As the last of the bandages was removed, a roll of papyrus fell to the ground. It was Horemheb’s ‘Book of Gates’. She picked it up and summarily tore it to shreds, allowing the pieces to be scattered by the wind... ‘He shall have to manage without it.’
She placed the golden statue on the table beside her. Two tiny forearms stretched vertically from its head, their hands open, the palms facing forward. Below this headdress was that familiar, grotesquely squat, round face, the fat lips, the oblate, rippling body, a golden tunic gathered about its stout waist. The likeness was uncompromisingly true and utterly repulsive. The artist who had fashioned this must have done so with some personal gratification, representing the king as he had appeared in life, not at all as he would have wished to have been remembered.
The royal widow felt a consuming sense of release. For years she had remained preoccupied with a single yearning. For years her new marriage had been troubled with her fixation. Her husband had understood at first but, as the years passed by, her continuing private obsession had driven him elsewhere for affection. She had let him play. She would not ask much of him. Just that he be there to talk with her when she needed the company. He played his part well.
As the sun touched the distant horizon, a flash reflected off a facet scratched into the gold. The queen brought the small statue closer to her eye and examined the script etched crudely into its buttocks: ‘For Queen Ankhesenamun. Loving wife of Tutankhamun. For our eternity.’
It was signed with the nomen of ‘Dashir’. She smiled in contentment. They had been true to her to the end.
Still holding the gold figure, she got up from her seat and knelt down on the stone floor to face the last glimmer of the evening sun. She whispered a prayer to her loyal servants to protect them from discovery and the possibility of awful punishment. As she uttered her last word, she clenched both her fists tightly about the legs of the statue, raised it at arm’s length above her head and with all her strength brought it hard down on the stone floor. The paving’s rang as the head broke at the neck. Turning over and over again in the air, it bounced down the steps before her, finally splashing into the water’s edge and disappearing forever. She stood up quickly and tossed the mutilated figure after it. The queen and the boy watched as the ripples grew outward and gradually died.
Ankhesenamun called to her maidservant and pointed to the boy. “See that he is washed, fed, rested and clothed. He may return to Thebes when he wishes. Until then, be sure you look after him well.”
She turned her back on the lake and on her past. What she looked forward to now no man but Tutankhamun could share with her. She sat that night in her chambers, cradling the diminutive gold statuette in the likeness of her dead husband. Now, assuredly, the royal couple could live life eternal, together and in peace.
Ankhesenamun had returned from hunting with her Hittite husband. He had taken ill during the day and was escorted from his horse by his apothecaries and thence to his bedchamber. The evening was maturing swiftly into night and, as was her custom, the queen retired to the shrine of her departed consort to pray. She knelt in the quiet solitude of the small chapel and gazed up at the golden likeness of her boy king. The flames of the lamps which surrounded her brushed their pale orange light over the little statue and laid faintly wavering shadows on the walls of the tiny room.
She whispered, “Speak to me, Tutankhamun. He who holds my heart in his embrace.”
The flames reflected off the burnished surface of the figure. In the rippling folds of light she felt sure the lips moved. The faint but coherent voice of her late husband responded to her call.
“Your words fall gently like drops of wine upon mine ears, my Queen. You have done exceedingly well. Horemheb and Ay are extinguished... forever. The time has come for you and I once more to live together in peace.”
The figure drew a deep, whispering breath.
“But I feel the coldness of fear, my love. My journey may yet be ended by those who seek to steal that which I need to sustain me. My sanctified tomb remains inviolate, yet I fear for its safety. Possession of that which you worship is not sufficient. My mortal remains must be left to rest in this place. A curse has been laid. Warnings will be given. More than this I cannot do alone... I miss you, my Queen. I need your good counsel, your support, your warmth. When will you come to me?”
The flames flickered momentarily and died. The statue stood inanimate. Ankhesenamun fell speechless in front of the figure. She felt comfort and security in the company of her living husband, but she ached to be with her
boy king once more.
