The Golden Falcon

by David C. Clark

“Tell Merenptah of your confrontation in the waterfront tavern in Memphis.” I related my tale and saw the scales drop from the prince’s eye.

  “What of the two men?”

  His father intervened. “I can assure you that each day they survive is a living nightmare. What is at issue here is not whether someone will to try to pillage my tomb in your lifetime or even the lifetime of your children. The body of a king must be inviolate forever. Sennefer has made the point, that in the future, at a time known only to the gods, others who have no respect for our beliefs may see the looting of royal tombs as nothing more than the legitimate spoils of conquest. Remember, we had a small taste of barbarian attitudes when the Hykos ruled from the very place where we are now meeting. There is evidence of the partial destruction of our heritage and shipment of looted goods back to their homelands.”

  “Consider this. From Ahmose to my father, each ruler endeavoured to remove evidence of the Hykos from our land and I need not remind you of the works of Akhenaton, whose very name is an insult to the gods. One of our own kind, an Egyptian ruler, from a long royal and noble bloodline, closed the great temples, turned his back on Thebes and tried to uproot the fundamental religious beliefs of the kingdom. If he had been successful, who is to say his madness would not have extended to opening his ancestor’s tombs and reeking havoc on their burial places? We do not have to look far to see Sennefer tries to anticipate the unthinkable. Merenptah, do not be naive. Listen to what he has to say.”

  When I finished describing the new tomb and elaborated on the deceptions involved, I saw the princes fully understood the import of my proposal.

  “I have given Sennefer authority to proceed with the new mausoleum. He will prepare two sets of drawings showing the construction details. I will keep one copy and only the three of us will know where I will conceal it. My friend is concerned he may be called unto the Afterlife before the work is completed, so I have agreed that his son, Rekhmire, join him in his task. I now entrust to you both the responsibility of ensuring this work reaches its conclusion should he leave this world prematurely or through infirmity, he is unable to complete the mausoleum. I doubt you will find a builder with his unique gifts, though his son is a worthy successor. Sennefer has a small group of men he can trust and I will have those names noted on the plans.”

  “Khaemwaset, you are now my heir. Merenptah, there are several brothers between you and Khaemwaset but I chose to share this matter with you as you are, with Khaemwaset, the most gifted of my surviving sons. You may, yourselves, wish to use the techniques Sennefer has designed, to protect your own bodies for eternity but mark this well. These secrets may only be shared by those you trust more than your own life. If you have no further questions I know Sennefer is eager to make a start. He carries a sacred duty and should he need your assistance with any matter, it is my wish you attend to it with the same attention you pay to my requests.”

  I made my farewells as soon as decency permitted for I knew Nebamun had arrived from Aswan and awaited me. He was still powerfully built, though his hair was greying at the temples. We greeted each other with warmth, I thanking him for reaching the Delta so quickly.

  “My friend, since you troubled me with the two colossi I had been content to pound granite at Aswan and await my retirement. Now, any summons from you gives me an opportunity to meet new challenges and visit parts of the kingdom a humble quarry master would never hope to see in his lifetime. Here I am, in a palace, no doubt about to feast on food suitable for a royal table and sleep upon a feather bed, so when your messenger arrived, I hired the fastest barque available. Though my life is untroubled, it lacks the excitement you create. At least, I can see where much of my granite statuary stands.”

  “Nebamun, on the morrow we depart to the basalt quarry where I will introduce you to the prince of all stones. I have an assignment from the king that will call upon every skill in the working of stone you possess.”

  “What, you drag me up the river to play with basalt again? That miserable stone has no life, no heart, no soul and it is as cold as the grave. These hands can make no magic with basalt. Have you compared a granite image with one wrenched out of basalt? The granite rings with music when you slap it. Basalt, when struck, has the same resonance as the backside of a dead ox. You wound me, my friend.”

