The atmosphere in Ta Set Aat was always hushed, almost unnaturally, and our passage did little to break this serenity as we walked with reverent tread. Our footfalls raised small puffs of dust which quickly settled back onto the powdery limestone beneath our feet. Surrounding the valley, fissured escarpment walls rose up in the semblance of a linen curtain crumpled and stiff with encrusted dust. As the solar barque sailed overhead, sunlight played on the furrowed faces of the cliffs creating striking contrasts between brilliantly lit rock and darkly shadowed crevasses.
Ramesses commented on the difficulty of detecting the earliest royal graves which have been largely obscured by fallen rocks. All that permitted clear identification were the stellae and shrines erected in front of each grave, which were in such poor condition the king sternly rebuked the Keeper of the Valley for his sloth and commanded me to immediately replace these with new markers. The cloudless blue sky belied the sterile desolation of the Theban Hills, where sprung neither leaf nor blade of grass. Above the valley loomed the brooding, pyramid shaped sentinel of Dehenet, the rocky peak sacred to Hathor and beloved of the goddess Meretseger.
Nebwenenef said the Eighteenth era mausoleums were sealed with plastered masonry walls and their entrances filled with rubble to deter any who sought to violate the grave and trespass into the halls of a dead king. The seals of the high priests who had presided over the final acts of consecration were set into the plaster proclaiming the name of the deceased ruler within a cartouche next to an inscription of Anubis in his jackal manifestation and the traditional six bound enemies of the kingdom. In death, a king would rejoice in his dominance over these barbarians whilst Anubis stood guardian over his divine charge. His remarks did little to mollify Ramesses. The priest’s statement was the first piece of information I had gleaned about the older tombs and intimated that he knew more than he was willing to acknowledge. Did the high priest have a secret archive? I filed this question away, planning to return to it again in the future.
The tombs of Horemheb, Ramesses I and Seti were closed with elaborately carved cedar doors set into incised limestone frames and the slight fragrance of cedar resin lingered faintly in the dry air. After the reforms of Horemheb, tombs no longer hid behind walls. His tomb and the those of the first two Ramesside kings were built with the light from Re-Harakhty’s solar barque beaming onto their portals and warming the Passage of the Open Path that lay behind the doors.
At Horemheb’s tomb, the king and high priest conferred quietly and at some length. Apparently, an agreement had been reached as the ropes on the great doors were cut through and the doors swung back. Satisfied, the king told the others in our group to remain outside and he, the high priest and I walked through the doorway, along the Passage of Re, the first decorated corridor and into God’s Second Passage. Planks lay over the Hall of Waiting; a shaft cut deep into the limestone which the high priest said was symbolic of the House of Osiris. Crossing, we entered the Chariot Hall, a rectangular chamber with decorated pillars and walls niches in which the gods of the east and west reside.
I asked why the antechamber was called the Chariot Room. Nebwenenef explained there was an ancient tradition to include chariots in the funerary goods so the immortal kings could go hunting in the Second Life and recall the glories of battles fought from the wheeled platforms. I was about to ask if preserved horses had also been interred with the chariots when Ramesses queried,
“Did you notice the alignment of the tomb just changed, Sennefer? Do you know why this is so?
“Yes, Master, there is a slight deviation from the straight path of the corridors but I can discern no apparent reason. There are no irregularities in the quality of the limestone that would warrant the change in alignment. Nebwenenef, do you have any knowledge of this?”
“No, I cannot help you. Ask me about the meaning of the decorations, sacred inscribed words and extracts from the Books of the Dead but on matters of tomb construction I plead ignorance.”
Descending another flight of stairs and a third sloping corridor, we came to an antechamber and paused to examine the decorations before entering the pillared House of Gold, Horemheb’s burial chamber. At the rear, at a still lower level, was the crypt housing the sarcophagus, an object of singular beauty. Carved in shallow relief, their outswept wings delicately folded around the pink granite sarcophagus, were images of the goddesses Isis, Nepthys, Neith and Selket and painted against a light blue background, scenes from the Book of Gates. Inspection revealed the wall decorations were at various stages of completion which surprised the king. I, being unfamiliar with the decorative requirements of royal tombs, could foresee the need to put in many hours of study of the subject.
