this is what happens next. And then he disappeared from view.
I had no time to concern myself with him now. My immediate duty was to take the family to some kind of shelter, away from Horemheb, and then consider the next move. I glanced at Senet, who was carrying the baby Setepenra. Her face was stricken. She was looking in the direction where Ay had been standing. What was he to her? Then Khety appeared at my side and picked up Nefernefrure, I grabbed Ankhesenpaaten and Nefernefruaten, and, pulling Senet along with us, we ran against the force of the wind and the grit towards the further pylon. Nefertiti followed with Meretaten and Meketaten, pulling Akhenaten by the hand. He was struggling to hold his crown on his head as he hobbled against the storm that had brought him and his new world low.
We made it to the lee side of the eastern pylon. The storm had driven everyone else to the western end of the temple; the soldiers, too, had abandoned their positions and fled. But Khety and I could see shapes and silhouettes among the grey blur of the dust-armed figures advancing towards us, pushing aside the few aged or lost souls still stumbling about in utter confusion and despair, blinded by the violence of the dirty wind. I attempted to look around the corner, and saw that the worst was yet to come: the great wave of the storm was poised over the city. We were trapped.
‘How do we get out?’ I yelled over the screams of the wind.
‘Inside the sanctuary!’ Nefertiti shouted back.
I looked again and saw, running through the storm and pushing aside all who stood in his way, a familiar, hulking outline, with a close-cropped head of tight curls. Mahu. He would reach us in a very short time.
We ran into the forbidden interior of the sanctuary. At a point in the stone wall where a figure of herself was painted, Nefertiti pushed open a narrow, low door which I would never have seen. I looked back and saw Mahu enter the sanctuary; he called out but I could not hear his words. I had no intention of asking him to repeat them. I hurried everyone inside and closed the double door behind me, sliding across the strong wooden bolt to secure it. Suddenly the pandemonium of the storm seemed muffled. The glorious golden regalia of the royal family now looked fake, shoddy, something from a dressing-up box. Akhenaten had transformed into a confused old man, unable to look anyone in the eye. The girls were frightened, coughing and clinging to their mother, who smoothed their hair and kissed their dusty eyes. Outside, the wind and Mahu rattled, banged and shouted, trying to get in. Khety and I allowed ourselves the luxury of a quick grin at the thought of the chief of police hammering furiously on the other side.
There was almost no light at all. My head swam with dizzy constellations. Then someone was pulling a flint, and there was a spark. The little light hesitated, then leaped to life. We huddled around the flame. Akhenaten glanced at Nefertiti with fury. He was about to speak when she raised her fingers to her lips. Even now she was in control.
A newly lit lamp revealed steps disappearing down into darkness. Nefertiti, this woman of passageways and underworlds, led us down and we followed, grateful to be moving, glad of direction. No-one spoke, and when one of the girls started to cry with fatigue, Nefertiti calmed her. Where the passage divided she unerringly chose her direction. After what seemed a long time, we found another set of stone steps, half buried in sand, leading up to a wooden trap door. I pushed at the door, but it gave barely an inch. I tried again, struggling against some unexpected weight. It must be the sand, deposited above us: whole landscapes could change overnight after such storms, becoming unrecognizable. It was possible we would not be able to escape the Otherworld here. I looked at the lamp flame. It was diminishing. Khety joined me under the door; we both heaved our shoulders into place and pushed hard. The thing moved perhaps a cubit, then a torrent of cold sand poured in. We spluttered and coughed as the door slammed back down. We pushed again, grunting and groaning like performing strong men, and the trap door creaked over our heads and gave way, bit by bit, as more sand poured over our heads.
Strong light blinded us. We had emerged onto the desert plain to the east of the central city, next to an altar. Luckily, no-one was near. I shaded my eyes. I looked back at the city and could see how the storm, vanished now as if it had never been, had blown off roofs and piled up slopes of debris against the walls of the main buildings. The real devastation would be in the streets, and I could imagine the chaos there. And here was its magus, Akhenaten, squinting and shuffling from foot to foot in the wilderness, his great dream, it seemed, blown away.
We could not remain standing here in the heat and light. We needed sanctuary, water, food and a plan. The city lay one way, but it promised great danger. All the opposition would be hurrying to take advantage of the disaster of the storm, with its implicit judgement of the god, the catastrophic failure of the Festival, and the blow to Akhenaten’s prestige and power. I remembered the look of intent upon Horemheb’s face. I could imagine he would be capitalizing on the situation immediately. The desert lay the other way, and it offered nothing but bad spirits and death. Our only choice was to seek refuge in one of the tombs in the cliffs, preferably one closer to the river, and then use the river as a means of escape. But to where? I stopped the thought. There was no time for such considerations at the moment. They could come later.
‘The tomb artisans might keep basic supplies of water and food,’ I said. ‘We could rest, at least.’
Nefertiti nodded.
We began walking towards the northern cliffs taking as distant a route as possible from the limits of the city. Khety, Senet and I each carried one of the younger girls on our shoulders, while the older daughters walked. Nefertiti sang to them like a mother now, but their father continued to shuffle and mumble to himself behind us. Meretaten walked sulkily at his side. Such was the royal family on the evening of this strange day.
By the time we reached the tombs, the sun was once again descending over the far western cliffs. Our lengthening shadows trudged and stumbled beside us. The girls were desperate with thirst; they had all fallen silent, and the younger ones had nodded off to sleep. We stood at the base of the ramps of sand that led up to the tomb entrances, which were set perhaps fifty cubits up in the rock faces of the cliffs, some with their columns and doorways almost completed, others no more than low wooden gates guarding the laborious work in progress. Khety and I slipped the sleeping girls off our shoulders and quickly and silently ran up the ramp to check whether they were truly deserted. We moved from chamber to chamber, but there was no-one there. Just piles of tools and, luckily, pots of relatively fresh water.
‘Pick a tomb,’ I said to the Queen.
She did not smile, just pointed to one furthest to the west. Its entrance was knee-high with sand and grit. We stepped down into this little interior desert, under the as yet uninscribed lintel, and entered a grand, square chamber, perhaps twenty cubits high. So this was how the rich spent their wealth. It was very large and beautifully proportioned; cut from the rock, it must have required the labour of many skilled artisans over several years. The ceiling was supported by a forest of powerful columns, all white except where their middle sections bore painted carvings. The walls were painted with unfinished scenes and dominating every wall were carved images of the royal family worshipping the Aten, and of the family in turn being worshipped by two kneeling figures, a man and a woman.
I looked closely at the face of the rich man whose eternal resting place this would be. It was very familiar. And then I suddenly understood whose tomb we were hiding inside-Ay’s. I looked at Nefertiti. Her face was turned away from the walls, towards the last of the golden evening light entering directly through the main door. She had chosen this place. She had wanted to come here.
41
The last of the light faded to black. The Queen sat outside watching, her arms around her dozing girls, her gold costume dulled and streaked with dust and sand. Senet sat near, frozen despite the heat of the evening. Meretaten was awake, sitting a little apart, staring not at the sunset but at the ground. Her mother glanced across at her, but seemed to decide to leave her alone for now. Akhenaten remained in the tomb chamber, huddled on a pallet in a dark corner.
Khety and I found lamps, and a small supply of twisted wicks.
‘They add salt to the oil,’ he said, whispering for no reason. Perhaps because we were in the presence of Akhenaten; perhaps because we did not want to hear our own voices in the dead acoustic of the chamber.
‘Why’s that?’
‘To stop the wick smoking and spoiling the ceiling work. Look.’
He stepped up a ladder that was leaning against an uncarved column and revealed, in the light of his lamp, a
