The Seventh Scroll (Novels of Ancient Egypt)

by Wilbur Smith

  Von Schiller and Utte rode down together in the elevator, and when the door slid open both Herr Reeper and Nahoot were waiting for them. One look at their faces told von Schiller that they were beside themselves with excitement, bubbling over with news for him.

  “Are the X-rays completed?” von Schiller demanded as they hurried after him down the subterranean passageway to the vault.

  “The technicians have completed their work,” Reeper told him. “They have done a fine job. The plates are wonderful. Ja, wunderbar!”

  Von Schiller had endowed the clinic, so any request of his was treated as a royal command. The director had sent down his most modern portable X-ray equipment and two technicians to photograph the mummy of Lord Harrab, and a senior radiologist to interpret the plates.

  Reeper inserted his plastic pass card into the lock of the steel vault door, and with a soft pneumatic hiss it slid open. They all stood aside for von Schiller to enter first. He paused in the doorway, and looked around the great vault. The pleasure never palled. On the contrary, it seemed to grow more intense every time he entered this place.

  The walls were enclosed in two metres of steel and concrete, and were guarded by every electronic device that genius could devise. But this was not apparent when he viewed the softly lit and elegantly appointed main display room. It had been planned and decorated by one of Europe’s foremost interior designers. The theme colour was blue. Each item of the collection was housed in its own case, and each of these was cunningly arranged to show it to its best advantage.

  Everywhere was the soft glimmer of gold and precious gems nestling on midnight-blue velvet cushions. Artfully concealed spotlights illuminated the lustre of lovingly polished alabaster and stone, the glow of ivory and obsidian. There were marvellous statues. The pantheon of the old gods were here assembled: Thoth and Anubis, Hapi and Seth, and the glorious trinity of Osiris and Isis and Horus, the son. They gazed out with those inscrutable eyes which had looked upon the procession of the ages.

  On its temporary plinth in the centre of the room, in pride of place, stood the latest addition to this extraordinary hoard, the tall, graceful stone testament of Taita. Von Schiller stopped beside it to caress the polished stone before he passed on into the second room.

  Here the coffin of Tanus, Lord Harrab, lay across a pair of trestles. A white-coated radiologist hovered over her back-lit display board on which the X-ray plates were clipped. Von Schiller went directly to the display and peered at the shadowy pictures upon it. Within the outline of the wooden coffin, the reclining human shape with hands crossed over its chest was very clear. It reminded him of a carved effigy atop the sarcophagus of an old knight in the precincts of a medieval cathedral.

  “What can you tell me about this body?” he asked the radiologist without looking at her.

  “Male,” she said crisply. “Late middle age. Over fifty and under sixty-five at death. Short stature.” All the listeners winced and glanced at von Schiller. He seemed not to have noticed this solecism. “Five teeth missing. One front upper, one eye tooth and three molars. Wisdom teeth impacted. Extensive caries in most surviving teeth. Evidence of chronic bilharzia infection. Possible poliomyelitis in infancy, withering in left leg.” She recited her findings for five minutes, and then ended, “Probable cause of death was a puncture wound in upper right thorax. Lance or arrow. Extrapolating from the entry angle, the head of the lance or arrow would have transfixed the right lung.”

  “Anything else?” von Schiller asked when she fell silent. The radiologist hesitated, and then went on.

  “Herr von Schiller, you will recall that I have examined several mummies for you. In this instance, the incisions through which the viscera were removed appear to have been made with more skill and finesse than those of the other cadavers. The operator seems to have been a trained physician.”

  “Thank you.” Von Schiller turned from her to Nahoot. “Do you have any comments, at this stage?”

  “Only that these descriptions do not fit those given in the seventh scroll for Tanus, Lord Harrab, at the time of his death.”

  “In what way?”

  “Tanus was a tall man. Much younger. See the portraits on the coffin lid.”

  “Go on,” von Schiller invited.

  Nahoot stepped up to the display of X-ray plates and pointed out several solid dark objects, all of them with clean outlines, that adorned the body.

