“Ah, a fate worst than death. Let me away to the princes’ warship. We will meet again to discuss the new tomb once I have managed to land the great fish that pursues us so relentlessly.” With the apology accepted, I took my leave with another commission from the king on my mind. At least, a new royal tomb would not float on a raft!
Just as the prow of Amun-Re’s golden barque pierced the morning sky, we neared Thebes. About twenty kilometres upriver from the city, the fleet was met by Imhotep, coming up aboard a large transport vessel, in convoy with a number of vessels he had pressed into service. Two oar-manned, heavy granite transports positioned themselves in front of the warships and were tethered to the raft. The king commanded his barque also draw astern and have it connected to the raft. Eight vessels sailed behind the raft in a great arc. I noticed tinges of reddish mud streaking the water as the inundation surged down the river valley, causing a slight increase in the its height. I commandeered a fast sail boat and made to the Theban quay from where I could direct the operation, my anxiety growing by the minute.
When the temple hove into sight, Prince Ramekin signalled to the captains, naval and mercantile, to start rowing upriver against the current and the raft slowed as the oarsmen bent to their oars. Imhotep boarded the raft, gauging the fast narrowing gap between his position and the unloading quay and gave the order to start casting anchor blocks off its stern. Two anchor ropes parted as the vessel continued to surge ahead, even as more anchors were dropped. Next, a cable to one of the transports snapped like a broken reed, lashing back and broke the mast off above the heads of the rowers. Imhotep paid close attention to sets of stakes driven into the river bank. As the prow passed a last marker, Imhotep ran to the stern and urgently signalled Prince Ramesses. Instantly, the hortator’s hammers beating out the pace for the rowers increased their tempo to drive the warships to battle speed. The beat was immediately picked up by the oarsmen in the transports and the king’s barque. Oars slashed into the water like scythes harvesting a summer crop.
Two vessels drew abreast the raft, watermen hastily secured heavy ropes to the bollards on the prow, leapt back on the skiffs and pulled away. The river churned with the urgent stokes of hundreds of oars and officers could be heard exhorting their men to greater effort. From my position high above the quay, I signalled to a foreman at the river edge and five thousand men hauled on the bow rope attached to the raft’s near side and she began to swing slowly in towards the basin. A second signal started another gang hauling on the rope attached to the off-side bollard, causing the prow to wheel further towards the quay.
Imhotep was directing the vessels behind the raft to moderate the pace of their rowing in a sequence as skilled as the king’s dance master directing a musical performance. As The Lady slowed and her prow swung ponderously landwards, the far side warships played out more rope whilst the nearside vessels kept a restraining tension on their ropes whilst transferring the growing weight of the raft and its cargo to the shore based gangs. With the king’s barque, three warships and a heavy transport acted as floating anchors and the exertions of the hauling gangs, the raft drew ever closer to the quay. Two warships cut loose and manoeuvred into position at her stern where they shepherded her into the basin under oar power.
‘This will be a near thing. She’s coming in too fast’ I thought, watching the bow slewing towards the quay. The bow hit the embankment with a grinding crash, timbers splintering under the momentum of the massive weight. Imhotep was thrown to the deck by the sudden shock and the helmsmen manning the stern rudders leapt into the river in fear of their lives. I glanced at Nebamun high up on the statue’s stomach and saw him tearing his hair in anguish. Anchor ropes parted and I glimpsed a man cut down by the whiplash of a snapped rope. Sandstone blocks tore off the quay as the raft’s edge ground along the embankment whilst the haulers struggled to pull her fully into its berth. Overseer’s whips, rarely used, fell on any man they saw needed encouragement.
The raft groaned and heaved. Dozens of logs broke free of lashing ropes unequal to the strain imposed upon them. Finally, the bow came crashing into the stonework at the end of the lagoon, sending a shower of broken rock and splintered timber skywards. I bellowed the command to stop hauling. Silence, broken only by the angry honking of displaced geese, descended on the scene.