She had kept the poison close by her person ever since Tutankhamun’s bloodied body had been discovered all those years ago. At that time it was in fear of misconceived retribution. Apart from her childhood maidservant, she had not been able to trust anyone in the palace. Self-inflicted death would have been more charitable. Until now, though, she had had too much to do to contemplate suicide. In her anxious wait for news of Horemheb’s death and his ultimate destruction she had given no thought none at all to her own.
Tia had been dead these past three years. Perhaps now was the right time after all. He waited for her. She wanted him. No one stood in their way. She had not been a good wife to her new husband. There were no offspring from their marriage. Perhaps he would not miss her. Doubtless he would find another. Better she did it now and be done. No farewells.
The poison, while deadly, was not quick, but neither was it painful. It would bring on sleep slowly. She turned and looked outside for signs of life. By now it was completely dark. There was no one about. A clear, moonless sky, resplendent with stars, sparkled limitless above her. It would take her only a few moments to reach the lake side. There seemed little risk of being spotted.
She turned back into the shrine. She took a long breath and drank the contents of the vial in a single swallow. The liquid warmed her from within. She picked up the statuette, placed it inside her cloak and wrapped the waist cord tightly about her. Grasping the papyrus tightly in her right fist, she walked purposefully towards the lake. As the queen neared the terrace from which she had pitched the dismembered figure of Horemheb, she felt a strange slothfulness coming upon her. She sat down on the bottom step, slung her feet out into the water and pushed herself off with her hands.
The water felt cold, but as she swam a pleasing numbness came over her. She found it difficult with the extra weight to keep herself buoyant, harder still with her growing sleepiness. She swam as far as her consciousness could carry her. Then, finally, consumed by an overwhelming desire to fall asleep, she slowly descended beneath the surface and into the depths, the image of her husband bound in with the bodice of her clothing, the roll of spells still held firmly in her hand. The ripples closed above her, extinguishing any trace of her disappearance. There were no bubbles, the waters now black, unreflective, featureless. She had disappeared without trace.
There had never been a funeral like it, not the least reason being that there was no body. He had loved her. He had loved her deeply, notwithstanding her perpetual distraction. There would be great celebration. She would be dispatched with precision according to their custom. He would watch her go: the flames consuming her funeral pyre, a symbolic package of her most personal belongings upon it; a raging fire taking her soul to the gods.
Her husband watched the fire grow. Within moments it was a furnace, the cauldron of heat pushing him back. He felt the skin on his cheeks begin to burn. He moved further away. Bright, glowing particles of ash flew everywhere, circled and bounced in the night air and, drifting upon the updraft above the inferno, ultimately lost their energy and fell on the circle of onlookers, dying in their head gear and on their shoulders. As the fire exhausted itself and the funeral pyre collapsed, one by one the group in attendance solemnly departed. For a time, the glow from the dying embers reflected on the surface of the lake, the flashing ripples seemingly maintaining its life on the water. And then nothing, coal black, with an occasio
nal sparkle of reflected starlight.
It was over. She was gone. The door to this part of his life had closed for ever. He turned and followed the others.
The loyal tomb builders’ destruction of Horemheb’s tomb had totally cleared it of anything of value. They had not attempted to remove his sarcophagus but took everything else. The mummy, after being torn to pieces, had vanished without trace. Surely, like Ay, Horemheb would not pass through the doorway to the new world. Like Ay, he would find death absolute.
Ankhesenamun and Tutankhamun were at last reunited. And there were other familiar faces. Tia was there to serve the queen once more. Dashir, who had passed on after an orgy of drinking, was there to provide for them. Best and most treasured of all, their children were there, reincarnated with their parents.
They enjoyed each other. Their renewed blissful peace passed timeless before them.
