Nick Drake - Tutankhamun - The Book of Shadows

We were escorted to the King’s chamber, and left to wait outside. Time passed slowly, obscurely. Muffled voices, sometimes raised, carried through the thick wooden doors. Simut and I glanced at each other, but he gave nothing away of what he was thinking or feeling. Then the doors suddenly opened, and we were admitted.

Tutankhamun, Lord of the Two Lands, was laid out upon his couch, his thin hands folded across his thin chest. He had not yet been properly attired for death. He was surrounded by the toys and game boxes of his lost childhood. They seemed now to be his grave goods, the objects he would truly treasure in the Otherworld, rather than the golden paraphernalia of royalty. Ankhesenamun gazed at the dead face of her husband. When she looked up at me, her face was hollow with sorrow and defeat. How could she forgive me? I had failed her as much as I had failed the King. She was alone now, in this palace of shadows. She had become the last living member of her dynasty. No one is more vulnerable than a widowed queen without an heir.

Ay rapped his walking stick suddenly upon the floor stones.

‘We must not indulge our grief. There is no time for mourning. There is too much to be done. It must appear to the world that this event has not occurred. No one may speak of what they have seen. The word death will not be spoken. Fresh food and clean linens will continue to be delivered to the antechamber. His nurse will continue to attend him. But his body will be purified and made beautiful here, in secret, and since his own tomb is far from ready, he will be buried in my tomb in the royal necropolis. It is suitable, and it will not take long to adapt. The gold coffins are already being prepared. His burial treasures and his funerary equipment will be assembled and chosen by me. All of this will be done swiftly, and above all secretly. When the burial has been accomplished, in secret, then, and only then, we will announce his death.’

Ankhesenamun, stirred from her grief by this astonishing proposal, broke the silence that followed.

‘That is absolutely unacceptable. The obsequies and funeral must be conducted with full honour and dignity. Why must we pretend he is not dead?’

Ay approached her furiously.

‘How can you be so naive? Do you not understand that the stability of the Two Lands is at stake? The death of a king is the most vulnerable and potentially disastrous time in the life of a dynasty. There is no heir. And that is because your womb has failed to produce anything other than stillborn, deformed infants,’ he sneered.

I glanced at Ankhesenamun.

‘So the Gods have willed,’ she replied, staring at him in cold anger.

‘We must take control of this situation before chaos overwhelms us all. Our enemies will attempt to destroy us now. I am God’s Father, Doer of Right, and what I decree will be. We must maintain the order of maat by all means necessary. The Medjay divisions are even now being given instructions to prevent public and private association, and to use all means to quell any signs of public unrest on the streets. They will be stationed throughout the city, and along the temple walls.’

It sounded like preparations for a state of emergency. What dissent could be so alarming? Who did he mean as the enemy? Only Horemheb. He was Ay’s greatest threat at this moment; Horemheb, General of the Two Lands, could easily mount a campaign for power now. He was young, he commanded the majority of the divisions of the army, and he was intelligently ruthless. Ay was old. I looked at him, with his painful bones and teeth, and his rage for order; his earthly power that had seemed so absolute for so long, suddenly seemed vulnerable, and weak. But it would not do to underestimate him.

Ankhesenamun saw all of this.

‘There is another way. All of this would be resolved by a strong and immediate succession. I am the last of my great line, and in the name of my father and grandfather, I claim the crowns,’ she countered, proudly.

He glared at her with a contempt that would wither a stone.

‘You are nothing but a weak girl. Do not indulge in fantasies. You have tried to oppose me once, and failed. It is necessary that I will crown myself King shortly, for there is no one else fit to govern.’

She was provoked now.

‘No king may be proclaimed before the Days of Purification are completed. It would be sacrilege.’

‘Do not contest my will. It shall be so. It is necessary, and necessity is the most compelling of all reasons,’ he shouted, his cane quivering in his hand.

‘And what of me?’ she said, intently, calmly composed against his rage.

‘If you are lucky, I may marry you myself. But it depends how useful such an arrangement would be. I am by no means convinced of its value.’

She shook her head in derision.

‘And how is it for you to be convinced of anything? I am Queen.’

‘In name only! You have no power. Your husband is dead. You are quite alone. Think carefully before you speak again.’

‘I will not tolerate you addressing me in this way. I will make a public proclamation.’

‘And I will forbid that and prevent it by any means necessary.’

They stared at each other.

‘Rahotep is assigned as my personal guard. Remember that.’

He merely laughed.

‘Rahotep? The man who guarded the King, and brought him home dead? His record speaks for itself.’

‘The King’s death was not his fault. He is loyal. That is everything,’ she replied.

‘A dog is loyal. That does not make him valuable. Simut will provide a guard. For now, you may mourn in private. And I will consider your future. As for Rahotep, he was given a clear responsibility, and yet the very worst has happened. I will decide his fate,’ he said casually.

I had known these words were coming. I thought of my wife and my children.

‘What about the lion?’ asked Simut. ‘The King cannot be seen to have returned without the trophy.’

‘Kill the tame one, and display it,’ replied Ay dismissively. ‘No one will know the difference.’

And with those words he departed, insisting she accompany him. Simut and I remained standing before the slender body of the King, the young man whose life had been entrusted to us. He was the very image of our defeat. Something was finished here, in this bundle of skin and bone. And something else had begun: the war for power.

‘I doubt even Ay can contain this,’ said Simut. ‘People read signs, and the King’s absence from public life will be noted very quickly. Coming immediately after the fanfare about the royal hunt, and the expectation of his glorious return, the speculation will be uncontrollable.’

‘And that is why Ay needs to bury Tutankhamun as soon as possible, and announce himself King,’ I replied. ‘And he needs to keep Horemheb at a distance for as long as possible.’

‘But the general is as watchful as a jackal. I am sure he will scent this death and seize his opportunity to confront Ay,’ said Simut. ‘It is not an optimistic prospect.’

We both stood staring down at the King’s delicate, dead face. It represented so much more as well: a possible catastrophe for the whole of the Two Lands if this power struggle were not swiftly resolved.

‘What worries me most is that Ankhesenamun is so vulnerable to both of them,’ I said.

‘That is a cause for deep concern,’ he conceded.

‘It would be a disaster if Horemheb returned to Thebes just now.’

‘And it would be a disaster if he entered this palace,’ said Simut. ‘But how can that be prevented while his wife resides here? Perhaps she should be sent away.’

This was news to me.

‘Mutnodjmet? She lives within the palace?’

He nodded.

‘But her name has never been spoken in all this time,’ I said.