Handed the scroll, Yanhamu carefully opened it and held it under the lantern. After a few minutes he said, “This is some of the finest writing I’ve ever seen. It’s the prayer to the gods—the Proclamation of Innocence—isn’t it? But who is it for, my lord?”
Meryra’s face dropped in an expression of deep sorrow. “It is a long story, but this is for Pharaoh Tutankhamen. Yes, I know he is already entombed in the Great Field, west of Thebes, but his ba is trapped for eternity unless I can get these spells to him.”
“I don’t understand.” He handed back the precious scroll. “But first tell me how you knew I would find Akhenaten’s coffin empty.”
“Because that was part of my royal mission. Only my mission did not come from your king. I suspected that, as Pharaoh, Horemheb would continue what Ay had started—to regain support from the priesthood, rebuild the confidence in the old gods and to erase all memory of the city of Akhetaten and Akhenaten’s incredible initiative. You have learned of the injustice and inequality in the land—well Akhenaten tried to change that. He gave the common people rights—even non-Egyptians—and they loved him and his queen, Nefertiti. The irony is that the old establishment hated Akhenaten for what he did. Ay persecuted his followers and branded them traitors and outlaws. Now, Horemheb has vowed to eradicate them from the land. And yet Akhenaten and Tutankhamen were buried with full honours and prepared for their journey to the afterlife. The reason? Because each pharaoh knows that he has to be seen to do the right thing for his predecessor since he needs the next pharaoh to show him the same respect. The family tombs are in the Great Field west of Thebes. Ay, in the name of Tutankhamen, moved it back there and Horemheb removed the protection of the royal tombs in Akhetaten and appeared to do the right thing—I knew he would move the coffins—once the robbers had taken everything they could.
“I could not let Horemheb take Akhenaten’s body. I did not trust Ay and I trust Horemheb even less. So I took Akhenaten’s coffin. Do not ask where I have hidden it, for I will not tell. I made a sacred vow to his wife, in this world and the next, to protect it.”
“I saw Akhenaten’s broken sarcophagus, but the coffin was not within. The empty coffin was in another chamber.”
“So you have realized the empty coffin is not Akhenaten’s.” Meryra smiled. “You may not know this, but in the time of the ancients, a thousand years ago, the pharaohs were buried twice, once in sacred land of the south and again in the north of the Two Lands. Only one coffin contained the body, and it was believed that the soul could travel between both tombs.” He laughed mirthlessly. “The truth is, they were covering their options in case they picked the wrong place. In modern times we know you can be buried anywhere in this sacred country.”
“And this explains the empty coffin?”
“No.” Meryra dropped his voice so none of the walking soldiers could overhear. “The coffin belongs to Smenkhkare. It was a symbolic burial for a pharaoh that never was.”
Yanhamu waited and then said, “Will you not explain?”
“I have kept a secret record and I fear your life would be at risk should I tell you. I have hidden the truth within the records in the Hall at Akhetaten. My only regret is having too little time and nerve to write them in the language of the gods for them to know the terrible truth when men are judged.”
Yanhamu tried to get Meryra to say more but only learned that his records were encoded. He also refused to provide more information about Smenkhkare. But after a long silence the old man whispered, “What I will tell you is that Ay killed Tutankhamen, his own grandson.”
“But he died on a lion hunt. The tellers said he fell from the chariot while spearing his quarry. He died bravely, did he not?”
Meryra shook his head and paused as though the words were hard to speak. “It is true that he fell from his chariot. He had a bad foot and his balance could betray him sometimes, but the fall did not kill him and he killed no lion that day. He was bedridden, with his good leg broken above the knee. He died of malaria, but it was no fatal fly that bit him. I am certain Ay fed the young king that poison over many days, even before the fall, until the toxin in his blood made his heart fail.”
Yanhamu leaned close, whispering, “I can’t believe it. No one would dare kill a living god!”