  “Sit and calm yourself. Drink some wine, eat some dates and cheese and listen quietly whilst I relate a tale of death. Tell me, do you make a habit of smacking the backsides of dead oxen?” I replied to his mock tirade. “You may have assumed some of my intent when I commissioned the basalt sarcophagus, yet it is only one small part of my work.” When I finished describing the complexity of the new tomb, he was a serious and reflective man.

  “You have chosen a hard path. Working with basalt brings no joy to those who shape this stone but you are correct in your choice of material. What you want can be done and I think the carving of the shaped plates should be undertaken in both Aswan and the basalt quarry. The sarcophagus housing will take at least two years and I will assign my best masons to the rest of the enterprise. Later, we can select the men to assemble the casings for the block. A thought! The supports that sit on the sand pipes can be in granite, which is easier to work in shaping pillars.”

  “Nebamun, you realise you will have to choose a man who can carry on this work in case you die before the tomb is finished? He must have your skill as it may be his responsibility to assist me or my successor.”

  “There is no man alive who possesses my skills, although there is a young man who might just be able, with much guidance and tuition from the Master, to learn how to put one stone upon the other.” he said with his usual modesty. “I will introduce you to him again at Aswan because you have met him before. He is my eldest son, not as clever, nor as strong as his father but he shows signs of some small talent.” The quarry master was immensely proud of his sons, who were giants like himself and shared his passion for stone working.

  We spent some hours in discussion and pored over drawings and, yes, that night he dined like a king and slept on a feather bed. Ipi was especially pleased to see Nebamun again and her curiosity about the reason for him being in the Delta was shrouded under the cover of his looking at some fortress extensions. I would take Ipi into my total confidence soon. At the moment, it was better she enjoyed the pleasures of the Delta in ignorance of the truth before we returned to the heat of Thebes.

  After taking Nebamun to the basalt quarry and leaving him there to select suitable blocks, I returned to Pi-Ramess. Over dinner with the king and queen, Ramesses casually asked Ipi if she would like to live in the city. Caught unawares and not familiar with the subtleties of the Ramesside mind she replied,

  “Master, it would be very pleasant to live here and I shall again discuss the possibility with Sennefer when we return to Thebes. I know he still has much to complete there but, one day, we may be able to retire to this city. I have so much enjoyed Isetnofret’s company in these past days and met many charming people.”

  “And not a few merchants” I quipped. Her look silenced me instantly.

  “If you are free tomorrow morning, you may wish to join us as there is something Isetnofret wishes to show you both. Fear not Sennefer, we are not going to look at another warehouse as I doubt if there any left not as yet visited by our wives. My treasurer looks at me with tears in his eyes whenever he sees the queen head towards the marketplace.” This remark was met by the particular look wives get in their eyes when matters of domestic extravagance are mentioned.

  “Your Majesty, I consider it part of my duties to share a small portion of your wealth with your subjects. You do not seem to mind wearing the clothes and jewellery I chose for you but, of course, if you wish to live like a farmer, have your wife and children in coarse clothing and caress your gold with the royal treasurer, this can be arranged. I am sure Ipi can also come to the same agreement with Sennefer? Our beds may not be as warm and welcoming but that is a small matter to such important men
, is it not?”

  Suitably chastened, our greatest king and his equally remarkable builder chose not to remind their wives of their subservient role in life and the rest of the evening passed in pleasant conversation. As we were leaving, Ramesses repeated his invitation to join them in the morning and I replied it would be our pleasure to spend more time in their company as our sojourn was rapidly coming to a close. We joined the royal couple at the palace gates early in the cool dawn light.

  “I thought we might walk a little this morning, as the day is pleasant.” Ramesses said.

  A king’s promenade is usually accompanied by a retinue of retainers, fan bearers, a scribe or two in case he wished a note to be made of a stray thought and a small detachment of Royal Guards. This morning, he dispensed with all but two guards who walked well behind us. We ventured no more than a short distance from the palace and turned into a street lined with villas built for members of the royal family. I knew of these, as my office had a hand in their design. They were all two levels, spacious and airy with the interiors finished in a variety of native stone chosen to compliment the simple lines of the exteriors. A talented young Cretan designed all the interior decorations using whatever materials he could purchase from stone merchants and importer’s warehouses.

