Tutankhamun

by Nick Drake

  We toured the city’s palaces, stepping across the strange evidence of former human occupation: single dusty sandals; pieces of faded clothing; broken jugs and hollow wine jars, their contents long evaporated; small domestic things, cups and dishes still unbroken but full of little drifts of sand and dust. We wandered through high, decorated halls once home to glorious affluence and exquisite music, and now to nesting birds, snakes, rats and woodworm. Beneath our feet, exquisite painted floors of water-gardens full of glazed fish and birds were faded and cracked by time’s careless attrition.

  ‘I find I am suddenly remembering things I had forgotten. I was a boy here. I grew up in the Northern Riverside Palace. But now I remember being brought to this chamber.’ The King spoke quietly, as we stood in the hall of the Great Palace near the river. The long beams of the morning sun slanted in, dusty and strong. A multitude of graceful columns supported the lofty ceiling still vividly decorated with the indigo of the night sky and the glittering gold of the stars.

  ‘My father rarely spoke. I lived in awe of him. We sometimes worshipped together. Occasionally I would be brought to see him by myself. It was always a special occasion. I would be dressed formally, and carried along many corridors full of silence and alarming, gloomy, ugly old men who bowed low to me, but never spoke. And then I would be ushered into his presence. Often he would leave me to stand waiting for some time before he decided to notice me. I dared not move. I was frightened.’

  I was not quite sure what to do with this unexpected confession. So I returned the compliment.

  ‘My own father is also a quiet man. He taught me to fish. When I was a child we would drift along the riverbank for many hours at dusk on a reed boat, our lines in the water, neither of us speaking, enjoying the silence.’

  ‘That is a good memory,’ he said.

  ‘It was a simple time.’

  ‘“A simple time…”’

  He repeated the words with a strange nostalgia, and I felt sure he had never had a simple time in his life. Perhaps it was what he most desired; as the poor desire great riches, so the rich, in their appalling ignorance, believe they desire the simplicity of poverty.

  The King was staring up at the Window of Appearances where his father had once stood, high above his people, passing down gifts of treasure and collars of honour. Above the window was a carving of the disc of the Aten, and the many rays of the sun radiated like slender arms, some ending in a delicate hand offering the Ankh of Life. But the window was empty now, with no one left to give or receive such blessings.

  ‘I remember this hall. I remember a great crowd of men, and a long silence. I remember everyone staring at me. I remember…’

  He stopped, uncertainly. ‘But my father was not here. I remember I was looking for him. Instead there was Ay. And I had to walk through the crowd into that chamber, with him.’

  He pointed.

  ‘And what happened then?’

  He moved slowly across the faded river scenes of the great floor, towards a door whose ornate carving had provided a glorious feast for the termites. He pushed it open. I followed him into a long chamber. All the furniture and any other contents had been removed. It had the hollow acoustic of a long-unoccupied place. He shivered.

  ‘After this, nothing was the same again. I saw my father only once more, and when he saw me he began to shout, like a madman. He took up a chair, and he tried to bring it down upon my head. And then he sat upon the ground, and wept and groaned. And that was the last time I ever saw him. You see, he was quite mad. It was a terrible secret, but I knew it. I was taken away to Memphis. I was educated, and I lived with my nurse, and Horemheb became my tutor. He tried to be a good father to me. No one even spoke my father’s name again. It was as if he had never existed. My own father had become a non-person. And then one day, I was readied for coronation. I was nine years old. I was married to Ankhesenpaaten. We were given new names. I, who had all my life been called Tutankhaten, was now renamed Tutankhamun. She became Ankhesenamun. Names are powers, Rahotep. We lost who we were, and became something else. We were like little orphans, confused and lost and miserable. And I was married to the daughter of the woman who they say destroyed my mother. But still there was a surprise to come, for I liked her well. And somehow we have managed not to hate each other because of the past. We realize it is not our fault. And, in truth, she is almost the only person in the whole world I can trust.’