Outside their world, time continued to pass. As it had been written, thousands later in time and space they found him. It would be he who would reach the place and have the means to touch the king’s holy sepulchre. It would be he who would be the one wholly responsible. Without him the necessary coincidence of events could not occur. They knew at this time that all they could do was give a warning create some way to divert him from his course by his own choice, as they may not physically stop him. The curse would do that, ultimately, but likely too late. Like the sting of a bee left within its victim, both would die. Both would pass into eternal oblivion.
Chapter Eighteen
Something Good
Carter had waited two hours at Luxor station. The train carrying Lord Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn was not unusually delayed. He didn’t mind the wait. Two days earlier he’d greeted them on their arrival in Cairo but had travelled back to Luxor ahead of them to complete further preparations for reopening the stairwell to the tomb.
The last weeks had been agony. Holding back his urgent need to discover what lay beyond the rock filled corridor had been almost unbearable. But now the wait was almost over. Soon they would all be able to see for themselves.
The morning sun was above the horizon as the train steamed slowly into the platform. The decorative Victorian wood picket wedges along the trailing edge of the roof threw saw tooth shadows against the white station walls. The three carriages drew to a stop and a horde of would-be porters hurried forward seeking business from the few first-class passengers. Through the sunlit steam issuing from beneath the carriages, Carter spied the silhouette of Lady Evelyn alighting and he signalled to Abdel to run forward and assist her with her bag. The earl followed almost immediately, passed a small leather attaché down to Abdel, and stepped down slowly, using his cane to steady himself. Carter came forward, doffed his hat and greeted them both. There was a vigorous shaking of hands. This time he was really pleased to see his patron.
Fatigued from his journey, the earl was not feeling all that energetic but he had the presence of mind to congratulate his colleague warmly. “Howard, m’boy...” he chuckled. “Good to see you again, even if it’s the second time in two days! Looks like you’ve done it this time!”
“Thank you, sir. You look a little pale, sir, if you’ll pardon me for saying so. I hope you didn’t pick something foreign up on your trip.”
“Fatigue. Not a bother. G’me a stiff drink and a good night’s rest and tomorrow, bright and early, you can take me to our great discovery.”
“That I will, sir... Lady Evelyn. That I will. But let’s get you both settled in first. The tomb has waited a millennium or three. I believe it can wait a few more hours.” Carter looked up and down the station. “Where’s the doctor?”
“Left him in Cairo, Howard. Wanted to visit some of his professional friends in town. He’ll follow within the week.”
The three squeezed into Carter’s car and drove to the Winter Palace Hotel. Abdel remained at the station to collect his lordship’s trunks.
Before taking lunch, they assembled on the terrace and sipped cocktails.
After a moment’s reflection, Lady Evelyn turned to Carter. “Howard, during our brief time together in Cairo you mentioned that before you took us to the site you would tell us the story of its discovery. Now would be a good time. Every detail, if you please.”
Carter drew a deep breath. They both stared at him in anticipation. No diversionary small talk this time. He was going to enjoy telling this story.
The earl was not known for rising early and the following morning he even surprised himself he was up at six. He ordered breakfast in his room, washed, shaved, showered and dressed, and was out on the terrace drinking coffee in the sunrise before his daughter had opened an eye. He paced about the balcony impatiently. Carter had arranged to have them picked up at nine, but the earl was far too anxious to wait that long. He walked back into the hotel and rapped hard on Lady Evelyn’s door.
“Who... who is it?” an apprehensive voice sounded from the other side.
“Evelyn! Get up, daughter. We are ready to leave!”
“Just a minute, Papa.”
For the next few minutes there was much commotion from inside. Then at last the door was unlocked and a fully dressed Evelyn stood before her father.
“Well? Where’s Howard?”
“Change of plan, my dear. He’s waiting for us on the other side. Come, there is no time to lose. We are already late.”
“But I have had no breakfast, Papa.”
“We’ll get it at Carter’s house. Now, come on!”
His excitement gave him newfound energy and Evelyn was not inclined to resist it. They descended the staircase that swept down in two long arcs from the entrance to the hotel and summoned a horse and carriage.