“Ay did not view Tutankhamen as a god. As the priest of Amun he believed he was closest to God and the chosen one.” Meryra clutched his amulet to ward off any demons that may overhear his hushed voice and added, “Ay told me that Amun spoke to him every night. It is a shame he didn’t hear him warn of Horemheb’s treachery.”
Meryra would say no more and tried to sleep as the soldiers walked through the night. Just before daybreak, the old scribe asked to be helped down from the carriage and knelt. With arms outstretched along the ground, he prayed until the sun had risen over the eastern hills.
The men were reluctant to continue, but Yanhamu had reckoned on a five-day trek to Thebes and he needed them to cover another eight miles before they rested. Meryra struggled back onto the seat and Yanhamu noticed pain in the old man’s eyes.
“How are you?”
Meryra said, “My side hurts, but I will complete my mission.”
“To take the scroll to the necropolis for Tutankhamen? Yesterday you said his ba was trapped. You talk in riddles and I still don’t understand.”
Beside the coffin was a wooden trunk that Meryra had them load onto the cart. He cast his eyes towards it. “Years of practice I am afraid. I am too used to keeping secrets and now I find it difficult even when I want to be clear.” He smiled weakly. “My satchel contains my writing. The trunk contains precious things for Tutankhamen, from a time when he was known as Tutankhaten, a name Ay did not wish to go with the boy to the afterlife—if indeed he can get there. You see, I believe Ay did not prepare the king for his journey. The embalmers were paid to do a poor job on him and his stillborn daughters. I know that the tomb was completed in a hurry because Ay claimed Tutankhamen’s official tomb for his own. Ay also carried out the Opening of the Mouth ceremony without the other priests, and I later found the scrolls—the Proclamation of Innocence and the Proclamation of Worthiness—both destroyed. So my mission is to give him his childhood toys, remind him of his true name and provide him with the spells so that his ba can reach the Field of Reeds and reside in the court of Osiris.”
Later, Yanhamu said, “Lord…” He paused, taken aback at how dull the old man’s eyes now looked. “Lord, there’s something I’ve always wondered. Why did you help me on that festival day in Thebes? I was a peasant and you a noble, a royal scribe.”
“You were riling against the gods, and on that day I felt the same. Your status meant nothing to me. What mattered was you were a sign, a sign that my duty was to stay close to Ay and feign my support.”
“And you gave me the amulet…”
“Because…” Meryra coughed and winced. When Yanhamu reached out to give support, the old man held up his hand. “I’m all right. The amulet… it was instinct. Perhaps it was my way of acknowledging Ra’s message to me. Or perhaps I sensed our destinies were entwined.”
After the day’s rest, Yanhamu was shocked to see how much Meryra’s condition had deteriorated. The man’s face was grey and his skin clammy. Yanhamu helped him onto the seat, but at sunset, after Meryra prayed, he was too weak to sit unsupported and was laid on a bed beside the empty coffin.
In the morning, when Yanhamu gave him water, Meryra’s voice trembled with effort. “I must make it to the tomb… I promised her.”
“Promised who?”
Meryra did not respond.
Yanhamu wiped the sweat from the old man’s face and looked up the road. Thebes was at least two days and a night away. He knew that the old scribe would not last. He said, “Just one more day. Hold on, lord, we can make it.”
They walked all through the day with a short break when the sun reached its zenith. The soldiers took it in turns to rest on the carriage and Yanhamu walked alongside, pr
oviding Meryra with water and trying to keep the mounting fever at bay.
By the evening the old scribe was muttering incoherently and could no longer drink without support and considerable spillage. When they stopped at a village Meryra seemed to be sleeping fitfully, but Yanhamu could not rouse him. Later, as Yanhamu wet the old man’s mouth, Meryra mumbled something. Yanhamu didn’t understand but he answered anyway and talked about anything he could think of until the old man fell asleep.
As the first rays of sunlight touched the mountain ridge, Meryra partially opened his eyes. He tried to speak but couldn’t. His eyelids fluttered with the last movements of his life. Yanhamu held his hand and called a stop to the carriage. He leaned over to whisper into Meryra’s ear.
