Nick Drake - Tutankhamun - The Book of Shadows

I examined the patches of spattered blood, now sticky and congealed in the sun to black puddles. Thoth sniffed delicately at the blood, his eyes flickering up at me. Flies fought furiously over these new riches. I carefully picked up one of the bladders, and turned it in my hand. There was nothing sophisticated about it, or about this act. But it was radical in its originality, and the crude effectiveness of its abomination; for the perpetrators had humiliated the King as well as if they had just hung him upside down and smeared him in dog shit.

I walked beneath the carved stone image of our standard, the Wolf, Opener of the Ways, and entered the Medjay headquarters. I was instantly assailed by chaos. Men of all ranks hurried about, yelling orders and counter-orders, and generally demonstrating their status and appearance of purpose. Through the crowd, I saw Nebamun, Head of the Thebes Medjay. He stared at me, obviously annoyed to find me here, and gestured bluntly in the direction of his office. I sighed, and nodded.

He kicked the door shut in its shoddy frame, and Thoth and I sat patiently on our side of his not very neat low table, covered with papyrus rolls, half-finished snacks and dirty oil lamps. His big face, always shadowed with bristles, looked darker than ever. He glanced disdainfully at Thoth, who gazed back at him undaunted, as he pushed the various documents about with his stubby fists-he had the wrong hands for a bureaucrat. He was a man of the street, not a papyrus man.

He and I had avoided speaking directly to each other, but I had tried to show I bore him no resentment at his promotion over me. His was not the job I desired, despite my father’s disappointment, and Tanefert’s wish. She would prefer me to inhabit the safety of an office; but she knows I hate being trapped in a stuffy room mired in the tedium and nonsense of internal politics. He was welcome to it all. But now he had power over me, and we both knew it. In spite of myself, something rankled in my guts.

‘How’s the family?’ he asked, without much interest.

‘They are well. Yours?’

He gestured vaguely like a bored priest waving away a troublesome fly.

‘What a mess,’ he said, shaking his head. I decided to keep quiet about what I had seen.

‘Who do you think is behind it?’ I asked innocently.

‘I don’t know, but when we find them, and we will, I am personally going to rip their skin from their bodies in long, slow strips. And then I will stake them out in the desert under the midday sun as lunch for the bull ants and the scorpions. And I will watch.’

I knew he did not have enough resources available to investigate any of this properly. In these last years, the Medjay budget has been cut again and again, in favour of the army, and too many ex-Medjay were now unemployed or else working-for better remuneration than they had ever received within the force-in private security operations for rich clients and their families, at their homes or their treasure-filled tombs. It created an uncomfortable circumstance in which to run the city force. So he would do what he usually did when faced with a real problem: he would arrest some likely suspects, invent a case against them, and execute them for show. Such is the process of justice in our time.

He lolled backwards, and I saw how his belly had expanded since he had been appointed to his new role. Fat, with its implication of wealth and ease, seemed to be part of his new self.

‘It’s been a while since you had one of your big projects, eh? I expect you’re sniffing around for a place in the investigation…’

The way he eyed me made me want to walk out.

‘Not me. I’m enjoying the quiet life,’ I replied. He looked offended.

‘So why the hell are you here? Sightseeing?’

‘I examined a dead body this morning. A boy, a young man, under interesting circumstances-’

But he didn’t let me finish.

‘Nobody gives a fuck about a dead kid. Write a report, file it…then do me a favour and go away. There’s nothing for you here today. Next week I might be able to find you a few bits and pieces to mop up, when the others have finished. It’s time to let the younger officers have their chance.’

I forced myself to smile, but it felt more like the teeth-baring of an angry dog. He saw this. He grinned, stood up, walked around the table and with mock officiousness opened the door. I walked out. It slammed shut behind me.

Outside, hundreds of unfortunate men and women of all ages were crowded into the courtyard, crying out their innocence and their petitions, or yelling abuse at each other. Many thrust out offerings of anything they possessed at this moment-jewellery, rings, clothing, even an occasional message scratched on to a shard of stone-to try to secure freedom from the guards. No one took any notice. They would be held arbitrarily, for as long as required. Medjay officers methodically and mercilessly bound the wrists and ankles of any not yet trussed up.

I passed through the low dark entrance to the prison block, and immediately smelt the hot, stable stench of fear. In small cells, shackled prisoners were being tortured, their feet and hands twisted, or struck with hard blows, while their confessors quietly repeated the same questions, over and over, as a father might address a lying child. The prisoners’ pitiful laments and pleas went unacknowledged. No one could endure such pain, and fear of pain; and so of course long before the cutting knives were produced, and their sharp blades shown to the victims, they would say anything they were told to say.

I saw her in the third holding cell. She was crouched on the fetid ground in a dark corner.

I entered the cage. The prisoners made way for me, fearfully, as if I would kick them. She kept her face hidden under her black hair. I stood before her.

‘Look at me.’

There was something about her face, when she raised it-perhaps its pride, perhaps its anger, perhaps its striking youth-that touched me. I wanted to know her story. I had a feeling that the kind of injustice that deforms a whole life had been visited upon her.

‘What is your name?’

She maintained her silence.

‘Your family will be missing you.’

She sagged a little. I knelt down closer to her.

‘Why did you do it?’

Still nothing.

‘You know there are men here who can make you say anything they want?’

She was shivering now. I knew I should report her. But I realized in that moment I could not do it. I could not deliver this girl alive into the hands of the torturers. I could not have lived with myself.

She turned her face away, waiting for her fate to be decided. I stared at her. What should I do?

I pulled her up roughly, and took her out of the cell. I was well known enough not to need to show any of my identity papers to the guards. I simply nodded at them, as if to say-‘she’s mine.’ Then I pushed her before me along the stinking passage.

We turned a corner, into my office, and fearing the worst, she began to struggle violently.

‘Be quiet, and be still,’ I whispered urgently. I quickly cut the ropes that tied her hands and feet. A look of grateful astonishment dawned on her face. She was about to speak but I gestured to her to remain absolutely silent. I cleaned her face as best I could, with a rag dipped into the water pot, and as I did so I questioned her.

‘Speak quietly. Who ordered this action?’

‘No one ordered it. We acted ourselves. Someone has to protest against the injustice and corruption of this state.’

I shook my head at her naivety.

‘Do you think throwing blood at the King will make a difference?’

She looked at me with contempt.

‘Of course it will make a difference. Who has ever had the courage to take a stand before? No one will forget this gesture. It is only the beginning.’