The one I use on my trips to Egypt.”
The minutes the butler was away on his errand seemed interminably long to Carnarvon. ‘Must be important. Must have found something. No other reason for him to code it.’
He was unable to contain his anxiety. He pushed his breakfast tray to one side, got out of bed, put on his dressing gown, grabbed his walking stick and went towards the stairs. He was met by the butler on the landing.
“What took you so long, man?”
He grabbed the folder from him, sat down on a stair step and rifled through the pages. He found the sheet he was looking for and wrote the words on a scrap of paper as he decoded them.
Carnarvon scrunched the paper together in his fist and pressed it to his lips. He got up and called to the butler. “Make up my things and the Lady Evelyn’s and book us two berths on the next steamer to Cairo. We’ll go even if they don’t have a suite!”
He hurried down to the hall and thence into the library. Grabbing the phone in his left hand, he took the earpiece off the hook and clicked the rest a couple of times. “Operator? Operator. Get me Mr Gardiner’s number. Quickly, if you would be so kind.”
There was a pause. While he waited for the connection, Carnarvon paced impatiently up and down in front of his desk. The phone rang.
“Gardiner? Alan, old chap. Just heard great news. Had to share it with someone before my head burst. Carter has found a tomb. Intact, man. Intact! Unbelievable! After all this time...”
Gardiner responded to the earl’s euphoric words, but Carnarvon wasn’t listening.
“It couldn’t be... not Tutankhamen, surely?”
As the last limestone boulder was thrown on the filling in the stairway, a fissure moved ever so slightly within the body of rock beneath. A lacelike curtain of fine lime dust fell gently from the ceiling and lightly powdered the gilding on the roof of the shrine.
For a moment the absolute silence had been broken. Within the innermost coffin a body had been disturbed. Its waxy wrappings momentarily glowed bright orange in the enclosed darkness. As the last of the ancient oxygen was consumed, the smouldering corpse gave up its temporary light and faded once more into blackness.
Chapter Seventeen
A Warning
A nest of rats had made their home in a cavity high up within the mud brick walls of Horemheb’s chambers. Some thoughtless remodelling completed in preparation for the Pharaoh’s formal coronation while the mother of the rat family was giving birth had sealed up their only means of access to the outside world. Cut off from any source of food and water, they had all expired some days later. The odour sudden, obscene and totally unsociable in its heaviness precipitated the evacuation of all the royal residents from the palace complex. The servants were left to manage the ordeal.
While the cleaning and redecorating of his rooms were under way Horemheb had chosen the vizier’s palace for temporary quarters, and once in residence he took over virtually every aspect of the vizier’s life. Of all the Pharaoh’s interferences, there was one that irritated the vizier far above any other. If just that would go away, he could tolerate all the others. It began the first night.
The vizier had seen the same look in Horemheb’s eye on many occasions. Prior to this it had involved others. But not this time. Now, it was clear, Horemheb coveted the youngest of the vizier’s wives. He knew he could not refuse him not Pharaoh if he was to keep the privileged office he currently enjoyed. Nevertheless, he lay awake most of the nights that Horemheb was there imagining the ugly scenes taking place a few walls distant. Strain how he might to listen for signs of movement or a whisper, she never cried out, and each morning she would return to the harem apparently untroubled, saying nothing, almost serene. The thought that Horemheb might actually be pleasing her far outweighed any concerns he may have harboured for her personal discomfort. Sleeplessness would dog him for as long as the Pharaoh remained at his house. And Horemheb would happily relish every moment of anguish he generated within his host total power over even the highest-ranking of his subjects absolute control. The vizier would never again feel completely at ease when Pharaoh was resident at Thebes.
“My dear Royal Vizier,” Horemeheb slapped him firmly on the back as he left to return to his restored palace. “Fantastic time. Best I’ve had in years. You are a loyal friend indeed. The gods will repay you.”
