by Mike Ashley
The rumours began in the marketplace, at the end of the time of inundation, when the floodwater lay on the fields and the farmers were idle. They enjoy this time, but the police of the city do not; for idleness leads to crime, and one of the most popular crimes is tomb robbing. This goes on all the time in a small way, but when the Pharaoh is strong and stern, and the laws are strictly enforced, it is a very risky trade. A man stands to lose more than a hand or an ear if he is caught. He also risks damnation after he has entered his own tomb; but some men simply do not have proper respect for the gods.
The king, Nebmaatre (may he live forever!), was then in his prime, so there had been no tomb robbing for some time – or at least none had been detected. But, the rumours said, three men of west Thebes had been caught trying to sell ornaments such as are buried with the dead. The rumours turned out to be correct, for once. The men were questioned on the soles of their feet and confessed to the robbing of several tombs.
Naturally all those who had kin buried on the west bank – which included most of us – were alarmed by this news, and half the nervous matrons in our neighborhood went rushing across the river to make sure the family tombs were safe. I was not surprised to hear that that dutiful son Minmose had also felt obliged to make sure his mother had not been disturbed.
However, I was surprised at the news that greeted me when I paid my next visit to Nehi’s tavern. The moment I entered, the others began to talk at once, each eager to be the first to tell the shocking facts.
“Robbed?” I repeated when I had sorted out the babble of voices. “Do you speak truly?”
“I do not know why you should doubt it,” said Rennefer. “The richness of her burial was the talk of the city, was it not? Just what the tomb robbers like! They made a clean sweep of all the gold, and ripped the poor old hag’s mummy to shreds.”
At that point we were joined by another of the habitués, Merusir. He is a pompous, fat man who considers himself superior to the rest of us because he is Fifth Prophet of Amon. We put up with his patronizing ways because sometimes he knows court gossip. On that particular evening it was apparent that he was bursting with excitement. He listened with a supercilious sneer while we told him the sensational news. “I know, I know,” he drawled. “I heard it much earlier – and with it, the other news which is known only to those in the confidence of the Palace.”
He paused, ostensibly to empty his cup. Of course, we reacted as he had hoped we would, begging him to share the secret. Finally he condescended to inform us.
“Why, the amazing thing is not the robbery itself, but how it was done. The tomb entrance was untouched, the seals of the necropolis were unbroken. The tomb itself is entirely rock-cut, and there was not the slightest break in the walls or floor or ceiling. Yet when Minmose entered the burial chamber, he found the coffin open, the mummy mutilated, and the gold ornaments gone.”
We stared at him, open-mouthed.
“It is a most remarkable story,” I said.
“Call me a liar if you like,” said Merusir, who knows the language of polite insult as well as I do. “There was a witness – two, if you count Minmose himself. The sem-priest Wennefer was with him.”
This silenced the critics. Wennefer was known to us all. There was not a man in southern Thebes with a higher reputation. Even Senebtisi had been fond of him, and she was not fond of many people. He had officiated at her funeral.
Pleased at the effect of his announcement, Merusir went on in his most pompous manner. “The king himself has taken an interest in the matter. He has called on Amenhotep Sa Hapu to investigate.”
“Amenhotep?” I exclaimed. “But I know him well.”
“You do?” Merusir’s plump cheeks sagged like bladders punctured by a sharp knife.
Now, at that time Amenhotep’s name was not in the mouth of everyone, though he had taken the first steps on that astonishing career that was to make him the intimate friend of Pharaoh. When I first met him, he had been a poor, insignificant priest at a local shrine. I had been sent to fetch him to the house where my master lay dead of a stab wound, presumably murdered. Amenhotep’s fame had begun with that matter, for he had discovered the truth and saved an innocent man from execution. Since then he had handled several other cases, with equal success.
My exclamation had taken the wind out of Merusir’s sails. He had hoped to impress us by telling us something we did not know. Instead it was I who enlightened the others about Amenhotep’s triumphs. But when I finished, Rennefer shook his head.
