Tutankhamun: The Book of Shadows

their sweating servants holding sunshades over their masters. I noticed a street dog running along beside this strangely sombre cavalcade, roving in and out of the shadows of the trees and the marching soldiers. He barked and barked, baring his teeth as if he had seen the shadow of an enemy, or an intruder. Suddenly one of the Theban soldiers shot it dead with an arrow. The crowd turned in fear; but no one panicked, and the cavalcade continued.

By the time the procession arrived at the temple entrance, sweat was running down my spine. A linen awning had been set up before the huge double doors, decorated with gold and silver, which led to the new Colonnade Hall. The King’s grandfather had begun its construction in my own youth, with an ambitious plan to replace the warren of small, ancient shrines with what was to be a vast, dark modern structure, with towering stone columns big enough to hold crowds of people on their broad tops. It was to be the wonder of the world, and today I would be exceptionally privileged to see it with my own eyes.

The area before the temple was crowded with thousands of priests in robes-so many they made the immense open space look like a great white lake when they prostrated themselves. The temple musicians struck up a new rhythm and melody. Simut’s gaze was everywhere, considering all the contingencies, checking the position of his archers on the perimeter walls, the precise formation of his guards that flanked the King and Queen in protection, and examining everyone and everything with his dark eyes. This time there could be no mistakes, no surprises of blood, and no mass panic.

Finally, to a fanfare from the temple trumpets, raised and shining in the light, we processed through the great doors, under the huge carved stones of the outer walls, and into the great colonnade. My first impression was of a realm of shadows. Perfectly carved columns, of a much greater circumference than any palm tree-of the circumference of ten trees-soared up into the cool, dark, mysterious air; fourteen of them, in two great rows, each perhaps thirty cubits high, holding up the massive roof span, like a colossal arcade of stone under a night sky of granite. Thin shafts of light slanted down from the high, narrow clerestory windows, in slices and slivers of intense brightness; insubstantial motes drifted and danced for a brief instant of glory. Wherever the intense light touched the stone, it illuminated the detail of the painted carvings that covered every surface.

The long train of dignitaries and officials shuffled in behind us, all gathering, pushing and complaining to find a place to stand under the vast columns. The grand architecture of the hall made them seem diminished and unimportant. They sounded like a herd of goats, breathing, coughing, shuffling and whispering their little comments of amazement at their first view of this new wonder. Yet these were the men who controlled the power and the glory of the kingdom. The men of the royal domain, the men of the bureaucracies, and the men of the temples; all those who had lost their power and wealth under Akhenaten, the King’s father, and now had it back, claiming to have restored maat to the Two Lands. Of course, what had truly been restored was their implacable authority and licence to control and develop the infinite resources and business opportunities of the lands for the benefit of their own treasuries. And the King himself, however passively, was the icon of this restoration. In another temple precinct, at the Karnak Temple, early in his reign, he had ordered-or rather, Ay had ordered in his name-a stone stela to be set up on which was carved a statement for all time, and its words were well known: ‘The land was turned upside down and the Gods had turned their backs on the entire land. But after many days my majesty rose upon the throne of his father and ruled over the territory of Horus, both the Black Land and the Red Land being under his control.’ And so it now seemed, for what was left unfinished by the grandfather was completed in the presence of the grandson; and that strange interregnum of Akhenaten had become a piece of great forgetting, his buildings unattended, his images ignored, his name unspoken, his memory unworshipped, as if he had never been. Only the memory of his religious enlightenment, and his attempt to take all power from the traditional priests, remained, repressed but powerful for many.

The royal group were invited to examine the wall carvings that ran all along the length of the new, enclosing walls. Priests held up torches, or gathered together in groups so that their white robes reflected and enhanced the slanting light, to reveal the detail of the brightly painted raised relief work where it lay obscured in the darkness. The flickering flames seemed to make the colourful images move. I worked hard to keep my position close to the King and Queen, but also because I was curious to see these wonders. Firstly, by the entrance, a strong ray of sunlight, by coincidence or contrivance, illuminated the carved features of the King himself. I watched as he stood before his carved stone image greeting the God of the temple. Tutankhamun, flesh and blood, with his childish fears and delicate face, assessed his stone reflection, which bore the wide shoulders and decisive, authoritative gestures of a King. I must confess here they looked unalike, but for the carefully rendered similarities of the profile and the ears.