  “Jewellery,” he said. “Amulets. Bracelets. Pectorals. Several necklaces. Rings and earrings. But, most significant,” Nahoot touched the dark circle around the dead brow, “the uraeus crown. The outline of the sacred serpent is quite unmistakable, beneath the bandages.”

  “What does that indicate?” Von Schiller was puzzled.

  “This was not the body of a commoner, or even of a noble. The extent of ornamentation is too extensive. But most significant, the uraeus crown. The sacred cobra. That was only worn by royalty. I believe that what we have here is a royal mummy.”

  “Impossible,” snapped von Schiller. “Look at the inscription on the coffin. Those that were painted on the walls of the tomb. Clearly this is the mummy of an Egyptian general.”

  “With respect, Herr von Schiller. There is a possible explanation. In the book written by the Englishman, River God, there is an interesting suggestion that the slave Taita swopped the two mummies, that of Pharaoh Mamose and his good friend, Tanus.”

  “For what earthly reason would he do that?” Von Schiller looked incredulous.

  “Not for any earthly reason, but for a spiritual and supernatural reason. Taita wished his friend to have the use and ownership of all Pharaoh’s treasure in the after-world. It was his last gift to a friend.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “I do not disbelieve it. There is one other fact that tends to support this theory. It is quite obvious from the X-rays that the coffin is too large for the body within. To me, it seems obvious that it was designed to accommodate a larger man. Yes, Herr von Schiller, I do believe that there is an excellent chance that this is a royal mummy.”

  Von Schiller had gone ashen pale as he listened. Sweat beaded upon his forehead, and his voice was hoarse and chesty as he asked,

  “A royal mummy?”

  “It may very well be so.”

  Slowly von Schiller moved closer to the sealed coffin on its trestle, until he was staring down at the portrait of the dead man upon its lid.

  “The golden uraeus of Mamose. The personal jewellery of a pharaoh.” His hand was shaking as he laid it on the coffin lid. “If that is so, then this find exceeds our most extravagant hopes.”

  Von Schiller drew a deep steadying breath. “Open the coffin. Unwrap the mummy of the Pharaoh Mamose.”

  * * *

  It was painstaking work. Nahoot had performed the same task many times before, yet never on the earthly remains of such an illustrious personage as an Egyptian pharaoh.

  Nahoot first had to establish where the joint of the lid lay beneath the paint. Once he had done this, he could whittle away at the ancient varnish and glues that secured the lid in place. Great care had to be taken to inflict as little damage as possible: the fragile coffin in itself was a priceless treasure. This work took the greater part of two days.

  When the lid was free and ready to be lifted, Nahoot sent a message to von Schiller, who was in an executive meeting with his sons and the other directors of his company in the library upstairs. Von Schiller had refused to go into the city for this meeting: he could not bear to be separated from his latest treasure. Immediately he heard from Nahoot he adjourned the meeting until the following Monday, and dismissed his directors and his offspring unceremoniously. Then, without waiting to see them into their waiting limousines, he hurried down to the vaults.

  Nahoot and Reeper had rigged a light scaffold over the coffin, from which hung two sets of block and tackle. As soon as von Schiller entered the vault, Reeper sent away his assistants. Only the three of them would be present to witness the o
pening of the coffin.

  Reeper brought him the carpet-covered block for him to stand on and positioned it at the head of the coffin, so that von Schiller would be able to see inside as they worked. From this eminence the old man nodded to them to proceed. The ratchets of the two blocks clicked, one pawl at a time, as both Reeper and Nahoot gently put pressure on the tackle. There was a faint crackling and tearing sound, at which von Schiller winced.

  “It is only the last shreds of glue holding the lid,” Nahoot reassured him.

  “Go on!” von Schiller ordered, and they lifted the lid another six inches until it hung suspended over the body of the coffin. The scaffolding was on nylon castors which rolled smoothly over the tiled floor. They wheeled away the entire structure, with the coffin lid still suspended from it.

  Von Schiller peered into the open coffin. His expression changed to one of astonishment. He had expected to see the neatly swathed human form lying serenely in the traditional funereal pose. Instead, the interior of the coffin was stuffed untidily with loose linen bandages that entirely hid the body from view.