“If this wise man is all you say, Wadjsen, it will be like inviting a lion to rid the house of mice. He will find there is a simple explanation. No doubt the thieves entered the burial chamber from above or from one side, tunnelling through the rock. Minmose and Wennefer were too shocked to observe the hole in the wall, that is all.”
We argued the matter for some time, growing more and more heated as the level of the beer in the jar dropped. It was a foolish argument, for none of us knew the facts; and to argue without knowledge is like trying to weave without thread.
This truth did not occur to me until the cool night breeze had cleared my head, when I was halfway home. I decided to pay Amenhotep a visit. The next time I went to the tavern, I would be the one to tell the latest news, and Merusir would be nothing!
Most of the honest householders had retired, but there were lamps burning in the street of the prostitutes, and in a few taverns. There was a light, as well, in one window of the house where Amenhotep lodged. Like the owl he resembled, with his beaky nose and large, close-set eyes, he preferred to work at night.
The window was on the ground floor, so I knocked on the wooden shutter, which of course was closed to keep out night demons. After a few moments the shutter opened, and the familiar nose appeared. I spoke my name, and Amenhotep went to open the door.
“Wadjsen! It has been a long time,” he exclaimed. “Should I ask what brings you here, or shall I display my talents as a seer and tell you?”
“I suppose it requires no great talent,” I replied. “The matter of Senebtisi’s tomb is already the talk of the district.”
“So I had assumed.” He gestured me to sit down and hospitably indicated the wine jar that stood in the corner. I shook my head.
“I have already taken too much beer, at the tavern. I am sorry to disturb you so late –”
“I am always happy to see you, Wadjsen.” His big dark eyes reflected the light of the lamp, so that they seemed to hold stars in their depths. “I have missed my assistant, who helped me to the truth in my first inquiry.”
“I was of little help to you then,” I said with a smile. “And in this case I am even more ignorant. The thing is a great mystery, known only to the gods.”
“No, no!” He clapped his hands together, as was his habit when annoyed with the stupidity of his hearer. “There is no mystery. I know who robbed the tomb of Senebtisi. The only difficulty is to prove how it was done.”
At Amenhotep’s suggestion I spent the night at his house so that I could accompany him when he set out next morning to find the proof he needed. I required little urging, for I was afire with curiosity. Though I pressed him, he would say no more, merely remarking piously, “ ‘A man may fall to ruin because of his tongue; if a passing remark is hasty and it is repeated, thou wilt make enemies.’ ”
I could hardly dispute the wisdom of this adage, but the gleam in Amenhotep’s bulging black eyes made me suspect he took a malicious pleasure in my bewilderment.
After our morning bread and beer we went to the temple of Khonsu, where the sem-priest Wennefer worked in the records office. He was copying accounts from pottery ostraca onto a papyrus that was stretched across his lap. All scribes develop bowed shoulders from bending over their writing; Wennefer was folded almost double, his face scant inches from the surface of the papyrus. When Amenhotep cleared his throat, the old man started, smearing the ink. He waved our apologies aside and cleaned the papyrus with a wad of lint.
“No harm was meant, no harm is done,” he said in his breathy, chirping voice. “I have heard of you, Amenhotep Sa Hapu; it is an honour to meet you.”
“I, too, have looked forward to meeting you, Wennefer. Alas that the occasion should be such a sad one.”
Wennefer’s smile faded. “Ah, the matter of Senebtisi’s tomb. What a tragedy! At least the poor woman can now have a proper reburial. If Minmose had not insisted on opening the tomb, her ba would have gone hungry and thirsty through eternity.”
“Then the tomb entrance really was sealed and undisturbed?” I asked sceptically.
“I examined it myself,” Wennefer said. “Minmose had asked me to meet him after the day’s work, and we arrived at the tomb as the sun was setting; but the light was still good. I conducted the funeral service for Senebtisi, you know. I had seen the doorway blocked and mortared and with my own hands had helped to press the seals of the necropolis onto the wet plaster. All was as I had left it that day a year ago.”