While all this was going on, an unaware Carter had been busily organising his men at the site. He had his old colleague Arthur Callender to assist him. Re-excavation of the pit and the stairway were already well under way.
When the earl and his daughter arrived at Castle Carter at 7.45 a.m., the Egyptologist was not there. Having left Callender in charge, he was on his way to prepare for his trip over to Luxor to pick up his patron. The two parties met each other at the entrance to The Valley.
“My God! Sir... Ma’am!” exclaimed an astonished Carter. “Touch of insomnia?”
“Very funny, Howard. Very droll,” answered Lady Evelyn. “The fact is, my father got me here at this unearthly hour under false pretences.”
“Couldn’t wait, Howard. Couldn’t wait. C’m on. Let’s to’t. This will be the day of all days.”
The aristocrat was uncharacteristically euphoric. Carter hadn’t seen him this chuffed since he’d found that mummified cat, all those years ago. He could hardly believe it had been so long. The earl had quite lost control of his feelings. He was out to relish every moment.
They took only a few minutes to get to the site. It had an established look about it. Anticipating much interest from passing tourists, and anxious to keep them at bay and safe from falling in, Carter had arranged for a stone wall to be built around the pit at the level of the valley floor.
Carnarvon and Evelyn looked eagerly over the edge. The fellahs had hardly removed sufficient rubble to re-expose the top of the doorway, but the earl was in such a state of excitement and anticipation that the glimpse of mud plaster beneath the rock cut lintel was treasure in itself. Immediately he stepped down awkwardly into the pit, almost losing his footing as he probed with his cane to find a firm purchase within the loose rocks. The men stopped their labours for a moment and moved aside to give him room. He bent down to study the cavity more closely. It would have been too difficult and painful for him to attempt to crouch low enough to be able to feel the plaster surface with his fingers. He touched it lightly with his walking stick and turned back towards Carter who was standing at the edge of the pit.
“Solid as a rock, m’ boy. Just like you said. We’re the first. I feel it!” He looked around at the labourers who stood motionless, watching him. “Come on, then. Stop your gawking. Back t
o work. Much to do before we sleep tonight.”
Carter repeated the earl’s orders with a few softer words in Arabic and the reis signalled his men to resume.
Extending an arm to help Carnarvon back up the slope, Carter whispered in his ear, “Sir, please don’t get your hopes up too high. I fear there is evidence that the tomb has been breached at least once in antiquity. If you look behind you...” They both turned. “There. The upper left corner. It is clearly patched and re-stamped. But that is the good news. They would not bother to reseal it if there were nothing there. At worst, we could be looking at a mummy cache.”
The earl smiled and nodded in acknowledgement.
Once back at the top, they found Evelyn in conversation with an unwashed and unshaven Adamson.
“Ah, Sergeant, may I introduce his lordship the Lord Carnarvon, the sponsor of this dig and my very good friend.”
“My pleasure, y’ lordship,” said the sergeant politely, clicking to attention and extending his hand.
The earl shook his hand warmly. “Carnarvon. You may address me as Carnarvon, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir... er, Carnarvon. H’I’d be most h’onoured if you would likewise address me as h’Adamson, sir.”
“Adamson it is. I see you have already acquainted yourself with my daughter, Lady Evelyn.”
Adamson smiled. “Indeed, y’ lordship... er, Carnarvon. H’I wish h’I’d known you wuz coming so h’early this morning. It ’asn’t been my ’abit of late to h’attend to me toiletries h’until I’ve ‘ad me breakfast. Caught me in the middle of it. Bit of a surprise! Be better prepared next time.”
“No matter, Sergeant,” chimed in Evelyn. “Truth is, this is a most unusual event for all of us. Driven out of bed early because we were unable to contain our anticipation. Doubt we will demonstrate such urgency heretofore.”
‘Eretofor?’ thought Adamson. ‘Wot the ’ell’s ’eretofor?’ He didn’t dare ask. He excused himself and returned to his breakfast.
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