Ramesses took careful note of all he saw and asked Nebwenenef many questions about the texts and images. Not surprisingly, he forbade us to enter the small side chambers radiating off the main chamber. Alone, by the flickering of his torch, he visited the treasuries whilst the high priest further explained the meaning of several obscure wall paintings. I observed certain aspects of the lower levels of the structure, including fractures in piers and columns. I did not fully understand the purpose of the well shaft and thought to query Meketre, the builder of Seti’s tomb, as I was loath to expose the extent of my ignorance by asking the high priest for a deeper explanation.
Apparently satisfied, Ramesses instructed us to leave the tomb and move onwards to his grandfather’s tomb across the valley floor. As we walked towards the shrine and portal he said,
“I know little of my grandfather’s achievements as my father rarely spoke of him. He was a trusted lieutenant under General Horemheb when they campaigned in southern Palestine and the western deserts. After Horemheb elevated himself to the throne at the death of Ay, my grandfather first served as his vizier and, for a short time, as co-regent. Together, they undertook the administrative and religious reforms the kingdom benefits from even to this day. Ramesses was an elderly man when he succeeded Horemheb so I suspect the king had pledged the throne to my grandfather as a reward for long and dedicated service, knowing the balance of his life was short but wisely looked to the day when my father would succeed him and bring new vitality and high achievement to the kingdom. My father enjoyed the intimacy of Horemheb’s company because he was responsible for his military training and tutelage in statecraft.”
I asked “How did you get permission to enter the tomb?”
“Have you forgotten who I am or does your acquaintance with a monarch make you slow witted? When I woke this morning I was still the Pharaoh and not without some little influence. Seriously though, you saw that it was closed only by cords lashed through the timber door handles? Unlike the earlier tombs where walls would have to be broken through, no damage was occasioned by opening the tomb other than the cutting of the cords which Nebwenenef will replace, re-affixing the original seals to new cordage.”
I thought it ridiculously easy to enter a royal tomb but that was only a passing thought at the time.
We attained the tomb of Ramesses I, where Nebwenenef again cut through the cords, retaining the seals. Torches were lit and, in the light, we were confronted with a steep flight of stairs, a short corridor and another yet steeper stairway leading straight into the burial chamber which was, by comparison to Horemheb’s considerable multi-chambered sepulchre, minuscule. In fact, the entire tomb was only about one quarter the area of his predecessor’s. I found this surprising.
Obviously, the builders were caught unprepared by the early death of this king as only the burial chamber was decorated. At the end of the first stairway, there was evidence of the beginning of a pillared hall and at the back of the crypt, a cutting had been started indicating the room was to be much enlarged. Possibly to compensate for the apparent inadequacy of the chamber, there stood a beautifully painted and gilded wooden statue of Osiris in the recess with his image replicated on the rear wall. The style of painted ornamentation was almost identical to that within Horemheb’s tomb in evidence of the same s
killed artisan’s hands.
Further confirmation of haste was provided by the forlorn red granite sarcophagus. It was not even inscribed but only painted with textual references in yellow pigment. Nebwenenef moved his torch closer, commenting that whoever was responsible for textual accuracy made many errors. Apart from the sparsely decorated surfaces, an exquisite viscera chest, a small inlaid shrine and two life sized guardian figures flanking the entrance to the burial chamber, the tomb was a striking contrast to the grandeur of Horemheb’s tomb.
In obvious disgust Ramesses said, “This is hardly a fitting tribute to a man who spent his life in service to the kingdom and wore the double crown, no matter how briefly.” He knelt at the side of the sarcophagus in silent prayer, rose, briefly looked around again and motioned we should leave.
