Nick Drake - Tutankhamun - The Book of Shadows

He gazed at me like a wounded animal. He knew better.

‘Last night I had a strange dream,’ he panted. I waited for him to gain enough strength to continue. ‘I was Horus, son of Osiris. I was the falcon, hovering high in the sky, approaching the Gods.’

I wiped the sweat that beaded his hot brow.

‘I flew among the Gods.’ And he searched my eyes, earnestly.

‘And what happened then?’ I asked.

‘Something bad. I fell slowly to earth, down and down…Then I opened my eyes. I was looking up at all the stars in the darkness. But I knew I would never reach them. And slowly-they started to go out-one by one, faster and faster.’

He gripped my hand.

‘And suddenly I was very afraid. All the stars died. Everything was dark. And then I woke up…and now I fear to sleep again…’

He shivered. His eyes glistened, sincere and wide.

‘It was a dream born of your pain. Do not take it to heart.’

‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps there is no Otherworld. Perhaps there is nothing.’

He looked terrified again.

‘I was wrong. The Otherworld is real. Do not doubt it.’

Neither of us spoke for a moment. I knew he did not believe me.

‘Please, take me home. I want to go home.’

‘The ship is making good time, and the north winds are blowing well in our favour. You will soon be there.’

He nodded, miserably. I held his hot, damp hand for a while longer, until he turned his face away to the wall.

Pentu and I went out on to the deck. The world of green fields and labourers passed by as if nothing important was happening.

‘What do you think are his chances?’ I asked.

He shook his head.

‘It is unusual to survive such a catastrophic fracture. The wound is badly infected, and he is weakening. I am very worried.’

‘He seems to be in much pain.’

‘I try to administer whatever I have to diminish it.’

‘The opium poppy?’

‘Certainly I will prescribe that, if the pain becomes still worse. But I hesitate to do so until it is necessary…’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘It is the most powerful drug we possess. But its very potency makes it dangerous. His heart is weak, and I do not wish to weaken it further.’

We both stared out at the landscape for a little while, without talking.

‘May I ask you a question?’ I said, eventually.

He nodded, cautiously.

‘I have heard there are secret books, the Books of Thoth?’

‘You have mentioned them before.’

‘And I believe they include medical knowledge?’

‘And if they did?’ he replied.

‘I am curious to know whether they tell of secret substances, which might give visions…’

Pentu regarded me very carefully.

‘If such substances existed they would only be revealed to men whose exceptional wisdom and status conferred on them the right to such knowledge. Why, in any case, do you want to know?’

‘Because I am curious.’

‘That is not the kind of approach that encourages one to reveal closely guarded secrets,’ he replied.

‘Nevertheless. Anything you could tell me would be very useful.’

He hesitated.

‘It is said there exists a magical fungus. It is only found in the boreal regions. It is supposed to grant visions of the Gods…But the truth is, we know nothing certain of this fungus, and no one in the Two Lands has ever seen it, let alone experimented with it to prove or disprove its powers. Why do you ask?’

‘I have a hunch,’ I replied.

He was not amused.

‘Perhaps you need more than a hunch, Rahotep. Perhaps it is time you had a vision of your own.’

Through that last night of the journey, the King’s fever worsened; he was in appalling pain. The black shadow of infection continued to consume the flesh of his leg. His thin face took on a clammy, sallow complexion, and his eyes, whenever they flickered open, were the dull colour of ivory. His mouth was parched, his lips were cracked, and his tongue was yellow and white. His heart now seemed to have slowed, and he barely had the power to open his mouth to take water. Pentu finally treated him with the juice of the opium poppy. It calmed him marvellously, and suddenly I understood its power and attraction.

Once, in the small hours, he opened his eyes. I broke with protocol and took his hand in mine. He could barely even speak in a whisper, struggling to enunciate each word through the softness of the opium trance. He looked at the protective Eye of Ra ring he had given me. And then with enormous effort, summoning his last reserves of strength, he spoke.

‘If my destiny is to die, and pass to the Otherworld, then I ask this of you: accompany my body as far as you can. See me to my tomb.’

His almond-shaped eyes gazed earnestly at me from his gaunt face. I recognized the stark lineaments and the strange intensity of approaching death.

‘You have my word,’ I said.

‘The Gods await me. My mother is there. I can see her. She calls to me…’

And he looked up into thin air, seeing someone I could not.

His hand was small, and light, and hot. I held it between my own as carefully as I could. I looked at the Eye of Ra ring he had given me. It had failed him, and so had I. I felt the delicate slowness of his fading pulse, and attended carefully to it, until just before dawn when he let out a long, last gentle sigh, of neither disappointment nor satisfaction, and the bird of his spirit went out of Tutankhamun, Living Image of Amun, and flew into the Otherworld for ever; and then his hand slipped gently from mine.

The Beloved of Amun sailed silently into the Malkata harbour just after sunset on the next day. The darkening sky was suitably ominous. No one spoke. The whole world seemed silenced; only the sombre, steady splash and draw of the oarsmen made any sound at all. The water bore an odd, flat, silky grey sheen, as before a sandstorm. On the long stone quay of the palace only a few figures waited. I noticed only one lamp was lit along the dock. We had sent a messenger ahead with the news, the worst news. We should have been returning with the King in glory. Instead we were bringing him home to his tomb.

I stood beside the King’s body. It seemed so small and frail. It was now wrapped in clean white linen. Only his face was displayed, calm and still and vacant. His spirit had left. All that remained was this stiff shell. There is nothing emptier in this world than a dead body.

Simut went ashore, while I waited with the King for the guards to arrive. I heard their feet upon the gangplank, and then in the silence that followed Ay entered the royal cabin. He stooped over the body of Tutankhamun, contemplating the reality of the catastrophe. Then with effort he bent lower to the King’s left ear, the ear through which the breath of death enters. And I heard him whisper: ‘You were a useless child in life. Your death must be the making of you.’

And then he straightened up stiffly.

The King lay unmoved by this upon his golden deathbed. Ay scrutinized me briefly, his eyes like little stones, his cruel face untouched by feeling. Then, without a word, he gestured to the guards to bring the King’s body on its bier, and they carried him out.

Simut and I followed the bier through the endless corridors and chambers of the Malkata Palace, which were absolutely deserted. I suddenly felt we were thieves returning a stolen object to its tomb. I reflected that at least we were not yet in fetters. But that might only be a matter of time. No matter what the truth of this accident, we would be blamed for the King’s death. He was our responsibility, and we had failed. Suddenly I wanted badly to go home. I wanted to walk away from this chamber, and these indifferent corridors of power, and cross the black waters of the Great River, and go quietly up my street to my house, and close the door behind me, and curl up beside Tanefert, and sleep, and then, when I had slept for many hours, wake up to the simple sun, and for this all to be nothing but a dream. Reality was now my torment.