“Yet Minmose insisted on opening the tomb?” Amenhotep asked.
“Why, we agreed it should be done,” the old man said mildly. “As you know, robbers sometimes tunnel in from above or from one side, leaving the entrance undisturbed. Minmose had brought tools. He did most of the work himself, for these old hands of mine are better with a pen than a chisel. When the doorway was clear, Minmose lit a lamp and we entered. We were crossing the hall beyond the entrance corridor when Minmose let out a shriek. ‘My mother, my mother,’ he cried – oh, it was pitiful to hear! Then I saw it too. The thing – the thing on the floor . . .”
“You speak of the mummy, I presume,” said Amenhotep. “The thieves had dragged it from the coffin out into the hall?”
“Where they despoiled it,” Wennefer whispered. “The august body was ripped open from throat to groin, through the shroud and the wrappings and the flesh.”
“Curious,” Amenhotep muttered, as if to himself. “Tell me, Wennefer, what is the plan of the tomb?”
Wennefer rubbed his brush on the ink cake and began to draw on the back surface of one of the ostraca.
“It is a fine tomb, Amenhotep, entirely rock-cut. Beyond the entrance is a flight of stairs and a short corridor, thus leading to a hall broader than it is long, with two pillars. Beyond that, another short corridor; then the burial chamber. The august mummy lay here.” And he inked in a neat circle at the beginning of the second corridor.
“Ha,” said Amenhotep, studying the plan. “Yes, yes, I see. Go on, Wennefer. What did you do next?”
“I did nothing,” the old man said simply. “Minmose’s hand shook so violently that he dropped the lamp. Darkness closed in. I felt the presence of the demons who had defiled the dead. My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth and –”
“Dreadful,” Amenhotep said. “But you were not far from the tomb entrance; you could find your way out?”
“Yes, yes, it was only a dozen paces; and by Amun, my friend, the sunset light has never appeared so sweet! I went at once to fetch the necropolis guards. When we returned to the tomb, Minmose had rekindled his lamp –”
“I thought you said the lamp was broken.”
“Dropped, but fortunately not broken. Minmose had opened one of the jars of oil – Senebtisi had many such in the tomb, all of the finest quality – and had refilled the lamp. He had replaced the mummy in its coffin and was kneeling by it praying. Never was there so pious a son!”
“So then, I suppose, the guards searched the tomb.”
“We all searched,” Wennefer said. “The tomb chamber was in a dreadful state; boxes and baskets had been broken open and the contents strewn about. Every object of precious metal had been stolen, including the amulets on the body.”
“What about the oil, the linen, and the other valuables?” Amenhotep asked.
“The oil and the wine were in large jars, impossible to move easily. About the other things I cannot say; everything was in such confusion – and I do not know what was there to begin with. Even Minmose was not certain; his mother had filled and sealed most of the boxes herself. But I know what was taken from the mummy, for I saw the golden amulets and ornaments placed on it when it was wrapped by the embalmers. I do not like to speak evil of anyone, but you know, Amenhotep, that the embalmers . . .”
“Yes,” Amenhotep agreed with a sour face. “I myself watched the wrapping of my father; there is no other way to make certain the ornaments will go on the mummy instead of into the coffers of the embalmers. Minmose did not perform this service for his mother?”
“Of course he did. He asked me to share in the watch, and I was glad to agree. He is the most pious –”
“So I have heard,” said Amenhotep. “Tell me again, Wennefer, of the condition of the mummy. You examined it?”
“It was my duty. Oh, Amenhotep, it was a sad sight! The shroud was still tied firmly around the body; the thieves had cut straight through it and through the bandages beneath, baring the body. The arm bones were broken, so roughly had the thieves dragged the heavy gold bracelets from them.”