  His eyes glittered as emotion brimmed inside him. I decided I could not remain silent.

  ‘Who was your mother?’

  ‘Her name, like that of my father, has turned to dust and been blown away.’

  ‘Kiya,’ I said.

  He nodded slowly.

  ‘I am glad you know of her. At least somewhere her name lives on.’

  ‘I know her name. I do not know her fate.’

  ‘She disappeared. One afternoon she was there, and then by the evening–she had vanished. I remember I ran to her clothing chests, and I hid inside one, and refused to leave, because all that was left was her scent in her clothes. I still keep them, although everyone has tried to persuade me to get rid of them. I won’t. Some days I still catch a faint ghost of her scent. It is very comforting.’

  ‘And you never discovered what happened to her?’ I asked.

  ‘Who would tell me the truth? And now, the people who hold such secrets are dead. Apart from Ay…And he would never tell. So I am left with a mystery. Sometimes I wake in the night, because in my dreams she has called out to me–but I can never hear what she is saying. And when I wake, I lose her all over again.’

  A bird sang somewhere, in the shadows.

  ‘The dead live on in our dreams, don’t you think, Rahotep? Their eternity is in here. For as long as we live.’

  And he gently tapped his own skull, gazing at me with his golden eyes.

  27

  Two days later the Great River’s deep currents brought us near to the southern domains of the city of Memphis. The ancient necropolises, built in the desert margins above the cultivation, and the ageless temple and pyramid of Saqqara, being the first of the great buildings of the Two Lands, were hidden way up on the plateau. Simut described the other monuments which lay further to the north, but which we could also not see from our river view; the shining white pyramids of Khufu and his Queens; the more recently constructed temple to Horus of the Horizon; and the great Sphinx, where Thutmose IV had erected the Carving of his Dream, in which he vowed to clear the encroaching sands from the Sphinx in return for being made King–and which indeed came to pass, although he had no legitimate claim to the throne at that time.

  Thebes suddenly seemed a small settlement in comparison with the vast metropolis that slowly unfolded before our eyes; we sailed for some considerable time, observing the many outlying temple districts, the vast cemeteries that bordered the desert to the west, the middle-class suburbs, and the poor quarters, those slums of humanity that spread out in chaotic shanty districts towards the endless green of the fields; and everywhere, rising above the low dwellings, the white walls of temple enclosures.

  Surrounded by welcoming boats and barges, and smaller private yachts and skiffs, we sailed into the main port. Many jetties spread out along the dockside; here were trading and naval ships from many countries, unloading great stacks of precious timber and small mountains of minerals, stone and grain. Thousands of people crowded the long paved ways that ran by the Great River. Fishermen stopped to gaze up at the splendour of the royal ship, their gathered nets dripping in their arms, their catches still twisting and thrashing, silver and gold, in the bottom of the small boats. Dusty workers stared from the supply boats as they stood knee-deep in huge quantities of grain, or on slabs of roughly quarried stone. Children held up by their parents waved from crowded ferries. Onlookers, drawn by the noise, appeared from their workshops and storerooms and shops.

  Tutankhamun appeared at the curtain of his apartment. He gestured to me to join him. He was nervously adjusting
his costume. He was dressed in his white royal robes, and wearing the Double Crown.

  ‘Do I look well?’ he asked, almost shyly. ‘I must look well. It is many years since I last visited Memphis. And also time has passed since I met Horemheb. He must see how I have changed. I am no longer the boy under his tutelage. I am King.’

  ‘Lord, you are unmistakably the King.’