“I will complete your mission, my lord, and ensure Tutankhamen has everything he needs. I will also make sure you are buried with honour. I will, however, also find out your secrets.”
FIFTY-THREE
The man with the torch was a security guard. He beckoned with his weapon, indicating they should stand and come out. Into a walkie-talkie, he barked something in Arabic and it hissed back static. Then he snapped at them and motioned with the gun for them to lead the way out.
Conscious that the BMW man was somewhere behind them with a gun, they followed the chambers and passages back to the main hall. Here the security man tried the walkie-talkie again and exchanged a few terse words with the person on the other end. Where the side passage joined the main hall, he made them wait while he reattached the no entry barrier and sign.
They blinked in the dazzling sun as they emerged from the tomb. The security man made them wait again as he first exchanged words with the other guard at the entrance and then on the walkie-talkie.
“What do you think?” Vanessa asked as they sat on a stone bench in the shade.
“I don’t think they know what to do with us.” He glanced around and down the valley. “One good thing—the BMW guy isn’t here.” It was a feeble attempt to be positive because he knew the man was probably waiting for them somewhere.
When he finished on the walkie-talkie, the security man grunted at them and waved his gun. They marched down the track, single file, to the parking area.
As they neared the road, Alex looked for the Nissan and Schumacher. A hundred yards ahead he spotted the driver standing beside the car. Alex waved frantically, trying to get him to come up, to talk to the security man and explain. But the driver did the opposite. He got into his car and, casually as you like, K-turned and drove away.
“Hey!” Alex called and waved, but he was silenced with a push in the back from the man with the gun.
When they reached the parking area, they were made to wait. A few minutes later a white van turned in to the valley and approached at speed; it was a Toyota with “Police” written in reverse on the front. Two policemen with long batons climbed out, one from the passenger seat, one from the rear.
The security man nudged Alex in the back so that he staggered towards the van, and the policeman by the side door said, “Get in… both of you.”
They did as they were told, climbing into the rear. The policeman followed, slid the door shut and sat opposite.
Alex reached for his pocket and stopped as the policeman tapped him with the stick.
“No.”
“It’s just my passport.” Alex slowly retrieved it and held it out. “We’re English.”
The policeman took the passport but didn’t look. “You have been arrested. You were in a forbidden area.”
Alex started to protest, but the policeman impassively shook his head.
“Why did you not have a police escort?”
Alex said, “We had a local driver.”
The policeman shook his head once more. “You will be taken to the station at Mallawi.”
The Toyota jumped the queue at the ferry, pulled on, and one of the men upfront shouted something to the ferryman. Moments later the flatbed was crossing the river. On the other side they headed along the bumpy road then turned north on the main road, away from Deir Mawas, away from their hotel.
In under ten minutes they were being escorted into a shabby police station and providing a desk sergeant with name and address details. Vanessa handed over her passport. There was no discussion, just registration. They were patted down before being escorted into separate eight-by-ten-foot cells.
Alex sat on a hard wooden bench, uncomfortable, hot and hungry. There was a toilet and sink in the room behind a screen and Alex thought about how luxurious their last hotel had been in comparison.
After an hour the gaoler opened Vanessa’s cell and she glanced in as she walked by.
“Ask for the British embassy,” Alex called after her.
She was gone twenty minutes and didn’t look in as she passed back. As soon as her cell door was locked once more, the gaoler stepped to his cell and opened the gate.
“Where am I being taken?” Alex asked as he was ushered out of the cell.
The gaoler simply grunted, “This way.” He prodded Alex in the back to provide incentive and guided him along a series of corridors to a room with a table. An officer with a pencil moustache sat behind a desk and pointed to a chair opposite.
“Sit down, please,” he said in accent-less English.
Alex sat. “I’m a British citizen and demand—”
The officer shook his head as he interrupted. He spoke softly but with authority. “You are in my country, Mr MacLure, and you do not make demands. Now, I would like to take your statement. I want you to explain why you were wandering around the ruins at Tell el-Amarna without a tourist police escort.”
“I didn’t know we needed an escort.”
