Tutankhamun

by Nick Drake

  He listened without emotion.

  ‘You make the mistake of hatred. Emotion will betray you, in the end, as it always does with women. Remember this: only through me could you survive to accomplish all that you wish. You should know by now death holds no fear for me. I know it for what it is. He understands.’

  And he pointed at me.

  ‘He knows there is nothing to come. There is no Otherworld, and there are no Gods. It is all nonsense for children. All that exists is power in the crude hands of men. That is why we are all so desperate for it. Otherwise what is there for men to shore against the inevitability of their own ruin?’

  No one spoke for a long moment.

  ‘I will consider everything you have said. And I will meet with Horemheb. And in my own time, I will come to a decision. It will be the right decision for me, and my family, as well as for the stability of the Two Lands,’ she said.

  He rose from the couch, and shuffled towards the door. But before he departed he turned around, stiffly: ‘Think carefully which of the two worlds is the lesser in evil. Horemheb’s army, or mine. And then make your choice.’

  And he left.

  The Queen immediately began to pace the chamber again.

  ‘Horemheb is here already. That is too soon! But why is he waiting?’ asked the Queen.

  ‘Because he knows he can create a situation of tension and fear. This is strategy. He wants to make it seem as if he is in control of what happens. Do not give him that power over you,’ I replied.

  She gazed at me for a moment.

  ‘You are right. We have our own strategies. I must maintain them. I must not be misled by fear.’

  I nodded and bowed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, anxiously.

  ‘I must talk further to Ay. There is something I need to ask him. Simut will remain with you until I return.’

  I closed the door, and quickly followed the shuffling figure up the dark corridor. As soon as he heard footsteps he turned, suspiciously. I bowed.

  ‘What is it now?’ he snapped.

  ‘I would like to know the answer to a question.’

  ‘Do not waste my time with your foolish questions. It is too late. You have failed in your task. Go away.’

  And he waved his bony hand dismissively at me.

  ‘Mutnodjmet is incarcerated here in the Malkata Palace. This was originally done years ago, under your orders, I assume in agreement with Horemheb. And I assume she has been more or less forgotten.’

  He looked surprised at the mention of her name.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘She is an opium addict. Who supplies her with the drug? The answer is: someone who attends her, in secret. She has obeyed his instructions in return for the gift of the drug for which she has, of course, a desperate need. It was she who left the death mask, and the carving, and the doll, in the royal quarters. Shall I tell you what she calls this mysterious man? She calls him the “Physician.”’

  Ay was listening seriously now.

  ‘If only you had discovered this weeks ago.’

  ‘If only someone had told me about her weeks ago,’ I replied.

  He knew I was right.

  ‘I think you must know his name. For it can only have been you who appointed him to her care in the first place,’ I continued.

  He considered everything for a long moment. He seemed profoundly reluctant to speak.

  ‘Ten years ago I appointed a physician. He had been my Chief of Physicians. But he failed to be useful to me. His gifts deserted him, and his knowledge was of no help in curing me of the maladies that beset me. So I made Pentu Chief Physician, and I gave that man the task of caring for the needs of Mutnodjmet. It was a private arrangement, in return for which he would be paid well, both for his work and his absolute discretion. He was to keep her alive, for the time being. There were severe penalties for any failure of secrecy.’

  ‘And what was his name?’

  ‘His name was Sobek.’

  My mind raced back through everything that had happened, to the day of the festival, to the day of the blood, and the dead boy with the broken bones in the dark room, and the party on the roof of Nakht’s city house. I remembered the quiet man of late middle age, with short grey hair untouched by dye, and the bony, minimal physique of someone who does not eat for pleasure. I recalled his unremarkable, almost simple face–hollow, as Mutnodjmet had said–and his stony, cold grey-blue eyes bright with intelligence, and with something like rage. I heard him say: ‘Perhaps it is the human imagination that is the monster. I believe no animal suffers from the torments of the imagination. Only man…’

  And I remembered Nakht, my old friend, and now it seemed also the colleague or acquaintance of this master of mutilation and mystery, replying: ‘And that is why civilized life, morality, ethics and so on, matter. We are half-enlightened, and half-monstrous. We must build our civility upon reason and mutual benefit.’

  I saw in my mind’s eye the grey man raising his cup and replying:

  ‘I salute your reason. I wish it every success.’

  Sobek. The Physician.

  ‘You look like you have seen a ghost,’ said Ay.

  40

  Simut’s elite guards took up positions along the dark, adjoining streets, and on the neighbouring rooftops. The city was silent, under the night curfew, apart from solitary dogs barking aggressively to each other across the darkness, under the moon and stars.

  Khety had returned Thoth to me, and the animal danced and chattered quietly at my side in pleasure at our reunion. But time was short. Khety and I had urgent news to communicate. As we made our way to this place, he had told me quickly, in urgent whispers, that my family were safe and well; and under Nakht’s care, the boy was improving. He had not died. Then he had wanted to know how I had identified Sobek. I explained it all.

  ‘Then we’ve done it,’ he said, delighted.

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ I replied.

  And having made him swear to keep the secret, I told him the story of the King’s death. For once he was utterly silenced.