  He nodded, satisfied, and then, like a great actor, he seemed to centre himself before he stepped into the sunlight, his face beneath the crowns assuming the absolute conviction it had lacked only moments before. Something about the intensity of the moment, and its demands, brought out the best in him. He thrived on an audience. This would surely be his biggest yet. The handler passed the King his young lion, on its leash, and then he stepped up and forward into the light of Ra to a roar of acclaim. I watched as he adopted the ritual posture of power and victory. As if on cue, the young lion roared. The crowd, who could not see the way the beast was prodded to his heroic roar by a spear’s sharp point applied by his diligent keeper, called out an even greater enthusiastic response, as if it were now not many individuals, but one great beast.

  The spectacle that greeted us upon the quayside was a carefully orchestrated and deliberately overwhelming display of the military might of this capital. As far as the eye could see, stretching back in countless perfectly drilled lines, division after division of soldiers, each one named after the patron God of the district from which it drew its conscripts and officers, paraded in the shimmering arena. Between them were thousands of prisoners of war, manacled and roped together by the neck, together with their women and children–Libyans in cloaks with their long side-locks and goatees, Nubians in their kilts, and Syrians with their long pointed beards, all forced into the posture of submission. Hundreds of fine horses–booty from the wars–danced on their elegant hooves. Envoys from each subjugated state fell to their knees, pleading for clemency, for the breath of life for their people.

  And there, at the centre of everything, was a single figure, standing in the sun beside an empty throne, as if all of this display belonged to him. Horemheb, General of the Armies of the Two Lands. I knew him from his ramrod posture as he waited, still as a dark statue.

  Tutankhamun took his time, like a god, keeping everyone waiting while he continued to enjoy the acclaim of the multitude; meanwhile the old ambassadors were tottering in the heat, the crowds were gasping for the water-and fruit-sellers, the city officials were sweating in their regalia. And then finally, accompanied by Simut and a phalanx of royal guards, he deigned to descend the gangplank. The crowds renewed their cries of acclaim and loyalty, and the dignitaries made ritual gestures of respect and homage. For his part the King made absolutely no sign of recognition or response, as if all of this pageant was somehow insubstantial and unimportant to him.

  On a quiet signal from Simut, the guards fanned out around the King, organized as dancers, their arms and bows presented, as he stepped down on to the hot stones of the city. Simut and I scanned the crowds and the rooftops for any signs of trouble. Horemheb waited for the right moment; then he respectfully offered the throne to the King. But his every arrogant gesture made the King seem the less powerful man. Something about the cold expression on Horemheb’s face even seemed to keep the flies away. He turned to the silent arena. An obedient silence fell. He shouted to every one of the thousands of men present.

  ‘I speak to his majesty, Tutankhamun, Lord of the Two Lands. I bring chiefs of every foreign territory to beg life from him. These vile foreigners who do not know the Two Lands, I lay them beneath his feet for ever and eternally. From the furthest reaches of Nubia to the most distant regions of Asia, all are under the command of his great hand.’

  Then Horemheb carefully set his knee to the ground, bowed his sleek head with arrogant humility, and waited for the King to acknowledge his formulaic words. The moments dripped by like the water in a clock, as Tutankhamun left him to stoop in public deference for as long as possible. I was impressed. The King was taking command of the occasion. The crowd remained hushed, alert to this consummate confrontation played out in the language of appearance and protocol. Finally, judging the moment precisely, the King laid a gift of five magnificent gold collars around the general’s neck. But he managed to make them look like a burden of responsibility, as much as a gift of respect. Then he raised the general, and embraced him.

  The King moved forward, to accept the greetings and obeisance of the other officials as necessary. Finally he ascended the throne on the dais, under the canopy that gave some relief from the burning heat of the sun on the stones. At a command from Horemheb, every division and every group of war prisoners was then paraded before him, accompanied by trumpets and drums. It took hours. But the King maintained his rigid posture, and his distant gaze, even though the sweat was running from under the crowns, and dampening his tunic.