During the excitement of the moment, I had not noticed the king standing behind me as he and Khaemwaset had landed unannounced before the berthing began. He tapped me on the shoulder and observed dryly “What you lack in finesse, Sennefer, you certainly make up in drama. You look a trifle flustered. Perhaps a lion hunt this afternoon will bring you some relaxation?” He roared with laughter in which I joined now the crisis had passed. My robe and kilt clung to my sweating body, my breathing was laboured and I quivered with the surcease of tension.
We looked about us. Two warships had collided amidst a tangle of broken oars and rigging, one of the transports was listing, its keel broken and her sailors were swimming to the river bank. Imhotep had risen, unhurt, from his ignominious arrival and was swearing profusely at the helmsmen in the water. Prince Ramesses, his royal headdress lost in the furore, stood, arms akimbo, on the deck of his warship surveying the wreckage. Nebamun sat on a quayside bollard, head in hands. Thousands of men panted like winded chariot horses, the quay now resembled the workings of an ill-managed quarry and broken pieces of the raft’s bow lay strewn on the sand, a piece with one wadjet eye upright and staring back at me. Possibly not my finest hour.
Ramesses, having regained his composure, looked at me. “You see the Eye of Horus watching you, my friend? Horus has been watching you since your birth. In the contest between you and the river, Horus, my brother, stood at your left hand, I at your right. There could only be one outcome in this contest and even though the struggle was close and the outcome appeared uncertain, your courage and determination did not fail you and Amum guided your hand. After the second statue has reached its place at my temple, I would ask you to come with me to Karnak and we will make offerings and give up prayers to Amun and Horus together. Now, I believe you need to go home, greet your wife as a hero, and prepare for the morrow which I trust will be a little more tranquil than this day’s events.”
He could not help himself as again he rocked with laughter and even the normally austere Khaemwaset laughed openly. I spent some time restoring order from the chaos on the shores. Imhotep and Nebamun took themselves off to slake their thirst with a promise to return clear headed in the morning whilst Prince Ramesses busied himself untangling his damaged warships. Weary, unkempt and drained with exhaustion, I finally made my way home late in the afternoon. After bathing and, whilst taking some refreshment in the cool of our bower beside the pool, I told Ipi of the king’s invitation to join him at the temple.
“My precious and clever husband, this is a rare honour and I am so proud my heart could burst. The king is correct when he says you have the heart of a lion. Would the lion consider taking his pussy cat to bed and favouring her with his touch? Of course, if you are too tired, I will understand.” she whispered, then kissed me tenderly on my lips, took my hand and led me to our sleeping chamber.
The moving and placement of the second statue was uneventful, although I had several troublesome moments during the raising of the statue onto its base. When the colossus was dragged to its position next to its twin, I could finally close my working papers on this affair, one which had really tested my skills and nerve. The king was delighted. Now he could admire himself in the twin images and bask in the glory of having the most impressive statues in his kingdom seated outside the greatest mortuary temple in the realm. Modesty permitted him to declare a holiday and he observed the day with offerings to himself and the celestial deities. His humility knew no bounds!
Chapter 27 - AN INTERESTING LESSON
Egypt – 1250 BC
Before Prince Khaemwaset departed, I asked if he could spare time to discuss his father’s latest request. We met at the Ramesseum wh
ere he and Bakenkhons were organising the House of Life.
The rooms were bathed in sunlight streaming in from windows draped with very fine linen to minimise the ubiquitous problem of dust. Beautifully carved rows of cedar racks partitioned the walls and the first of the thousands of papyrus scrolls were being catalogued into subject headings with their place marked out in hieroglyphs. Bakenkhons had created an ingenious numerical system that allowed a scribe or scholar seeking a particular reference work, to consult the archival register, and then place their hand on it quickly. Each papyrus scroll was given a linen tag with a reference number and symbol. An area was dedicated to a scriptorium where scribes could sit and work.
