by Paul Doherty
Ay coughed loudly to remind Tutankhamun of court etiquette. The young Pharaoh recalled himself and tried to keep his face straight, but the effort was useless. He returned to calling me Uncle, saying how much he had missed both me and Pentju, how we must come fishing and fowling with him or, perhaps, take his war chariot out into the eastern desert. He seemed healthy enough, bright-eyed and plump-cheeked, though his body was manifesting some of his father’s characteristics: a slightly pointed chest, broad hips, long fingers and toes, legs, thighs and arms rather thin. He was also experiencing some discomfort when he moved.
Once the audience finished, some of the Royal Circle approached to congratulate us: the usual smiles and handshakes, shoulders being clasped, promises made, invitations issued. They lied to me and I lied to them, but that was the nature of the court. I recalled the old proverb: ‘Put not your trust in Pharaoh, nor your confidence in the war chariots of Egypt.’ I only hoped Pentju would not provoke a confrontation with the Lord Ay.
Later that day there was a great feast in the Silver Hawk Chamber at the other side of the palace. Only members of the Royal Circle were invited. Long tables covered with shimmering Babylonian muslin were placed before each guest, bearing jewel-encrusted goblets and platters of pure silver. Around the room stood great terracotta jars of wine for servants to keep the goblets ever brimmed, whilst others served shellfish sprinkled with spices, fried lotus in a special sauce, and a range of baked meats: antelope, hare, partridge, calf and wild ass. Pyramids of fruits were set before us: grapes, melons, lemons, figs and pomegranates. In the centre of the chamber a small orchestra with harps, drums and other instruments played soft music under the watchful eye of the eunuch who marked time with a reed. A place had been set for Pharaoh and his wife, who were expected to appear later in the proceedings, though they never arrived.
Whilst the rest got drunk, I watched Ay, who seemed distracted as a stream of servants came and went with messages. Eventually agitated, he got up from his table and left. A short while later one of his servants came and whispered to Pentju and me that we should withdraw. He led us hastily along beautiful galleries and passageways, across fragrant gardens and courtyards where fountains supplied their own music. At last we reached the heart of the palace, the Royal Apartments. Ay was waiting for us in the antechamber. Nakhtimin and some of his senior staff were also present. From the chamber beyond I could hear Ankhesenamun weeping loudly.
‘You’ve been given the reason for your return,’ Ay declared. ‘In truth there were two reasons; now you will see the second.’
He snapped his fingers, the great double doors swung open and we followed Ay into a long decorated chamber, poorly lit by oil lamps, with a great open window at the far end. In the centre of the room, dressed only in a loincloth, squatted Tutankhamun, a wooden lion in one hand, a toy antelope in the other. He placed these on the floor, pretending the lion was chasing the antelope. I brushed by Ay and, followed by Pentju, hurried across.
‘My lord.’ I squatted down. ‘What is the matter?’ I sniffed and glanced down: the loincloth was soiled; Tutankhamun had wet himself. ‘My lord,’ I repeated, ‘are you well?’
Tutankhamun lifted the wooden toys and smacked them together. Pentju cursed quietly. Tutankhamun seemed totally unaware of our presence.
‘Gaga.’ He lifted the wooden lion and sucked on it as a baby in a cot would. Pentju began whispering the words of a prayer. I stared in disbelief: the Pharaoh of Egypt, the Lord of Two Lands was not insane, but a helpless baby. I tried to touch him but he flinched, absorbed by the toys in his hands. Footsteps echoed behind me.
‘How long?’ I asked.
‘The attacks are not frequent,’ Ay replied, ‘but when they occur they are intense. High excitement or confrontation seems to cause them. Sometimes he is like this, other times argumentative and very aggressive.’
We waited for an hour before Tutankhamun began to relax and grow heavy-eyed. We let him sleep on the floor, cushions and blankets being brought to make him as comfortable as possible. Ay agreed to meet us in the antechamber. He wanted Nakhtimin to stay but Pentju insisted he leave. I had never seen the physician so cold and so implacable.
I shall never forget that night. The window behind Ay opened on to darkness as deep as that of the Underworld. Not one star, not one blossom of the night could be seen; there was no sound, as if the calls of the birds, the night prowlers and the creatures of the Nile had been silenced. Only three men, seated in a chamber, on the verge of the confrontation both Pentju and I had been praying for.
‘My son?’ Pentju began.
‘The Divine One …’ Ay intervened.
‘He must wait,’ Pentju rasped. ‘My son, the child of the Lady Khiya, you bribed the Mitanni to hand him over.’
‘I don’t …’ flustered Ay.
‘You do,’ Pentju cut in. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Why did you bring him here?’
‘I wanted to discover who he really was,’ Ay retorted.
‘You knew who he was.’