‘Not Pharaoh,’ Nakht grumbled thoughtfully as he bowed.
The security of Horemheb’s eternity was far more important than matters of state. In this, his priorities were much like any other. No sooner had the Pharaoh sobered up from the final night’s celebrations of his coronation than he began his planning for a perfect departure to the afterlife. Nothing would take priority over the design and preparation for his safe spiritual transition. Once these plans had been set in motion, but for periodic progress reports, he could virtually forget about them and return to the daily business of administration of his empire.
‘Matters of State’ in large part embodied the broadcast of his ascendancy to the realm of the gods. He would accomplish this, as had those before him, in the form of great buildings, particularly temples, massive flattering likenesses of himself most quite unlike himself, however and prolific wall writings. His name would appear prominently everywhere, often overwritten on those of his predecessors. Most of all he would annihilate all vestiges of the memory of the cult of Aten and secure his personal acceptance through energetic promotion of the old order.
But, first and foremost, he must prepare the ark. The grave goods inventory was the easy bit: a fairly standard equipage of staples to sustain him, immaculately executed, of the finest materials and workmanship, and a plethora of ushabtis to serve him, including an ample number of females. He would make a special listing of the personal items he wished to accompany him on his great journey. And to cover the guilt of his life’s misdemeanours he would have to ensure a sufficiency of amulets, far more than had been placed on the body of the youthful innocent he had dispatched just a few years since more even than the recently departed Ay. To hide all his wrongs successfully the inventory would of necessity be substantial.
Neither was Pharaoh going to risk an unfinished sepulchre at the time of his passing. He would lose no time in commissioning the excavation ultimately to become the grandest tomb of all time.
Starting from a clean slate...
“Torch it! Burn every bit of it! Every building; all of their belongings, especially those they returned with from Akhetaten. I want nothing that even smells of Aten,” Horemheb sneered. “But protect the artisans they must not be hurt. Pademi is to be rebuilt, enlarged, and resupplied. They will all remain whole their families, everyone; no one must be harmed. But make sure you cleanse that place nay, cauterise it! The gods will be watching you!”
Vizier Nakht carried out Pharaoh’s command with almost clinical precision. Pademi, and most of what was material within it, died in a fiery holocaust on a day that every man was at work in The Valley and all the families, young and old alike, Hammad and the washer women included, had been directed to The Valley of the Queens to pay tribute to Ankhesenamun’s passing, or disappearance call it what you like. By the time they noticed the great pall of smoke hanging over the hills behind them it was too late.
The vizier was well prepared for their dismay adequate temporary quarters were provided in the temples; adequate provisions from the temple stores; even some of their most personal things had been selectively saved. The work of rebuilding would begin as soon as the stones had cooled.
Some mon
ths later Ugele was summoned to Pharaoh’s presence. He was escorted from his home by two palace guards. Although massive enough themselves, the tall Nubian standing between them in the entrance to Pharaoh’s chambers practically dwarfed the two sentinels.
Horemheb pushed an attentive servant girl off his knee and addressed the master of the masons. “In The Valley of the Tombs of the Kings you will begin immediately on the construction of the greatest sepulchre ever fashioned by the hand of mere man.”
Ugele knew exactly who it would be for.
“It will be the longest, the deepest, the most exquisitely decorated. A fitting new world for Pharaoh. You will see to it. I have marked out a place. You will bring me plans fit for Pharaoh. I know your artistry. It will be acceptable. Bring the plans to me tomorrow at this time.”
Ugele bowed respectfully and backed out between the guards.
Horemheb’s words hung like a capital threat in his mind. He could not conceive how big would be big enough; how long; how deep. He did not know, even by way of comparison, how large the largest of the older tombs was, or which it was.
But then, he thought, ‘Pharaoh probably doesn’t know either.’ One thing he was certain of, however. Horemheb’s tomb would have to be demonstrably larger than that of his predecessor, Ay, and Ugele was quite familiar with the size of that particular tomb.
