Tutankhamun: The Book of Shadows

was a very personal desecration.

The carving had been discovered in a box earlier that day, within the royal quarters, during the hours of the performance of the festival. It bore a label offering the contents as a gift to the King and Queen. No one recalled its arrival, and there was no record of its presentation at the gate to the royal offices. It just seemed to have appeared from nowhere. The presentation box itself was unremarkable-a carved chest, probably made of acacia wood, of Theban design and craftsmanship. I rummaged through the straw in which it had been packed. No note. No message. The desecrated carving was the message. It would have taken some effort to acquire it, for Akhetaten, the City of the Horizon, although not entirely deserted, was slowly returning to the dust of its making, and almost no one went there any more. It had the reputation of a cursed and abandoned place now. Together with Khay, we stood pondering this enigmatic object.

‘And you think this stone is connected to what happened today at the temple, and that between them they constitute a threat against your lives?’ I asked.

‘Each event by itself would be considered alarming. But both in one day…’ she replied.

‘What happened today, and the appearance of this stone, are not necessarily connected,’ I said.

‘How can you be sure?’ said Ankhesenamun quickly.

‘The public event was a consciously political act of dissent. But this is more personal, and private.’

‘That sounds a bit vague,’ said Khay, airily.

‘The first was a crude gesture made by a group who had no other means by which to express their opposition and anger. They had no other way to approach the powers that be than to throw something at the King during a ceremony. For all the drama of its effect, that is hardly the action of powerful people. They are outsiders, without real influence, on the margins of society. This is different: it is more potent, more meaningful, and more sophisticated. It implies knowledge of writing, and of the power of names, and of the effect of iconoclasm. It has needed considerable preparation, as well as inside knowledge of the security of the royal quarters. Therefore we can assume this act has been committed by a member of the elite, and probably by someone within the hierarchies.’

‘What are you implying?’ said Khay, stiffly.

‘That it was delivered from within the palace.’

‘That is quite impossible. The royal quarters are carefully guarded at all times.’

‘And yet here it is,’ I said.

His narrow chin was raised now. He bristled with righteous indignation, like an angry bird. But before he could interrupt, I continued: ‘Also the perpetrator is very sure of what he is doing, for this has the intention of creating fear where it does the most damage. In the mind of the King, and those close to him.’

They both stared at me, disconcerted. I had probably said too much, by imputing to the King any kind of human weakness. But it was too late now for protocol and correctness.

‘…Or so the culprit would seem to hope. Can I assume no one knows anything of this?’

Khay looked as if he had eaten a sour fruit.

‘Ay has been informed. He requires to be informed of everything that happens within the royal quarters.’

No one spoke for a moment.

‘You will know what I am going to ask you,’ Ankhesenamun said, quietly.

I nodded.

‘You wish me to find out who is responsible for sending this object, and for its hostile desecration.’

‘Someone malicious has access to the royal quarters. They must be discovered. But we need more than that: I want you also to attend my husband and me as our-private protector. Our guardian. Someone to watch over us. Someone unseen by others…’

‘You have the Palace Guard,’ I said.

‘I cannot trust the Palace Guard.’

Each sentence of this conversation felt as if it was leading me deeper and deeper into a trap.

‘I am one man.’

‘You are the only man. And that is why I have called for you.’

Now the last of the doors that might still have led away from here and back to my own chosen life closed silently.

‘And what is your answer?’

Many answers jostled in my mind.

‘It will be an honour for me to fulfil the promise I made to your mother,’ I replied eventually. My heart was knotted tight at the consequence of these few words.

She smiled with relief.

‘But at the same time, I can’t abandon my family…’

‘Perhaps that is all to the good. This must remain a secret between us. So you should carry on normally, and then-’

‘But Ay knows me. Others will know of me. I cannot be here in secret. It would make my task impossible. You should simply say you are employing me, in addition to the Palace Guard, because of the threats you have received. Say I am independently assessing the internal security arrangements.’

She glanced at Khay, who considered the options, and then nodded once.

‘We accept this,’ she said.

The thought of the double life ahead made me anxious. And, I had to confess, excited. I had promised Tanefert I would not forsake the family. But I reasoned I would not be breaking that vow, for I would not need to leave the city to pursue this mystery. And there was little enough work for me at the Medjay headquarters, under Nebamun’s thumb. I wondered why I was persuading myself.

Khay was making the kind of noises that indicated it was time for us to depart. We offered our formal farewells. Ankhesenamun held my hands between her own, as if she wished to seal there the secret things that we had spoken about.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes brimming with accomplished sincerity. And then she smiled, more openly and warmly this time, and instantly I glimpsed her mother’s face; not the beautiful public mask, but the warm, living woman.

And then the great double doors were silently opened behind us, and we retreated, backwards, bowing, until the doors closed again and we found ourselves in that endless, hushed corridor, with its many identical doors, like a scene from a nightmare.

I needed to piss, and I wanted to see whether the rumour about the water supply was true. Khay took me down a side corridor. ‘Third doorway on the left.’ He sniffed. ‘I will await you before the Queen’s chamber doors.’ He turned away.

I entered. The space was long and narrow with a stone floor on which were painted pools of water, with gold fishes swimming. A lattice drew in the cool scents of the night. A few tapers swayed in the breeze of my appearance. I did what was necessary. It sounded too loud, in the awful, almost religious, hush. I felt as if I were pissing in a temple. Then I washed my hands in the basin, pouring water from the jug. No miracles of plumbing here. I was drying my hands, when I sensed something-a prickle of the hairs on my neck, a blur of something across the polished surface of the copper mirror-and in an instant I turned.

The woman watched me knowingly, her clever eyes shining in the dim light, her black hair tied severely behind her head, her face angled and strangely gaunt, her robes like a dress of shadows.

‘Do you know me?’ she said, low and quiet.

‘Should I?’

She shook her head, disappointed.

‘I came to tell you my name.’

‘In the toilet?’

‘I am Maia.’

‘Your name means nothing to me.’

She clicked her tongue in annoyance.

I finished drying my hands.

‘I was the wet nurse to the King. He fed from me from the day he was born. Now I care for him as no one else can.’