‘He looked so much like his half-brother, the Lord Pharaoh.’ Ay’s voice was kindly, but the look in his eyes was chilling. I realised what he’d intended.
‘Did you?’ I gasped. ‘Yes, you did, didn’t you? You seriously considered replacing one for the other, that’s why you brought him here. They would look so alike! Very few people see Tutankhamun, and only then from afar.’
Ay stared coolly back.
‘You said he looked?’ Pentju kept his voice steady. ‘So he is dead?’
‘He was sturdy,’ Ay replied. ‘A good man, Pentju, intelligent and charming. He died of a fever—’
Pentju lunged forward; I pulled him back.
‘He died of a fever.’ Ay remained calm. ‘You, however, think I murdered him, that I brought him here to be killed, true?’ He played with the ring on his finger. ‘I am a hyaena,’ he confessed. ‘I kill because I have to, because I don’t want to be killed myself.’
‘You hated Khiya,’ Pentju yelled.
Ay shook his head. ‘I did not hate her.’
‘She displaced your daughter.’
‘Nefertiti was a fool,’ Ay snarled. ‘She was arrogant, she really believed she was Pharaoh’s equal. We are responsible for our children, but not for their mistakes. As for you, Pentju, I shall never reveal what I really intended with your son, but I am innocent of his blood. I will take a solemn oath.’
Pentju sneered in reply.
‘I can produce a physician from the House of Life who will corroborate my story. If I had murdered the boy, his corpse would have been consigned to the crocodile pool, I would have denied meeting him.’
‘You have the corpse?’ Pentju exclaimed.
‘Your son’s body was hastily embalmed in the wabet, the Pure Place in the Temple of Anubis, and buried according to the rites in the Valley of the Kings.’
‘Did he suffer?’ Pentju asked. ‘Did he talk or ask about me?’
‘He was well treated,’ Ay whispered. ‘I would have taken Nakhtimin’s head if he hadn’t been. True, his face was hidden by a mask, but that was for his own safety. He was placed in the House of Residence and shown every courtesy.’ Ay sighed. ‘He truly believed he was the son of a Mitanni nobleman, that his parents had died when he was a boy. He was training,’ Ay paused, ‘strange, he was training to be a soldier, but he confessed he had a deep interest in medicine.’
‘What did you tell the Mitanni?’ I asked.
‘Quite simple. I told them he might be my son,’ Ay smiled, ‘and that, either way, he would receive good training in our barracks and the House of Life.’
Pentju, head bowed, was sobbing quietly.
‘I made a mistake,’ Ay confessed. ‘The young man was used to the clean air of the highlands of Canaan. The Nile has its infections and often claims its victims, you know that, Pentju. He fell suddenly ill and slipped into a fever. No one could save him. So, Pentju, I have your son’s blood on my hands, I recognise that, as I do that you are my e
nemy. I realise that if the opportunity ever presents itself, you will kill me.’
‘I’ve always been your enemy,’ Pentju answered. He raised his tearful face. ‘Lord Ay, one day, if I can, I shall kill you.’
Ay blinked and looked away. He was a mongoose of a man, but I was convinced he was not lying, nor was he alarmed by Pentju’s threats.
‘I am not frightened,’ Ay replied, his face now only a few inches from Pentju’s. ‘The only difference between you, Pentju, and the rest is that you have been honest.’
‘So why not kill us?’ I asked. ‘Why not now?’
Ay leaned back. ‘For the same reason I didn’t years ago. You have powerful friends. Meryre, Tutu and the rest deserved their fate, but Horemheb and the others would baulk at murder, at the illegal execution of two old comrades, former Children of the Kap.’
‘Secondly?’ I insisted. ‘There is a second reason?’
‘The Divine One himself, when in his right mind, would have objected, and thirdly,’ Ay coolly added, ‘I need you to protect him, to see if you can do something to bring his mind out of the darkness.’
‘Where is my son?’ Pentju demanded.
‘He is in a cave, isn’t he?’ I asked. ‘One of those secret ones you’ve quarried in the Valley of the Kings?’
‘To house the dead from the City of the Aten,’ Ay agreed, ‘as well as for eventualities such as this. You will be taken there, I assure you.’
Pentju put his face in his hands.
‘And now,’ Ay placed his hands together, ‘what shall we do with our Pharaoh, who has the body of a young man and, sometimes, the mind of a babbling infant? You must help him, Mahu, as much as possible.’
‘Why?’
‘To put it bluntly, my granddaughter, Ankhesenamun, must conceive a son by him before it is too late.’
‘Is he capable of that?’
‘Oh yes.’ Ay put a finger round his lips. ‘My granddaughter can conceive.’
‘Or is she your daughter?’ Pentju taunted.
‘My granddaughter,’ Ay replied evenly.