“And the mask?” I asked. “It was said that she had a mask of solid gold.”
“It, too, was missing.”
“Horrible,” Amenhotep said. “Wennefer, we have kept you from your work long enough. Only one more question. How do you think the thieves entered the tomb?”
The old man’s eyes fell. “Through me,” he whispered.
I gave Amenhotep a startled look. He shook his head warningly.
“It was not your fault,” he said, touching Wennefer’s bowed shoulder.
“It was. I did my best, but I must have omitted some vital part of the ritual. How else could demons enter the tomb?”
“Oh, I see.” Amenhotep stroked his chin. “Demons.”
“It could have been nothing else. The seals on the door were intact, the mortar untouched. There was no break of the smallest size in the stone of the walls or ceiling or floor.”
“But –” I began.
“And there is this. When the doorway was clear and the light entered, the dust lay undisturbed on the floor. The only marks on it were the strokes of the broom with which Minmose, according to custom, had swept the floor as he left the tomb after the funeral service.”
“Amun preserve us,” I exclaimed, feeling a chill run through me.
Amenhotep’s eyes moved from Wennefer to me, then back to Wennefer. “That is conclusive,” he murmured.
“Yes,” Wennefer said with a groan. “And I am to blame – I, a priest who failed at his task.”
“No,” said Amenhotep. “You did not fail. Be of good cheer, my friend. There is another explanation.”
Wennefer shook his head despondently. “Minmose said the same, but he was only being kind. Poor man! He was so overcome, he could scarcely walk. The guards had to take him by the arms to lead him from the tomb. I carried his tools. It was the least –”
“The tools,” Amenhotep interrupted. “They were in a bag or a sack?”
“Why, no. He had only a chisel and a mallet. I carried them in my hand as he had done.”
Amenhotep thanked him again, and we took our leave. As we crossed the courtyard I waited for him to speak, but he remained silent; and after a while I could contain myself no longer.
“Do you still believe you know who robbed the tomb?”
“Yes, yes, it is obvious.”
“And it was not demons?”
Amenhotep blinked at me like an owl blinded by sunlight.
“Demons are a last resort.”
He had the smug look of a man who thinks he has said something clever; but his remark smacked of heresy to me, and I looked at him doubtfully.
“Come, come,” he snapped. “Senebtisi was a selfish, greedy old woman, and if there is justice in the next world, as our faith decrees, her path through the Underworld will not be easy. But why would diabolical powers play tricks with her mummy when they could torment her spirit? Demons have no need of gold.”
&nb
sp; “Well, but –”
“Your wits used not to be so dull. What do you think happened?”
“If it was not demons –”
“It was not.”
“Then someone must have broken in.”
“Very clever,” said Amenhotep, grinning.
“I mean that there must be an opening, in the walls or the floor, that Wennefer failed to see.”
“Wennefer, perhaps. The necropolis guards, no. The chambers of the tomb were cut out of solid rock. It would be impossible to disguise a break in such a surface, even if tomb robbers took the trouble to fill it in – which they never have been known to do.”
“Then the thieves entered through the doorway and closed it again. A dishonest craftsman could make a copy of the necropolis seal . . .”
“Good.” Amenhotep clapped me on the shoulder. “Now you are beginning to think. It is an ingenious idea, but it is wrong. Tomb robbers work in haste, for fear of the necropolis guards. They would not linger to replace stones and mortar and seals.”
“Then I do not know how it was done.”
“Ah, Wadjsen, you are dense! There is only one person who could have robbed the tomb.”
“I thought of that,” I said stiffly, hurt by his raillery. “Minmose was the last to leave the tomb and the first to re-enter it. He had good reason to desire the gold his mother should have left to him. But, Amenhotep, he could not have robbed the mummy on either occasion; there was not time. You know the funeral ritual as well as I. When the priests and mourners leave the tomb, they leave together. If Minmose had lingered in the burial chamber, even for a few minutes, his delay would have been noted and remarked upon.”