“Well, that was an unedifying experience. Sennefer, we must talk of this later. Nebwenenef, see the shrine is well served by your priests. My grandfather deserved better than this insubstantial monument and it is my duty to bring more glory to his name.”
Whilst exploring the valley, I had noticed mud brick walls emplaced around several tomb entrances and trenches cut diagonally into hillsides. I could not immediately perceive the reason for these works though I had observed similar landscapes elsewhere in all the limestone hills that flanked much of the river. Was it possible that, at a very remote time, water had flowed off the terraces and cascaded down the escarpment before travelling with some force along the valley floor? I made a mental note to enquire more about the walls and trenches.
My thoughts returned to the time when, still an apprentice, I first experienced the miracle of rain whilst on a working visit to the garrison city Seti was building in the Delta. My Master, Siamun, with great humour at the expense of his ignorant apprentice, explained the nature of this water falling from the sky. His amusement continued as he went on to describe, to my growing disbelief, the jagged streaks of light and thunderous sounds that accompany the summer storms as they moved inland from the Great Sea and assailed the fertile land in the Delta. I must confess the first time I was witnessed such an event I was deeply unsettled by the phenomena as he could not explain the reason for the display of divine tumult in the heavens.
My reverie was interrupted by the chanting of two priests making an oblation at the shrine table outside Horemheb’s tomb. Foodstuff was laid upon the shrine and devotional prayers offered up to the eternal soul of the departed pharaoh. Many years later, Prince Khaemwaset, Ramesses’ fourth son, Sem priest at the Temple of Ptah in Memphis, and by then an intimate friend, attempted to explain the meaning of the three aspects of the incorporeal soul in response to my enquiry.
“It is good to see you seek enlightenment, even at your age. Let me try to clarify this matter. The most important element of our spiritual being is the ba, the mercurial aspect of each individual who has perished and now resides in the Second Life. This spirit is the carrier of all the vital forces of life. After death it takes the form of the ba bird, a human headed falcon with outstretched wings and talons, and it flies between the Field of Reeds and the mortal remains. The ba bird has magical powers. It can fly through the walls to receive offerings made to its now dead, temporal host and it carries to its immortal host, the essence of the food stuffs laid upon the shrine table outside the tomb.”
Imparting a confidence, he continued “You will not know this, not having seen the coffins of a king. They are covered in symbolic avian plumage, carved with renditions of brightly coloured feathered wings enfolding the body contained therein. The king’s ba has the greatest significance as he lives in complete harmony with his heavenly parents. His ba traverses the kingdom and when it returns to the Second Life it flies not to the Field of Reeds but to the king who sits on the Solar Barque.”
“Ka is the spiritual counterpart of our body. It comes into being at birth and continues to exist after death. Ka is the bearer of our life giving force and symbolises the passage of this power from generation to generation. A king’s ka is woven with the thread of divinity invested in a ruler by Khnum, when he forms the image on his potter’s wheel.”
“Ankh, the third aspect of our spiritual being, means the Transfigured One. You appear confused? Imagine you are dead, you are judged favourably by Osiris and are now ready to enter the Field of Reeds. To do so, your ankh revitalises your ‘dead’ spirit and restores it to life eternal as it survives the physical death of the body. I trust these explanations clarify one of the greater mysteries.” He granted me a look of kind indulgence and smiled enigmatically. I remember feeling in no way enlightened.
In my early years, I had not been fastidious in my devotions. My parents instructed me in the rudiments of religious belief and certain elements of my apprenticeship exposed me to the fundamentals of spiritual architecture. I formed a facile opinion that the buildings commissioned by kings were more about their self-image than satisfying religious scruple, an opinion never completely dispelled by my long friendship with Ramesses. Yet it was impossible to walk through the Great Place and not experience the resonance of our teachings. In the stillness, I found myself prepared to believe I could hear the whispering flutter of ba bird’s wings as they hovered over the offertory shrines before returning to the eternal abode of their masters.