‘And if Tutankhamun doesn’t beget an heir?’ I asked. ‘If he dies childless, where will the Kingdom of the Two Lands go?’
I shall never forget Ay’s reply, in that chamber on that darkest night, for it brought to an end a period of my life. At first he didn’t reply, but just sat, head bowed.
‘So?’ I repeated the question. ‘To whom would Egypt go?’
‘Why, Mahu, Baboon of the South, Egypt will go to the strongest.’
Metut ent Maat
(Ancient Egyptian for ‘Words of Truth’)
Historical Note
We know a great deal about Mahu from his unoccupied tomb at El-Amarna (the City of the Aten), dug deep into the ground against potential tomb-robbers. The paintings in his tomb are hastily executed but do show Mahu’s great achievement, the frustration of a very serious plot against Akenhaten (N. de G. Davies, The Rock Tombs of El-Amarna: Tombs of Pentju, Mahu and Others, Egypt Exploration Society, London, 1906). Archaeologists have also found both his house and the police station in what is now known as El-Amarna; even the fact that he kept an armoury close at hand (see Davies, above). The character, opulence and decadence of the period are well documented and accurately described by the historian Joanne Fletcher in her excellent book Egypt’s Sun King: Amenhotep III (Duncan Baird, London, 2000). The rise of the Akhmin gang is graphically analysed by a number of historians, including Bob Briers and Nicholas Reeves, as well as myself in my book Tutankhamun (Constable and Robinson, London, 2002). Queen Tiye’s control of Egypt, particularly of foreign affairs, is apparent in what is now known as the ‘Amarna Letters’.
The collapse of Akenhaten’s reign, apart from the outbreak of a virulent plague, is, however, clouded in mystery. The Museum of Berlin holds the famous statue of Nefertiti which reflects her haunting beauty, but it also holds a statue of her when she was much older, and when that beauty had begun to fade. Most historians argue that a serious breach occurred between Akenhaten and Nefertiti, and the cause, as Mahu says, was possibly the birth of Tutankhaten, Akenhaten’s only son by the Mitanni Princess Khiya. Nicholas Reeves, in Egypt’s False Prophet: Akenhaten (Thames and Hudson, London, 2001), cites other sources, and has developed the theory that Nefertiti regained power, acted as her husband’s co-regent and even ‘re-invented’ herself as the mysterious Smenkhkare, only to fall abruptly and inexplicably from power.
My book Tutankhamun contains the evidence for a great deal of what Mahu says. Horemheb’s tomb at Sakkara, with all its inscriptions, depicts Horemheb as Egypt’s great saviour, patronised by Horus of Henes. My book also explains the emptying of the tombs at Amarna and their frantic reburial in different, or hastily dug tombs, in or around the Valley of the Kings. Indeed, the recent discovery of Nefertiti’s corpse, reported in the press during the late summer of 2003, attests to the fact that not all these reburials have been discovered or analysed. For the first two years of Tutankhamun’s reign, the young prince did live a sheltered life in the City of the Aten whilst the work of recovery took place. One of the Restoration stelae (proclamations carved in stone), which has been found, starkly summarises the parlous state of Egypt at the end of Akenhaten’s reign and what had to be done. Two centres of power emerged, at Thebes and Memphis, but the peace was maintained whilst Tutankhamun lived. Ay’s supremacy is clearly indicated; that gold strip depicting him as the war God Montu does exist and is analysed in my recent research on Tutankhamun. Ankhesenamun’s influence is also verifiable. Many of the paintings from Tutankhamun’s tomb show the young Pharoah kneeling or resting, gently tended by his ever-present, beautiful wife. The possibility that Tutankhamun had a half-brother is no mere conjecture but a possible solution to the remains found in Tomb 55 of the Valley of the Kings. The young man buried there was certainly linked by blood to Tutankhamun. As for the mystery of the ‘Watchers’ and the Apiru? I am sure the final part of Mahu’s confession will clear the murky, bloody politics which surround the dramatic conclusion to the magnificent Eighteenth Dynasty of Ancient Egypt.
Finally, readers have asked about the validity of my descriptions of Ancient Egyptian life. I have always had a deep fascination for such a culture even before I studied, in depth, Ancient Middle Eastern literature during my three year course at Ushaw College, Durham. This fascination has never been dimmed. What is surprising is how advanced the Egyptians were in their observation of all forms of natural phenomena. I could provide many examples of this. One of the most obvious is the making of ice. Egypt is a hot country but it has its seasons and it does have freezing nights! The Egyptian writer Athenaeus provides a colourful description of their ice-making process, which can be found in that marvellus book by Peter James and Nick Thorpe, Ancient Inventions, London: Michael O’Mara Books, 1995, p. 323.
Dr P C Doherty