  ‘Say something, Khety. You always have something ludicrously optimistic to say.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I can’t think of anything. It’s an absolute disaster. A calamity.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I don’t mean it was your fault. You did everything that was asked of you. You followed your orders from the King himself. But what’s going to happen to us all now? The city’s already restless. No one knows what’s happening. It’s as though the whole of the Two Lands is on the precipice of an abyss, and at any moment we could all go tumbling in.’

  ‘These are dark times, Khety. But don’t be so melodramatic. It doesn’t help. Have there been any more murders in the city, like those of the boy and Neferet?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Nothing. As far as I know. Nothing has been reported. It has all gone very quiet. Word got out on to the streets of the other murders. It travelled around the clubs very quickly. People are spooked. Perhaps they are just taking much more care.’

  I was puzzled.

  ‘But a killer like this will always find a fresh victim. The desire for the act grows greater with each murder, usually. It becomes an unassuageable hunger. We know he is an obsessive. So where has his obsession led him now? Why would he stop killing?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Perhaps he has gone to ground.’

  He nodded at the house.

  ‘Perhaps he’s in there now. Perhaps you’ve got him.’

  ‘Don’t speak too soon. It makes me feel superstitious,’ I replied.

  Sobek’s house stood in a street of discreet residences, in a good quarter of the city. Nothing distinguished it from the others. I nodded to Simut. He made a signal to the guards stationed on the rooftops, who leapt silently from roof to roof like assassins. Then, at another brief gesture of command, the guards who accompanied us attacked the solid wooden door wit
h their axes. Quickly it was smashed down. A few neighbours, alarmed by the sudden commotion, peered out into the lane in their night robes, but they were peremptorily ordered back into their houses. I pushed ahead into a vestibule, followed by the guards who spread out silently, their weapons poised, and took command of each room, one at a time, gesturing in silence to each other. Others entered via the roof to secure the upper rooms. Each room was less interesting than the last. It seemed like the home of a solitary man, for the furniture was functional, the decoration modest in the extreme, and there was none of the normal detritus of everyday life. The place seemed lifeless. Upstairs were wooden chests containing efficient but unsophisticated clothing, and a few pieces of nondescript, daily jewellery. The place was deserted. He had eluded me again. Surely we had missed something? It was as if he had known we would find him. And he had left us no clues. But how could he have known? Bitterly disappointed, I walked through the rooms one by one, looking for anything that could give me a way forward.

  But suddenly a shout came from the back of the house, beyond the inner courtyard. Simut and his guards stood around a small door, like that which would lead to a storeroom. The cords were tied in what looked like the same magical knot as that which had tied the box containing the rotting death mask. On the seal, I saw a single sign I recognized too: a dark circle. The Sun destroyed. Suddenly elation gripped me. I tried to remain calm as I slipped my knife through the cord, so as to preserve the knot and the seal; and then I pushed open the door.

  I smelt at once the chilly, airless, hollow odour of a tomb opened after a long time–as if the darkness had slowly suffocated the air itself. Khety handed me a lamp, and I entered, cautiously. The thought that this was a trap flitted across my mind. I held the lamp up before me, and tried to see beyond its shivering light.

  The room seemed to be of a moderate size. Along one wall was a long bench, holding clay vessels in various sizes, and an astounding array of surgical instruments: obsidian knives, sharp hooks, long probes, cupping vessels and vicious forceps, all precise and highly ordered. Further on were a series of small glass phials with stoppers, each with a label. I opened one. It seemed to be empty. I kept it to examine in the light of day. Further down the shelves were more jars. I opened them at random; they seemed to contain a variety of herbs and spices. But the last one contained something I recognized: the powder of the opium poppy. Further along the shelf were several more jars, all containing the identical substance: a substantial supply. The bench was highly ordered and efficient.

  But as I stepped forward, I felt something crack and shatter beneath my sandals. I squatted down with the lamp and saw the floor was littered with bones: the little skulls and wing-fans of birds; the miniature skeletons of mice, shrews and rats; the jaws and legs of dogs or baboons or hyenas or jackals; and also pieces of larger bones, which I feared were human, smashed into shards. It was as if I had trespassed into a mass grave of all life. I held the lamp up to peer further into the dark. I saw something still stranger: from the ceiling on twine hung many bones, and broken pieces of bones, to make the shattered skeletons of strange, impossible creatures, part-bird, part-dog, part-human.

  Shuffling forward, trying not to tread on any more of the remains at my feet, and loathing the creepy touch of the hanging bones in my hair and on my back, I made out a large, low, shadowy object that stood at the end of the room. As I came closer, I saw it was an embalmer’s bench. On the bench was a small wooden box. Behind the bench, I saw a big black circle had been painted on the back wall. The Sun destroyed. I held the lamp up closer, and all around the perimeter of the circle were those strange, disturbing signs I had seen around the box: curves, sickles, dots and dashes. Spattered all across the dark circle were dripping lines of dried, dark blood. I looked again at the embalmer’s bench; in contrast to the wall’s record of butchery, it was as fastidiously clean as the surgical instruments that lined the walls. But they were not for healing. They were for torture. How many victims had he experimented on in here, as they screamed for mercy, for their lives, or for the mercy of death?