  “What on earth—” von Schiller exclaimed with astonishment. He reached out to take a handful of the old discoloured wrappings, but Nahoot stopped him.

  “No! Don’t touch it,” he cried out excitedly, and then was immediately apologetic. “Forgive me, Herr von Schiller, but this is fascinating. It strongly supports the theory of an exchange of bodies. I think we should study it, before we proceed with the unwrapping. With your permission of course, Herr von Schiller.”

  Von Schiller hesitated. He was anxious to discover what lay beneath this rat’s nest of old rags, but he realized the virtue of caution and prudence now. A hasty move might do irreparable damage. He straightened up and stepped down from his block.

  “Very well,” he grunted. He pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his dark blue double-breasted suit jacket, and mopped the heavy sweat from his face. His voice was shaky as he asked, “Is it possible? Could this be Mamose himself?”

  Stuffing the handkerchief back into his trouser pocket, he discovered with mild surprise that he had a painful erection. With his hand in his pocket he rearranged it to lie flat against his stomach. “Remove the loose wrappings.”

  “With your permission, Herr von Schiller, we should take the photographs first,” Reeper suggested tactfully.

  “Of course,” von Schiller agreed at once. “We are scientists, archaeologists, not common looters. Take the photographs.”

  They worked slowly, and von Schiller found the delay tantalizing. There was no sense of the passage of time down here in the vault, but at one stage von Schiller, now in his shirtsleeves, glanced at his gold wristwatch and was surprised to see that it was past nine o’clock at night. He unknotted his necktie, threw it on the bench where his jacket already lay, and reapplied himself to the task.

  Gradually the shape of a human body emerged from under the compacted mass of ancient bindings, but it was after midnight when at last Nahoot teased away the last untidy clump of old cloth from the mummy’s torso. They blinked at the glimpse of gold just visible through the neat layers of bandages laid upon the corpse by the meticulous and skilful hands of the embalmers.

  “Originally, of course, there would have been several massive outer coffins. These are missing, as are the masks. Those must still be in Pharaoh’s original sarcophagus, covering the body of Tanus in the royal tomb that still awaits discovery. What we have left here is only the inner dressing of the royal mummy.”

  With long forceps he peeled away the top layer of bandage as von Schiller, perched on his block, grunted and shuffled his feet.

  “The pectoral medallion of the royal house of Mamose,” Nahoot whispered reverently. The great jewel blazed under the arc light. Resplendent in blue lapis lazuli and red carnelian and gold, it covered the entire chest of the mummy. The central motif was of a vulture in flight, soaring on wide pinions, and in its talons it clutched the golden cartouche of the king. The craftsmanship was marvellous, the design splendid.

  “There is no doubt now,” von Schiller whispered. “The cartouche proves the identity of the body.”

  Next they unwrapped the king’s hands, clasped over the great medallion. The fingers were long and sensitive, each of them loaded with circle after circle of magnificent rings. Clasped in his dead hands were the flail and sceptre of majesty, and Nahoot exulted when they saw them.

  “The symbols of kingship. Proof on proof that this is Mamose the Eighth, ruler of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms of ancient Egypt.”

  He moved up to the king’s still veiled head, but von Schiller stopped him. “Leave that until last!” he ordered. “I am not yet ready to look upon the face of Pharaoh.”

  So Nahoot and Reeper transferred their attention to the king’s lower body. As they lifted away each layer of linen, so were revealed scores of amulets that the embalmers had placed beneath the bandages as charms to protect the dead man. They were of gold and carved jewels and ceramic in glowing colours and marvellous shapes—all the birds of the air and the creatures of the land and the fish of the Nile waters. They photographed each amulet in situ before working it free and placing it into a numbered slot in the trays that had been set out upon the workbench.

  Pharaoh’s feet were as small and delicate as his hands, and each toe was laden with precious rings. Only his head was still covered, and both men looked enquiringly at von Schiller. “It is very late, Herr von Schiller,” Reeper said, “if you wish to rest—”

  “Continue!” he ordered brusquely. So they moved up on each side of the mummy’s head, while von Schiller remained on his stand between them.