I now walked in the company of an apparent mortal, Ramesses, a man of flesh and blood like myself though he was more than just another mortal. He wore on his head the double crown. His veins pulsed in tune with Egypt’s glorious heritage. He was the living embodiment of centuries of royal authority that dawned one 1,700 years ago. Think on that – in a period of more than a millennium and a half at least forty generations of families had sprung to life and then perished. I could not begin to comprehend such a stretch of time.
What of Ramesses? Was he divine as he claimed? Was this man fashioned by the hands of the gods? If that question had been asked of me as I walked beside him in the valley, it would be less than honest of me to admit I believed in his divinity then.
Ramesses was a powerfully built man and unusually tall for an Egyptian, so tall no man looked down on him. His aquiline nose gave him a slightly haughty appearance and no explanation could be offered for his reddish hair, an attribute which also stood him apart from his subjects. His limbs were long, muscular and his chest deep. But it was not these physical features that had a bearing on my changing feelings towards the man. Since our first meeting shortly after his investiture, his manner had perceptibly matured. Whilst he spoke with complete self-assurance there was another, more subtle, development taking place within his soul.
Nebwenenef had noticed that whenever Ramesses stood in the presence of an image of Amun he appeared to radiate an ethereal aura, a phenomenon he mentioned to me just before the visitation to the valley. The high priest presided over the king’s daily devotionals and he remarked that his holy office and a life in proximity to the sanctuaries in the great temples at Thebes made him an acute observer of royalty, having attended three pharaohs whilst in service at the temples. It was some time before I recognised this paradox in his character. At first I thought it merely the sign of a man who had placed upon his shoulders the pharaoh’s cloak and found the garment comfortable.
Throughout his first year of kingship, the suggestion of divinity was muted, almost casual and made in seemingly unthinking remarks uttered at public gatherings and festivals, spoken as though he was watching for unfavourable comment or signs of apprehension. At the celebrations to commemorate the first anniversary of his rule, he openly proclaimed his divinity, not as a manifestation of Horus, but of being himself the elect of the gods.
If these remarks caused any consternation to the ears of Nebwenenef, it was not apparent. How the king described himself was of small consequence to me other than to ensure what he wanted proclaimed on monumental walls was an accurate reflection of his statements. He did not blush when asked to approve decorative drawings portraying his divinity. When an abstract of an inscription was capable of two
possible meanings he made corrections eschewing any humility or subtlety! But I get ahead of myself.
Our pilgrimage was to conclude at his father’s sepulchre, sealed as it was left on the day of his entombment. Ramesses became hesitant and his manner grave as we approached the ornamental doors. Finally, after a considerable pause, he instructed the high priest to sever the cords bearing the seals. The doors were swung outward on their hinges and Ramesses beckoned us to enter the tomb. Silently, we descended by the stairway and proceeded along the corridors to a gate, just before the well shaft, sealing the vault against further passage. Our flaring torches illuminated the exquisite painted images on the walls and I caught glimpses of the Litany of Re and scenes from the Book of the Secret Chamber.
I noticed tears fell from his eyes and my hand stayed the priest. Ramesses momentarily faltered and then he moved forward whilst we remained discreetly behind. He put his hands and head against the carved surface of the wood. His body shuddered with emotion and for a moment, I thought he would collapse in grief. The moment passed. The king turned and retraced his steps to where we stood.
“Come, my friends. I have said my last farewell. I shall not visit this place again.” He said in a calm voice. We ascended the stairway and returned to the warmth of the sun.
We had come to the valley to honour the past and choose the final resting place for the king who had commanded “In the morning I must see the face of Re-Harakhty as he awakens and rises in the east. As his Solar Barque crosses the heavens, his warmth must fall on me. At night, my funeral chamber must be close to the embrace of Lord Osiris and Lady Isis so it must be deep in the bowels of the earth. My father, Seti, must watch over my tomb.”
The Golden Falcon Page 13