“I do not believe you, I am afraid. I think you avoided an escort because you were looking for artefacts or perhaps a trophy.”
“No! We were not looking to steal anything.”
“Then why were you hiding in the tomb? You went into an area that was clearly forbidden.”
“I thought I saw someone… someone I was afraid of. I thought we were being followed.”
The officer rubbed his forehead as if pushing away a developing ache. Alex noticed that the man winced as he listened, and Alex reminded himself that this was not the man’s first language. He took a long breath and tried to speak calmly.
“Let me start at the beginning,” he said, and began to tell him about the journey from Cairo. He mentioned Marek and the association with the museum, but said they were just tourists interested in Pharaoh Akhenaten. As he spoke, the police officer wrote meticulous notes. He stopped Alex now and again, questioning details such as train times, the name of the hotel in Deir Mawas, the name of the taxi driver. When Alex said Schumacher, the police officer noted it with a scoffing grunt. He shook his head many times during the story, which made Alex doubt Vanessa had told the same story. However, when he finished, the officer looked into his eyes, assessing for a while.
The man eventually closed his notepad and said, “Go back to the cell.”
Alex was escorted back and asked for water as he re-entered. Moments later, he and Vanessa were given a bottle of water each. The seal was broken but he was too thirsty to worry about the hygiene and gulped the water down.
He could see it was dark outside when the cell door was opened again, and he was given a plate of something that looked like mashed potato. It was gritty and tasteless.
The next time the door clunked open, Alex sat up with a jolt. He’d fallen asleep. He massaged the stiffness from his neck and looked at his watch. They’d been in custody for over seven hours. Vanessa stood in the corridor outside and looked equally dishevelled.
The gaoler said, “You go now.”
Uncertainly, they followed him back to the reception and were handed their passports.
“Alex, my friend!”
Alex swivelled. Marek had been sitting in the police station waiting area. He jumped up and rushed over, gripping Alex by the shoulders. He looked the Englishman up and do
wn and then at Vanessa. “You are all right, yes?”
“I’ve been better… and worse,” Alex said, putting on a brave face. He stopped mid step as they left the station. There was the Nissan and driver.
“That bloody driver!” Alex said to Marek. “He just left us at the tombs in Amarna. He could have translated and got us out of the situation.”
Marek shook his head. “I don’t think so, my friend. Ahmed—the driver—would not have been able to persuade them against arresting you. In fact, he risked being arrested too. He did the right thing. He went back to Deir Mawas, to the hotel, and this evening picked me up from Dairut. I’ve come straight here.”
Ahmed sheepishly opened the door and climbed out. He placed his right hand on his chest and bowed. “Schumacher is sorry,” he said.
In the car, Marek explained that security were concerned that the prohibited area had been breached. The fact Ahmed hadn’t registered with the tourist police after crossing the river made them especially suspicious. “You would be amazed at how many things are still stolen from the sites.”
For the rest of the journey, Alex updated Marek on what they’d found at Amarna. “I thought it would be more obvious when we got there but the city is mostly destroyed. You know, I foolishly expected to find a wall painting or an engraving of flying geese.”
Marek thought for a moment. “Flying geese? There’s a section of wall in the Cairo Museum taken from the Royal Palace at Amarna. It has flying geese. But I must tell you, wild geese were a common symbol of an ideal life. And the accession of a new pharaoh was announced by releasing four wild geese to the four corners of the world to bless his reign with prosperity. Perhaps, before we do anything else, we should go through what we know.”
Vanessa scoffed. “Before we do anything else, we need a bath and something decent to eat!”
FIFTY-FOUR
1322 BCE, Thebes
When they arrived on the western bank of Thebes, Thayjem was surprised by Yanhamu’s orders. The plans had changed. They would not transfer the coffin straight to the tomb, but Thayjem and one soldier would remain with it. They would also guard the old man’s trunk and the items they’d collected from Akhenaten’s tomb. Thayjem was also surprised by the instruction to have the old man mummified at the temple of Osiris and not to worry about the cost.
Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner Page 28