  The wooden box carried a label. On it was written, in a neat cursive, one word: ‘Rahotep’. It was a gift from Sobek to me. I had no choice but to open it. Inside I saw something I know I will always see whenever I try to sleep. Eyes. Human eyes. Arranged in identical pairs, like jewels on a tray. I thought of Neferet, and the two boys. All had missing eyes. And here was a box full of staring, quizzical, startled eyes, like a tiny audience paying me the closest attention.

  41

  I closed the box, and returned the eyes to darkness. This gift was a mockery. He had tricked me. He knew I would track him to his house. He knew I still did not understand what he was doing. The eyes were like signs–he was watching me. And if he was watching me, then what else did he know? Suddenly, fear gripped my throat; perhaps he knew about my family–after all, he had seen them at Nakht’s party on the roof of his city house. I must protect them. I would send Khety immediately to organize a secure guard. But then another thought came crashing in against the first; how had he realized I had discovered the connection with Mutnodjmet? And then another, still more alarming. We had left Mutnodjmet unguarded.

  The moment the boat docked at the Malkata Palace harbour, Simut and I raced through the guarded entrance doors, and down the long corridors. I racked my brains to recall the route to Mutnodjmet’s chambers, but the shadowy labyrinth of the palace confused me.

  ‘Take me to Khay’s office!’

  Simut nodded, and we ran on. I didn’t bother to rap on the doors, but burst through. He was fast asleep, snoring on his couch, his head back, robes still on, the cup of wine empty. I shook him violently, and he started awake like a man in an accident, staring wildly at the two of us.

  ‘Take us back to Mutnodjmet’s apartments, now!’

  He looked puzzled, but I yanked him to his feet and propelled him through the door. ‘Take your hands off me!’ he cried in his querulous voice. ‘I am quite capable of walking unaided.’

  He struggled, trying to rearrange his appearance into something like dignity.

  The doors to Mutnodjmet’s apartment were shut, and the cords tied and sealed. As we approached, I felt something crunching lightly underfoot. Puzzled, I crouched down and saw, in the light of our lamps, something glittering. I wiped some up on my finger and tested it on my lips. Natron salt. It was most likely the spillage from a sack that someone had carried into the apartments. But why would anyone do such a thing?

  I broke the seals on the doors and we entered carefully. All was silence and darkness. There was no sign of the twin dwarfs. Holding my lamp before me, I advanced along the corridor that led to the salon. But as I passed the store chambers, I saw something wrong. Two of the big storage jars had had their contents–grain and flour–emptied on the floor in neat piles. Simut glanced at me. I carefully removed the lid of one of the jars. Crouched inside was a small figure in good clothes up to his chest in his own blood; I looked more closely and saw the hilt of his jewelled dagger thrust into his heart. The back of his little head was smashed in. I opened the other one. The same.

  We entered the salon. There had been a struggle. Furniture had been thrown over. Goblets lay shattered on the floor. And there on a low gilded bench was a dark, grey mound. I carefully pushed handfuls of the salt away. Mutnodjmet’s eye-sockets stared back at me, white and empty; her hollow face, glittering with scattered salt crystals, was desiccated and wrinkled as if time had suddenly sucked her dry. Her lips were shrivelled and white, and her open mouth was dry as a cloth left out in the midday sun.

  ‘What’s happened to her?’ whispered Simut.

  ‘The natron has absorbed the fluids from her body. By now all her internal organs will have begun to turn to dark brown mush.’

  ‘So was she alive when he did this to her?’ The soldier shook his head at such sophisticated barbarity.

  ‘It would have taken time for her to die like this. She must have been maddened wit
h thirst. And that’s what fascinates him. Watching people suffer and die, in great detail. But I’m not sure he does it only for the pleasure of witnessing their pain. The pain is only part of the process, not the end of it. He’s seeking something else. Something more original.’

  ‘But what?’ asked Simut.

  I stared down at the poor eyeless woman. It was the only important question.

  As we walked back up the passageway, I remembered the little glass phial I had found in Sobek’s laboratory. I opened it, but it seemed to contain nothing, despite the stopper and the carefully noted date. I noticed at the bottom a faint dusting of glittery white residue. I dabbed my finger and licked it carefully. More salt; but not natron salt. Some other kind of salt. It tasted familiar. But I could not place it.

  42

  Horemheb’s magnificent ship of state, the Glory of Memphis, was now anchored out on the still water of the lake. As it loomed over its lucid mirror image, it looked like a menacing weapon. The Eye of Horus was painted repeatedly all along the hull, granting special protection. In amongst the Eyes there were images of the ram’s head of Amun, and winged falcons, and the figure of the King trampling his enemies underfoot. On the side lookouts the figure of Montu, God of War, strode defiantly; and the deckhouses were painted with multicoloured circles. Even the blades of the oars were decorated with the Eye of Horus. The menace was intensified by the corpses of seven Hittite soldiers, hanging head downwards, twisting slowly as they rotted in the morning sunlight.