Everyone moved on, shuffling along the long west wall. Here were carvings describing the water procession of the Gods to Karnak during the Opet Festival. Here were the agile acrobats and the barges with their rigging observed in minute detail, and the blind musicians with their instruments. It seemed each face was a portrait of an individual I might have recognized in a crowd. I wondered if my own face, and those of my family, might also be among them.

Then, with much jostling and tension, the royal group, attended by the officials and servants, moved across to the opposite wall, which continued the story of the festival. Tutankhamun and the Queen moved slowly along, reading the images carefully, as they listened to the High Priest and his acolytes who leaned respectfully towards them, whispering praises and information, no doubt alluding to the astonishing cost and the remarkable statistics of this great work of the temple’s glorification to the King’s and the Gods’ images. The event was following its ordained course.

They returned towards the entrance, and were invited to examine the last register of the wall carvings near the corner, describing the most important scene-in which the King entered the presence of the God within the shrine-when something happened. Tutankhamun was reading through the inscriptions of this most holy moment, under the direction of the High Priest-when suddenly he stepped backwards in alarm. The High Priest, profoundly shocked and ashamed, held his own hands up before his eyes, as if he had witnessed an appalling desecration. Instantly the palace guard moved into a defensive posture around the royal party, bristling with drawn curved daggers. Behind me, people craned their necks to see what was going on. I pushed my way forward, through the guards. Ay was already scrutinizing the carving the High Priest was pointing to with his staff. He allowed me to stand close to him, in order to examine it. In a cartouche, the King’s royal names had been completely erased.

Ay took charge. He spoke quietly to Tutankhamun, who was trembling, while Ankhesenamun tried to help him drink water. He ordered the desecrated carving to be concealed from view, and strictly instructed all those who had seen it never to speak of it on pain of death. The names would be recarved immediately. Ankhesenamun was whispering into Tutankhamun’s ear, and finally he nodded. Then, pretending all was well, the royal party continued with the tour. As she passed by, Ankhesenamun glanced at me. But we could not speak.

We all moved quickly back through the Colonnade Hall, between the great columns, and onwards into the Sun Court, where more crowds of priests had gathered and prostrated themselves in the sunlight of midday, dazzling after the soaring darkness, before the King and Queen. The procession stayed within the high shade of the great papyrus columns that ran along three sides. We walked around the Court in a strange hush-for everyone now knew something troubling had happened, and yet the ceremony continued as if nothing had changed. From there we entered the oldest part of the temple. I found myself in an ancient darkness. Everywhere the carved image of the old King Amenhotep dominated, making offerings to Amun-Ra, God of the temple and the city. The royal party continued through a pillared offering chamber. Along the walls, carved into the eternity of the stone, Amenhotep drove the sacred cattle, and made the ritual offerings of flowers and incense in the place where the gold barque of the God would rest during the festival. Beyond this point I had heard there were many small chapels leading from the Divine Sanctuary, and even smaller antechambers along the side walls, where, folded in deep shadows, stood images of the Gods fashioned in gold. But neither I nor almost any other man could continue beyond this point. Only the King and the highest-ranking priests could enter the Sanctuary of Amun himself at the dark heart of the temple, where his statue, which gave him earthly presence among men, was worshipped, fed and robed.

This was the moment, and Tutankhamun had to go forward alone into the mystery of the Sanctuary. Ankhesenamun could accompany him into the antechamber, but no further. He looked nervous, but seemed to take courage. Ankhesenamun and the King moved forward and disappeared together, and all was silence.

Rich drifts of incense and sweat rose up from the heat of all those human bodies crowded into the small chamber, and in the Sun Court behind us. Prayers were intoned by ranks of priests. Sistra were shaken, tinnily. The temple chantresses intoned the hymns. Time seemed to stretch on and on…I saw Ay raise his head slightly, as if wondering whether all was well.