The master of the masons did not finish the plans until sunset of the following day. Honouring Pharaoh’s orders, he took the product of his draughtsmanship directly to the palace. The king opened the papyrus on his lap. Horemheb’s face broke into a full smile. Aside from these physical signs, however, there were no thanks. Nevertheless, Ugele’s sense of relief was immediate.
“I command you to begin at once. I will visit the place in seven days. By then the doorway to my ark must be complete.”
The master mason was too pleased with Pharaoh’s clear satisfaction with the plans of the tomb to feel any undue anxiety at the king’s request. In any event, initial excavation of the doorway in preparation for tunnelling into the wall of the valley was usually a relatively simple and least exacting affair. The entrance portal would be easy to alter if Pharaoh complained not so the corridors.
This had been a time of festival in the village the last mud brick had been laid in the reconstruction; the plastering and painting had been finished; the last house to be completed was now occupied but, the morning after, a still silence pervaded the streets.
The men were nursing their heads after days and nights of eating and drinking. Nearly all were asleep and in no fit state for work. The less overpowered lay with their wives who had been neglected these last few days. Others lay with women they had preferred to their wives at the time they had given themselves up to drunken sleep. Rounding the team up was not going to be easy.
Astride his donkey, Ugele rounded the hill which shielded Pademi from the eyes of Thebes and entered the village. He’d rarely experienced the place this silent. Only the cats, which were everywhere, were making any noise, mewing impatiently at the lack of food this far into the day. Even the children seemed to be sleeping in. All, that is, but for Perna and his younger brother. This day it was their responsibility to keep the village supplied with water. They had begun early so as to make as many trips to the well as they could before the sun got too high. Their two donkeys, led by the boys but owned by the community, plodded towards Ugele, their backs bowed by the burden, and stopped at a doorway just ahead of him. The boys together lifted an animal bladder from one of the donkeys and poured the water into the vessel on the doorstep.
Ugele dismounted and acknowledged the boys with a wave of his hand. He knocked at Parneb’s door. Silence. He knocked more loudly and for longer. Silence. He tried to open the door but although it was not locked something was obstructing it. He pushed harder. With some difficulty he managed to edge the door inward a little, just enough to squeeze himself through the opening.
He stood inside the threshold for a moment, allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. An image gradually materialised from the gloom. It was not a pretty sight.
The scribe’s feet had caused the obstruction. The still, naked body lay on its stomach on the stone floor, its face planted securely within the crotch of an unrecognisable and equally naked female lying spread-eagled on her back. They were both sound asleep. They must have passed out simultaneously. This indelicate composition presented itself to Ugele in all its uncompromising obscenity. But he wasn’t about to give up on the man. All of his team could be in this kind of state. If he was unable to revive this one, what chance had he with the others?
The woman, of course, was not Parneb’s wife. If Ugele moved fast he could be doing Parneb a favour, not that the scribe was unknown for his philandering, but quick action now could save his friend from another nasty tongue-lashing and perhaps something more physically painful. For a moment the Nubian contemplated how he might resurrect the man. He went outside once more and summoned the boys to hurry down the street with a water bag. He whisked it from them and returned to the bodies. In one movement he uncorked the bag and poured the contents liberally over Parneb’s back and buttocks.
The previously motionless body drew breath suddenly and uttered a shout loud enough to awaken the entire village. The woman also had been shocked into consciousness. As Parneb struggled to pull himself upright, she brought her legs together so fast her knees connected sharply with the scribe’s ears. This led to an involuntary scream of pain and a string of obscenities. As the woman sat up, she saw the dark shape of Ugele standing over her. She hurriedly covered her breasts with her arms and turned to scramble for her clothing. Parneb, in the meantime, had managed to stand up, his hands to his ears, and confronted his adversary.