  The queen stopped outside one particular house. “Ipi, perhaps you would like to have a look inside? You see it has your husband’s distinctive style and I believe the young man who undertook the final decoration has created a place of beauty.” I noticed the king exchanged knowing looks with Isetnofret. We were surprised when our manservant opened the gate from within the courtyard and bowed low in the presence of the king and queen. Isetnofret put her hand on Ipi’s arm.

  “Before we go in, I would like to give you this.” From her sleeve, she produced a scroll and handed it to my wife. “Please read the scroll.” Ipi read, turned to me with tears in her eyes, and kissed the queen, and then the king, on both cheeks.

  “What is it? Is something the matter?” Wordlessly she handed me the scroll which read,

  ‘We are pleased to present to Sennefer, The Right Hand of Pharaoh ,and his loyal and devoted wife Ipi, the ownership of the house named Blessed of Amun in the city of Pi-Ramess, as an expression of our thanks and gratitude for their friendship and service to the House of Ramesses.’ The deed was signed in the throne name of the king, User-Ma’at-Re Setpentre Ramessu-Meryamun, and the queen.

  “Your Majesty, I apologise but I cannot accept this gift. A gift of this value far exceeds any service I have undertaken and you have already recompensed me well.”

  “Nonsense, my friend. However, if you cannot accept the offering, your name will be removed from the document and Isetnofret and I will give the house to Ipi as a personal gift. It is also impolite to refuse a benefit from a king. Ipi, I earnestly recommend you take your husband in hand and educate him in courtly grace as his lack of respect for my person has been a persistent problem since I first met him. The matter is closed and we both warmly wish you a long and happy life in this house and your proximity will reward us with the pleasure of your company. Did I hear you say something, Sennefer?” he asked, looking at me with his smile beaming.

  “No, nothing, Master, other than the words of my profound thanks.”

  “That is good. Ipi, perhaps you will be kind enough to show us your new house. This miserable fellow can accompany us, if you so wish.” We were to enjoy our home in the Delta for the rest of our lives together. Even though Ipi wanted to start furnishing our new home immediately, I said we had to urgently return to Thebes. When she remonstrated, I told her about my task so she understood why the king had presented us with the house and the reason for our early departure.

  The voyage home was slow as the vessel laboured against the still strong but receding flooding of the river. Everywhere, we saw signs of new life, young calves nuzzled against their mothers, flowers blossoming on fruit trees and farmers tilling soil that glistened blackly under the plough, their wives and children singing as they sowed the fields. Osiris was greatly pleased and had rewarded the plains with the lush green fertility of his body.

  So began my last commission, the most exacting of my career though I never considered it just another commission - it was always a labour of devotion. Yes, it was the culmination of all my experience and I was proud of the demand it made on my intelligence. As fast as the technical problems arose, and they were numerous, I discovered a new facility within myself to create solutions. The king still conceived an unending stream of subsidiary projects so I never could complain of being idle, yet the years were full of satisfaction.

  Ramesses took me to see his funerary ware during one of his visits to the temple. In locked and guarded rooms within the Ramesseum, lay the three coffins, shrine housings, death mask, viscera chest, statues, amulets and items that reflected his considerable wealth. Everything necessary to ennoble his body lay waiting on tables. He made light of the funerary paraphernalia, calling it his ornaments of death. Without doubt, the horde was magnificent and immensely valuable but in its own way, macabre. The face mask was particularly disturbing. Sculpted to show his visage as a young man, it made a startling contrast to the reality of his aging features. Frozen in gold, it presented a grim remembrance of youth and Ramesses turned away from it.

  Just before the work commenced, I paid a visit to his first tomb. In the flaring light of my torch, the granite sarcophagus stood cold and forbidding, on its plinth in the burial chamber and I could not say the crypt was a warm and welcoming place despite the brilliant colours of the wall decorations. To me, the whole business attending a ruler’s death remained an oppressive subject.