  Gradually the king’s face was exposed to the light, for the first time in nearly four thousand years. His hair was thin and wispy, still red with the henna dye he had used in his lifetime. His skin had been cured with aromatic resins until it was hard as polished amber. His nose was thin and beaked. His lips were drawn back in a soft, almost dreamy smile which exposed the gap in his front teeth.

  The resin coated his eyelashes, so that they seemed wet with tears and the lids only half-shut. Life seemed to gleam there still, and only when von Schiller leaned closer did he realize that the light in those ancient sockets was the reflection from the white porcelain discs that the undertakers had placed in the empty sockets during the embalming.

  On his brow the Pharaoh wore the sacred uraeus crown. Every detail of the cobra head was still perfect. There was no wearing or abrading of the soft metal. The serpent’s fangs were sharp and recurved, and the long forked tongue curled between them. The eyes were of shining blue glass. On the band of gold beneath the hooded asp was engraved the royal cartouche of Mamose.

  “I want that crown.” Von Schiller’s voice was choking with passion. “Remove it, so that I can hold it in my own hands.”

  “We may not be able to lift it without damaging the head of the royal mummy,” Nahoot protested.

  “Do not argue with me. Do as I tell you.”

  “Immediately, Herr von Schiller,” Nahoot capitulated. “But it will take time to free it. If Herr von Schiller wishes to rest now, we will inform you when we have loosened the crown and have it ready for you.”

  The circle of gold had adhered to the resin-soaked skin of the king’s forehead. In order to remove it Nahoot and Reeper first had to lift the complete body out of the coffin and lay it on the stainless steel mortuary stretcher which already waited to receive it. Then the resin had to be softened and removed with specially prepared solvents. The whole process took as long as Nahoot had predicted, but finally it was completed.

  They laid the golden uraeus upon a blue velvet cushion, as if for a coronation ceremony. They dimmed all the other lights in the main chamber of the vault, and arranged a single spot to fall upon the crown. Then they both went upstairs to inform von Schiller.

  He would not let the two archaeologists accompany him when he returned to the vaults to view the crown. Only Utte Kemper was with him w
hen he keyed the lock to the armoured door of the vault, and the heavy door slid open.

  The first thing that caught von Schiller’s eye as he entered the vault was the glittering crown in its velvet nest.

  Immediately he began to wheeze for air like an asthmatic, and he seized her hand and squeezed until her knuckles crackled with the pressure and she whimpered with pain. But the pain excited her. Von Schiller undressed her, placed the golden crown upon her head and laid her naked in the open coffin.

  “I am the promise of life,” she whispered from the ancient coffin. “Mine is the shining face of immortality.”

  He did not touch her. Naked, he stood over the coffin with his inflamed and swollen rod thrusting from the base of his belly like a creature with separate life.

  She ran her hands slowly down her own body, and as they reached her mons Veneris, she intoned gravely, “May you live for ever!”

  The wondrous efficacy of the crown of Mamose was proven beyond any doubt. Nothing before had produced this effect upon Gotthold von Schiller. For at her words, the purple head of his penis erupted of its own accord and glistening silver strings of his semen dribbled down and splattered upon her soft white belly.

  In the open coffin Utte Kemper arched her back, and writhed in her own consuming orgasm.

  * * *

  It seemed to Royan that she had been away from Egypt for years instead of weeks. She realized just how much she had missed the crowded and bustling streets of the city, the wondrous smells of spices and food and perfume in the bazaars, and the wailing voice of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer from the turrets of the mosques.

  That very first morning she left her flat in Giza while it was still dark, and since her injured knee was still swollen and painful she used her stick as she limped along the banks of the Nile. She watched the dawn cobble the river waters with a pathway of gold and copper and set the triangular sails of the feluccas ablaze.

  This was a different Nile from the one she had encountered in Ethiopia. This was not the Abbay, but the true Nile. It was broader and slower, and the muddy stink of it was familiar and well beloved. This was her river and her land. She found that her resolve to do what she had come home to do was reinforced. Her doubts were set at rest, her conscience soothed. As she turned away from it she felt strong and sure of herself and the course that she must take.