Before the scribe could organise his thoughts sufficiently to raise a hand to him, Ugele spoke. “Parneb! Pull yourself together, man! Put on your clothes and get rid of this woman. We have been commanded by Pharaoh to begin work on his tomb today. He will inspect our progress by the week’s end. There is no time to lose!”
Ugele’s words were like a slap of cold iron upon Parneb’s smarting head. He mumbled something unintelligible and turned to retrieve his smock.
“This is most unkind, mason. Would that I were not a scribe with the heavy responsibilities attached to that office. Would that I were a simpleton. Would that I was abed.” Parneb rolled his eyes and subsided once again to the floor.
“Rise, Scribe! Take account of your blessings,” ordered Ugele. It was time for another lecture.
“The profession of the scribe is the greatest of all professions; it has no equal on earth. Even when the scribe is a beginner in his career his opinion is consulted. He is sent on missions of state and does not come back to place himself under the direction of another.
“Now, take the worker in metals. Was a smith ever sent on a mission of state? The coppersmith has to work in front of his blazing furnace. His fingers are like the crocodile’s legs and he stinks more than the insides of a fish. The metal engraver works like a ploughman. The mason is always overhauling blocks of stone and in the evening he is tired out, his arms are weary and the bones of his thighs and back feel as if they were coming asunder... Believe me, I know this!.. The barber scours the town in search of customers; at the end of the day he is worn out and he tortures his hands and arms to fill his belly. The waterman is stung to death by the gnats and mosquitoes and the stench of the canals chokes him. The ditcher in the fields works among the cattle and the pigs and must cook his food in the open. His garments are stiff with mud. The builder of walls is obliged to hang to them like a creeper. His garments are filled with mortar and dust and are in rags. The gardener must work every day and all he does is exhausting. His shoulders are bowed by the heavy loads he carries and his neck and arms are distorted. He watches onions all the morning and tends vines all the afternoon. The farm labourer never changes his garments and his voice is like that of a corncrake. His hands, arms and fingers are shrivell
ed and cracked and he smells like a corpse. The weaver is worse off than a woman. His thighs are drawn up to his body and he cannot breathe. The day he fails to do his work he is dragged from the hut, like a lotus from the pool, and cast aside. To be allowed to see the daylight he must give the overseer his dinner. The armourer is ruined by his expenses. The caravan man goes in terror of lions and nomads whilst on his journey and he returns to Egypt exhausted. The reed cutter’s fingers stink like a fishmonger. His eyes are dull and lifeless and he works naked all the daylong cutting reeds. The sandal maker spends his life in begging for work. His health is like that of a fish with a hook in its mouth. He gnaws strips of leather. The washer man spends his whole day beating clothes. He is a neighbour of the crocodile. His whole body is filthy and his food is mixed up with his garments. If he delays in finishing his work he is beaten. The lot of the fowler is hard, for though he wishes for a net God does not give him one. The fisherman has the worst trade of all, for he has to work in the river among the crocodiles and there is nothing to warn him of the vicinity of a crocodile. His eyes are blinded by fear. There is no better occupation that can be found except the profession of the scribe, which is the best of all.” (Quotations of Tuarf to his son, Pepi; from papyri in the British Museum. See Budge, 1926.)
Parneb was grateful not so much for the improving lecture but more for the fact that the mason had finished. He sighed and, with no will left to speak let alone argue, he made a sign that shortly he would follow.
Ugele left his friend for the next house, passing the two sniggering water carriers at the door and sending them on their way. The other members of his team were not in quite the same incapacitated state as the scribe, but all had been asleep when he came upon them. All awoke in various stages of post euphoric distress. All was forgotten as soon as they heard what it was they must do.
By the time the sun was fully overhead, the master of the mason’s entire team had assembled at the spot in The Valley that Horemheb had chosen for access to his tomb. It was no surprise that the site was in the main valley and greatly removed from that of Ay’s tomb, recently laid waste. But it was a little surprising that it was so close to where the entrance to the tomb of the boy king had been, long since buried beneath the debris of floods.
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