The prince had asked me to consider the possibility of fire as papyrus burns easily. Damage by fire was a rare event in Egypt as most buildings are of mud brick or stone, though some temples and buildings have timbered ceilings. There had been a very serious conflagration in the temple at Elephantine and many priests burnt to death in a fire which started in the kitchens, spread to the roof timbers before igniting the living quarters.
I recommended no oil lamps be permitted at any time. I called upon the services of a carpenter and asked if it was possible to make a heavy door frame, one stout enough to house inserts of thin stone slabs. With the insolence typical of artisans who decorated tombs, he replied, as he fashioned fine furniture and gold foiled shrines, he could craft anything in timber. With the knowledge a modest miracle could be made, I enquired of a stone merchant if he could provide very thin stone slabs. He searched the back of his store yard and produced some irregular sheets of slate, a stronger form of the shale that cursed the lives of tomb builders.
Thereafter, it was a simple matter to wire squared sheets of slate onto the door frames which I hung at every entrance to the papyrus repositories. Bakenkhons told me the prince then employed the same technique at the temple in Memphis, claiming credit for the idea himself. He was very much his father’s son! Just after my arrival, the prince swept into the scriptorium and asked the nature of my enquiry.
“You appreciate most of what we architects and builders know comes from acquired learning and practical application. Rarely are records retained of the details or plans of what we build. During construction, there are changes which are generally noted on scraps of pottery or on the stonework itself and once commissions are finished the master plans and pottery jottings are normally discarded.”
He nodded in agreement. “The other problem we have, is before the reign of the eighteenth era kings, there was a very long interval during which almost no major monumental was undertaken. Earlier there are even fewer records. Frankly, much of what our predecessors built is known only from close observation of their methods. The inner structures of pyramids and most royal tombs are impossible to determine and will remain a perpetual mystery. For centuries, no king had arisen who built with the grandeur of Amenhotep III, Hatshepsut, Seti and even they left no chronicle and the scarcity of information leaves me grasping at straws. So I have a question. Within this storehouse of wisdom, have you found ancient records that may aid me in designing a burial fortress?”
“An interesting choice of words, Sennefer. Personally, I know nothing of what you seek. I believe my father trusts your ability to innovate outweighs merely copying something from the works of past tomb builders. However, let us ask Bakenkhons and his tribe of scribes what they can find.”
“Lord, to ask widely may not be wise. I do not want too many people speaking about this commission or digging into ancient documents about tomb architecture. Thebes is a small place and a scribe can talk to a mason who talks amongst his colleagues and suddenly my enquiry will be on every lip. I must achieve as much secrecy as possible if I am to triumph.”
“You are right, of course. You can trust Bakenkhons. Let me call him and we shall see what can be found amongst this growing mountain of papyrus.”
Bakenkhons was summoned and arrived, looking slightly dishevelled, his kilt besmirched with fine dust. Khaemwaset explained the nature of my enquiry in veiled language and stressed the need for secrecy. Bakenkhons sat in contemplation for a minute, then responded.
“So far, I have seen nothing about the details of tomb design. We have a growing archive about the location and condition of many royal tombs but there is little about their structure. I think you need to look at the few tombs that stand open and can be inspected. I have a list of these. One of your obvious problems is that the majority of tombs appear to be sealed and I would have grave concerns about you or anyone attempting to break the sanctity of the grave. However, I have read of a technique using sand to move large blocks of stone in confined spaces in one obscure pyramid text. How it might help you I do not know but I will fetch the roll for you now.” He left the scriptorium and returned with a very old and fragile papyrus.
“Take care as this scroll is at least seven centuries old. If you wish to copy anything, please use the sheets of unworked papyrus and ink sets provided.”
The prince, seeing I was in good hands, remarked he must finish his administrative work as he was due back at Memphis to continue his own research into the upcoming Jubilee, an event only celebrated when a king had ruled for thirty years.