  It was essential to take exact measurements at the point where the new excavation would begin. Having inspected the lower levels of the tomb, I walked back up the corridors and descended by ladder into the Hall of Waiting, the well shaft. Years previously, when I had consulted the high priest about the design of the original tomb, he explained the significance of this shaft. It was at this point that the king’s soul was welcomed as it began its transition from the tangible world to the domain of the Lord of the West. The shaft was four metres square by six metres deep with the walls bearing inscribed images of Hathor greeting the king. I inspected and carefully measured the surface of the wall where we would cut the new entrance, marking it on the drawing with an arrow.

  Satisfied, I left the tomb, clambered up the hill opposite the entrance, with my survey instruments and took some sightings to establish the location of the tomb under the opposing mound. I then climbed to the highest point above the tomb, made some test holes with a small spade and filled leather bags with samples of the local stone and sand.

  Returning to the privacy of my house, I set to work drafting a plan of the extension including the king’s request for treasure rooms and shrine chapels. I fashioned a large clay model of the hill, the existing tomb and the proposed extensions. Then it was possible, with small pieces of wood, small stone blocks and some sand to conduct experiments to test my theories. Satisfied my boastful promises could be achieved, I copied the drawings and wrote copious instructions on the construction process and the secret workings of the crypt mechanism. One set I stored in my wine cellar with the copy I would personally hand to Ramesses. Next, I crafted a working model of the crypt mechanism to show to the select few in whom I reposed my trust.

  These were happy months as I rejoiced in finding renewed pleasure working with my hands as I had when a young apprentice builder. At some time during this period, Ipi came across me re-modelling the replica of the hill. I was down on my knees amidst buckets of clay, pitchers of water and piles of shaped stones. Clay besmeared my face, upper body and hair, my once fine linen kilt saw service as a cloth to wipe my hands on, when I made notes and the once scrupulously clean office gave the appearance of a brick maker’s yard.

  “Oh” she said. “I am looking for the royal architect. He is a refined man, fine of feature, elegant of dress, with hand
s well groomed and unused to the toil of the brickyard. You there on the floor - do you know where he might be found?” Looking up and wiping sweat from my brow with a muddy hand, I responded tartly.

  “Madam, you are impudent. After these many years you still lack respect for your husband as he labours at his work. Perhaps I need to teach you some manners, young lady?” I rose, grabbed her around the waist, ruining her house coat in the process, closed the door with my foot and slipped the latch. That night, at table, she complained her maid had laughed at her when she finally left my office. They spent an hour washing clay from her hair and body. My suggestion that the lady of the house should interrupt my work more frequently was met with a naughty smile holding much promise.

  Nebamun and I agreed we should ensure as much secrecy as possible by isolating elements of the new tomb. Masons working in Aswan and the basalt quarry were told they fashioned stone for a shrine room for the Ramesseum in a style the king had learnt from the Hittite ruler. The men crafting the sarcophagus believed they were shaping a cenotaph for Osiris. It was impossible to disguise the excavation in the king’s tomb from the masons and workmen and the installation of the basalt blocks would cause much comment amongst the artisans. I could not hope to conceal every aspect of the work from becoming common knowledge but I did as much as possible to cloak the project under a thick shroud of deception. It was not pleasant to reflect that my newly found ability to indulge in subterfuge and deception had become second nature. Nebamun sat with me one afternoon discussing the need for secrecy. He had developed a similar attitude to pharaoh - those who worked on the crypt should be killed at the completion of the work, a thought still repugnant to me.

  I explained, “The mechanism is designed so that only one man is required to start the process of sealing the crypt. Once the whole is locked into position, it will be impossible to breach the structure. We need not worry about artisans seeing the mechanism installed nor the location of the new tomb as it is an impregnable bastion. The Great Place will be guarded for many years and the hand of the gods will soften the contours of the hill above the tombs. It will not be necessary to slay any of those we engage in this task.”