  We travelled by chariot into the central city. Simut and I went first, ahead of Tutankhamun, who was flanked by his running guards, their weapons flashing in the high sunlight. I noticed the buildings and headquarters here were like those in Thebes, if far greater in number: the town houses were built upwards for lack of space, and down side passages were the humbler dwellings of those who laboured in the services of the army, the central institution of this city; single rooms which were workroom, stable and home in one, opened directly on to the messy streets. The royal roads and the paved surfaces of the sacred ways, which were lined with sphinxes, obelisks and chapels, were kept clear of onlookers, and so we travelled quickly towards the Palace of Memphis. Over the harsh noise of the wheels on the rutted paving stones, Simut pointed out the famous sights: to the north, the vast old mud-brick construction of the old Citadel, the White Walls, which gave their name to the district, and the Great Temple of Ptah to the south, with its own great enclosure wall. A temple canal ran south all the way to the outlying temple district of the Goddess Hathor. Other canals flashed into view as we passed, linking the river and the port to the central city.

  ‘There are at least forty-five different cults in the city, and each has its own temple,’ he shouted, proudly. ‘And out to the west is the Temple of Anubis.’ I imagined the embalmers, the coffin-makers, the makers of masks and amulets, and the writers of the Books of the Dead, all the specialized craftsmen who clustered into such a quarter to conduct the complex business of that powerful God, Guardian of the Necropolis and of the Tombs against evildoers. But there would be no time for tours of curiosity.

  Simut was eager we should arrive ahead of the King; huge crowds had already gathered in the tight spaces of the passageways and streets, to catch a glimpse of his arrival at the great Palace of Memphis, but they were not allowed near the open area in front of the palace gate towers. Nevertheless this was a security nightmare, for it was packed with foreign and local dignitaries and officials and elite men. Simut’s advance guard were swiftly ready; silently and efficiently taking up positions and peremptorily ordering people out of the way to create a path of safety and security for the King. They knew exactly what they were doing, and moved as one in patterns they must have practised and performed many times before. Their brusquely immaculate behaviour left no one, even the Memphis palace guards themselves, in doubt of their authority. Royal archers followed, their great bows drawn and aimed up at the rooftops.

  Then the temple trumpets sounded from the walls as the King arrived, surrounded by more guards. Their tribute, the clamour of the crowds, the bellowed orders of the commanders, were deafening; but suddenly the royal cavalcade passed from the dusty heat and light and cacophony of the streets into the cool silence of the first reception hall. At once we were all gathered in relative security. Here, yet more high officials awaited the King’s arrival. This was the first time I had seen him closely in a more social situation. Whereas in the palace he had sometimes seemed like a lost boy, now he held himself like a king: his posture upright and dignified, his elegant face calm and composed, his expression seek
ing no approval in anxious smiles, nor expressing his power in haughty arrogance. He had a charisma that came from his unusual looks, his youth, and his other quality that I remembered from when he was a boy: that of an old soul in a young man’s body. Even the gold walking stick which he carried everywhere became an enhancement of his personality.

  Simut had warned me there had been a great deal of political pressure from General Horemheb’s office for the King to be accommodated overnight in the palace on this royal visit. But Ay’s office had insisted the King attend the necessary functions, and then return to the ship for a late departure. It was the right decision. Memphis was dangerous. The city was the heart of the administration of the Two Lands, but it was also the location of the army’s headquarters and barracks; unfortunately the loyalty of the army could not be entirely trusted at this delicate time, especially under Horemheb.

  The great chamber echoed with the noise of hundreds of elite men–diplomats, foreign officials, wealthy businessmen, high-ranking officers–bragging, barking and yapping self-importantly at each other as they manoeuvred among the crowds, each working hard to stand near, or speak to and impress, their superiors, or to denigrate their equals and lessers. I moved through the noisy crowds, and kept near to the King. I saw how he nodded as each person in turn was introduced by his two officers, and then dealt with each petitioner and dignitary, managing the brief moments of the interview, responding elegantly to praises and offerings, and giving a sense to each man that he was important, and would be remembered.