“Unfortunately, few previous rulers achieved a reign of this length and information on the rituals attending a Sed Festival are themselves not well recorded other than in inscriptions of various temple walls. The High Priest of Amun and I are looking into the religious archives to see what we can find.”
We rose to bid him farewell and then sat down together. Bakenkhons looked at me closely. “Sennefer, what is the nature of your enquiry? Why do you look for information on fortified tombs?”
I dissembled. “Did I mention fortified tombs? I am instructed by the king to investigate certain matters relating to strengthening his crypt against intrusion by the elements.”
The priest smiled broadly. “Come now, you mean thieves. Am I correct? Royal architect, to defeat a thief you must learn to think like one. It is not so much the structure of previous ruler’s tombs you must contemplate but the evil lurking in the heart of those who have broken into them. A little history - in earlier times and places, our rulers have looked upon their place of burial with a view different from the rulers following Ahmosis. They dug into the ground, carved into cliff faces, constructed massive edifices such as the pyramids or were entombed under their mortuary temples. All sought to have their burial places venerated and few thought to hide their final abode from the eyes of their subjects. None, I suspect, gave consideration to the prospect of their graves being despoiled. You must remember those who have worn the crown have been many things – wise, clever, foolish, godly but rarely dishonest or intrinsically evil. I believe it unlikely they would have conceived desecration of their tombs even a remote possibility and if they did, they knew not how to adequately protect their remains.”
“Have you considered that when men establish a necropolis, royal, noble or for the commoner, they refuse to countenance the possibility of other, less scrupulous men breaking into tombs, desecrating them, stealing the contents and destroying the remains of those who repose therein? We guard our burial places, priests make offerings and periodically, we visit the hallowed grounds to intern family members, friends, relatives, members of the nobility and even pharaohs. When in use, they are relatively active places. Why should we concern ourselves with such sordid matters?”
He stopped, clapped his hands and a white robed acolyte appeared on silent feet. Bakenkhons gave brief instructions. “Talking at length should always be accompanied with liquids, especially when surrounded by dusty scrolls. I find cool wine to be efficacious, don’t you?” He paused when the young priest returned with flask and beakers. Pouring a draught, he quaffed deeply and dismissed the priest with a wave of his hand.
“We forget we are a very ancient people. Today, we are busy contemplating a tomb for a truly great king, Ramesses, but can you recollect the greatness of Mentuhotep II or
King Qakara Iby? You would know of Mentuhotep as his mortuary temple sits besides Hatshepsut’s but of the man himself? I would be pleasantly surprised if you knew of Qakara Iby or any of the ten kings who preceded or succeeded him, as few do. Do you know none are sure who caused the great sphinx to be carved? The beast is hardly an insignificant monument, is it? Those like me who busy themselves with reading may know a little about many of the rulers, great and ordinary, of times long gone. Most of the better educated know of the impressive monuments built by past rulers only because of the inscriptions they graved on their walls but what knowledge do they have of the kings themselves?”
“I have read the kings who built the pyramids at Giza are buried inside those colossal monuments but there is no proof of such internments. We assume the other pyramid builders are buried underneath or within their monuments but you would know King Snefru built three pyramids in his lifetime. Which holds his body? One is damaged and you can see the galleries that may lead to a crypt have collapsed but other possible crypts remain hidden behind stout defences or so we think.”
“Over the centuries, our capital has moved many times. In our time, the administrative capital is Memphis and the spiritual centre is here in Thebes. In our long and distinguished past, Abydos, Herakleopolis, Hierakonopolis and others have seen their days of glory in the sun. Each is the place of royal graves. The point I seek to make is who now tends the graves of all those rulers of the past? Whilst it is true certain parts of the country are still important and the burial places in those areas, such as parts of the Memphite necropolis, are still tended or admired yet the burial places of dozens of ancient kings, their queens and children lay outside our purview. Who is to say that in another thousand years the valley in the Theban Hills will not lay abandoned and forgotten?”
The Golden Falcon Page 38