Tutankhamun Uncovered (22 page)

Establishing himself on the throne should not be hard, his lack of royal blood notwithstanding. He would marry it. That, and his historical achievements which had flawlessly ensured the personal security of his three previous kings throughout their individual reigns, should be endorsement enough.

But keeping himself securely established on the throne would be another matter. The legacy left by Akhenaten, still in living memory of the people, was one of negligent stewardship and bold blasphemy. The dead heretic’s energies had been wholly dedicated to the new religious order. He had all but ignored his duties as administrator of the State. These he had left entirely in the hands of Nakht.

The subsequent tenures of Smenkhkare and Tutankhamun were too brief to achieve much visible change. And the forthcoming reign of the aging Ay surely this would be little more than ephemeral? These were not hard acts to follow so long as he prepared himself well and was careful to avoid any glaring errors.

The longevity he sought he would secure for himself through force of arms only if absolutely necessary. Brutality was such hard work and he was experienced enough to realise that the factions that might rise against him would be difficult to eliminate completely. In one part of the empire or another the fighting would continue. It would be costly and he would perpetually fear for his personal security. He was not getting any younger. It would be all too troublesome a sovereignty all just too hard.

No. In the land of Egypt, blessed as it was with such bountiful resources those for subsistence, for trade, and for art, and all this combined with the intellectual and artistic capital of the people themselves there were far easier and less painful ways to mature a contented populace. He would redouble efforts to re-establish the old religious order at Thebes. He would make these projects highly visible. There would be new construction on a grand scale. There would be no idle hands with time for thoughts of mischief. Labour would be adequately compensated. The workers’ families would have full bellies. He would wipe the forbidden city off the face of the earth and let the desert reclaim it. He would use stone from the dismantled buildings as foundation and filling for the enormous new façades he would have commissioned in the old holy city, hiding the heretic’s art form from public view for ever. What he could not make or usurp he would destroy and bury. He would eradicate the corruption that presently infested officialdom. This he would achieve by ensuring that those highest in the pecking order maintained the standard of living to which they had by then become accustomed. He would ensure that these men, including his most senior military leaders and their large families, were well paid and provided with the best of creature comforts. For the plethora of lesser officials, including the walking militia, all those of no influential consequence to him, he would sign into law the severest penalties for any caught overzealously practising their official mandates and likewise reward those who identified such persons. And he would be ruthless in his execution of the law, making public examples of all those convicted and exacting punishment where he was assured the largest audience.

In this manner, he had no doubt, the people would observe real signs of prosperity and change for the better. The old religious order would renew their confidence in an afterlife. They would warm to him. And he would achieve that which he desired most maat on earth followed seamlessly by paradise in heaven and for all eternity.

Many commented on the general’s uncommon good spirits that day.

Ankhesenamun waited. Ipay did not return. No one came. There had been rumours heard mostly from her maidservants, and by now much embellished, who had heard them from those who brought supplies to the palace, who had heard them from tradesmen and tax collectors, who had heard them from nomads that the Hittite boy had set out on his journey but had expired in transit. The exact manner of his disappearance became the subject of many different interpretations. No one story prevailed.

The queen resigned herself to the finality of this setback. ‘Whatever is written’, she thought. But she could write history, too. In the weeks of waiting for her unfortunate suitor she had constructed a parallel plan much simpler, less dangerous and considerably less visible than that perpetrated by Horemheb. Its execution could attach no blame to her and, so far as Egyptian beliefs were concerned, it would be far more finally fatal to the general than the untimely death of her husband.

The Egyptian people fervently believed that tomb robbery and elimination of the inhabitant’s name shortly after burial, though common enough in practice, if not rectified through early reburial and accompanied by all the traditional ceremony, would bring eternal oblivion. The ‘journey’ could not be completed. If, once Horemheb himself had died and become entombed, Ankhesenamun could contrive to ensure the total loss of every piece of the grave equipment so judiciously placed to help speed the general’s spirit to the afterlife, including the complete destruction of his mummy, his death would become absolute.

She need take no active part in accelerating Horemheb’s mortality. She had trusted servants to whom she could discharge that duty. Even if she died before him, they would willingly and most assuredly execute her instructions.

But much time would have to pass before she achieved this final revenge. For now she must put her recent disappointment behind her and busy herself with her husband’s transition, the preparations for which had to be completed on time and without fault. As it was with the people, she also must ensure that Tutankhamun lived on so that she may join him later, ultimately blissfully in a world without end, and without the general.

In the midst of these thoughts she was interrupted by Tia, her oldest and most trusted maidservant. The woman announced that Ay was at the door to her chambers and wished an audience. The queen knew why he was here. She had considered the option herself now that it was certain the Hittite prince would never arrive. The thought had rested distastefully in her mind for some days, but she had never dismissed it entirely.

However, the sight of Ay at the door to her rooms his thin, lined face, his pale, almost opalescent eyes, his narrow lips, wet with the drool of advancing senility, his missing and blackened teeth, his wheezing, his arched back, his bony, gnarled hands, the rings hanging loosely around his fingers, the support of the guards on each arm did not endear him to her, and she knew he was about to ask for her hand in marriage.

He needed her to cement the line fully and, hopefully, to provide an heir. She needed him to be certain of acceptance at court through the next few vital years during which she would seek to complete her plan for reunion with her departed husband. Without endorsement through royal marriage she could be exiled. To contemplate the additional requirement that of the provision of an heir was, however, unthinkable.

Before Ay could take a breath and open his mouth to speak, the queen raised her hand. “I know why you have come. I accept your invitation. Legitimacy it is necessary for us both. However, there is a condition to our union. I will not share your bed. I will not bear your children. It is to be understood that this is a marriage of convenience for the two of us. I bring to it the substance of bloodline. You bring to it...” she paused, “...authority.” Her last word almost faded away to a whisper. “It is done,” she continued. “Summon the priests. We shall be married in the morrow. You may leave.”

The old man smiled ingratiatingly and withdrew.

It was with some considerable surprise and great pleasure that Ankhesenamun observed Horemheb demonstrate detailed, even devoted attention to the preparations for Tutankhamun’s funeral. He visited each grave goods workshop every day to check on progress with assembly and collection of the funerary paraphernalia. He had compiled the inventory himself. Some items were being manufactured especially for the burial, and some would be brought from the king’s quarters at the palace the dead king’s most personal things, those he used most frequently, those he loved to use, the trappings of everyday life that would provide him with comfort and security in their familiarity. Other items would be brought from available stock; some, originally meant for others, would be usurped and altered to personalise them to the boy king, particularly some of the larger objects, those more difficult to manufacture in the time remaining these were to come from the tomb of his brother.

The general had anticipated delay and had prepared for it. From Smenkhkare’s tomb the sarcophagus already had been removed for alteration. The outer coffin had been found to fit within that of the boy king almost perfectly and its interior was large enough to accept Tutankhamun’s inner coffin currently being manufactured in the goldsmiths’ foundry. Smenkhkare’s canopic chest had been usurped also and would be re-inscribed with the names of its new owner.

The stoppers to this chest were another matter. To establish a true likeness of Tutankhamun, Horemheb had ordered that they be remade. But the mason fashioning the heads had broken or chipped many pieces and had begun again so many times that he was falling well behind schedule.

“With respect, sire,” the unfortunate artisan complained to the general, “I am not used to repetitive work. Each piece I create is unique and unrepeatable. I cannot stop my hands from adjusting the pattern. Worse still, this type of work stifles my creativity. I cannot excel at it.”

The artisan felt well satisfied with this statement and mentally congratulated himself on the eloquence of its delivery.

Horemheb was not so impressed. He stared earnestly at the man. “At the discretion and generosity of the royal family you are granted supplies of food and drink more than sufficient for the sustenance of your wife, your children and the elders in your family. Are you not?”

The artisan gave a hesitant nod.

“What we ask in return is nothing more than the perfect product of your skills. If you are unable to perform this requirement, then return to the fields. I shall find another who can.”

The artisan opened his mouth as if to respond but became fearful that if he kept talking things could become a whole lot worse than working in the fields. Without a murmur he turned back to the work at hand.

Horemheb knew it was far too late. The sculptor was young and indeed most skilful. At some future date he could be assigned to the crafting of grave goods for the tomb of the general himself. This was particularly important to Horemheb. He did not want to turn the man against him. He would much prefer him a willing ally. ‘Mine shall be the finest. He shall help see to it,’ he thought.

“Artisan!” he bellowed. “Go to the stores and seek out the four original stoppers to this chest. The faces are not that dissimilar from Pharaoh. Bring them to me. We shall see if some small adjustment can be made to improve their likeness to our dead king. With this done to my satisfaction, you may return to your creative business. Away with you before more precious time is lost!”

The sculptor was only too glad of the change in orders and departed without hesitation.

Activity in the tomb workers’ community was now at fever pitch. A celebration of immense proportions was but weeks away. Each man who had a part to play in the preparations had committed himself to the task. Horemheb, on his rounds of inspection, did not have to chide any artisan for slack workmanship or tardiness. If there were errors, and there were many, the artisan responsible felt it more personally than the wrath or discipline of his master and set himself to begin again with greater energy than before.

The general also spent considerable time at the goldsmiths’. He went there in large part to view progress on the gold coffin that would enclose the king’s mummy. The immense mummiform casket had not been started until the time of the king’s death because up to that point Tutankhamun had barely reached adulthood and the correct size could not be determined. The job had to be completed from scratch in two months. So far, one half had been beaten to shape from sheet gold and was being burnished prior to engraving and inlay. The other still awaited the artisan’s hammer.

The carpenters had completed some adjustments to the facial features of the mask at the head of the lid to the second coffin that usurped from Smenkhkare and Horemheb stood back examining it closely to determine its likeness to the boy king. There was something distinctly dissimilar about it, however. The general regarded the face once more. It bore a more severe look than the expression on the outer coffin but its proportions the cheeks, the nose and mouth, and the forehead were roughly in balance and a reasonably correct likeness.

‘It is the ears that are wrong,’ he concluded. ‘Far too low on the head. No matter. Garlands of flowers in profusion will cover all the coffins at the time of sealing. No one will notice.’

The much larger outer wooden coffin was practically ready. The delicate carving had been completed, and it was being prepared for gilding.

The general moved on to find the object that, other than the mummy itself, was to become the most important symbol in the tomb. The elegant, solid gold statuette of a standing figure lay on a bed of straw on a small table in the corner of the foundry. Again in the likeness of the king, this glistening work of art was to represent the spirit of Tutankhamun himself. This particular piece had been originally cast a year ago and until the king’s death had stood in a dark sanctuary deep within the temple complex. Since it was already finished, all that remained was to put the final touches to its shrine, give it a last polish, and ensure its security until the funeral proceedings commenced.

Horemheb, notwithstanding his basic disdain for the boy king, felt moved by the figure. It elicited regal godliness and glowed with life. It stood less than a cubit high. An effigy of the king in sandalled feet, a corselet about his waist, his arms straight down by his sides with fists clenched, a broad necklace about his shoulders, the typically striped nemes headdress and the uraeus, the striking cobra, at his forehead, the raised arms symbolising ka on his wig. The eyes stared through all who gazed on them.