the next day. The darkening sky was suitably ominous. No one spoke. The whole world seemed silenced; only the sombre, steady splash and draw of the oarsmen made any sound at all. The water bore an odd, flat, silky grey sheen, as before a sandstorm. On the long stone quay of the palace only a few figures waited. I noticed only one lamp was lit along the dock. We had sent a messenger ahead with the news, the worst news. We should have been returning with the King in glory. Instead we were bringing him home to his tomb.
I stood beside the King’s body. It seemed so small and frail. It was now wrapped in clean white linen. Only his face was displayed, calm and still and vacant. His spirit had left. All that remained was this stiff shell. There is nothing emptier in this world than a dead body.
Simut went ashore, while I waited with the King for the guards to arrive. I heard their feet upon the gangplank, and then in the silence that followed Ay entered the royal cabin. He stooped over the body of Tutankhamun, contemplating the reality of the catastrophe. Then with effort he bent lower to the King’s left ear, the ear through which the breath of death enters. And I heard him whisper: ‘You were a useless child in life. Your death must be the making of you.’
And then he straightened up stiffly.
The King lay unmoved by this upon his golden deathbed. Ay scrutinized me briefly, his eyes like little stones, his cruel face untouched by feeling. Then, without a word, he gestured to the guards to bring the King’s body on its bier, and they carried him out.
Simut and I followed the bier through the endless corridors and chambers of the Malkata Palace, which were absolutely deserted. I suddenly felt we were thieves returning a stolen object to its tomb. I reflected that at least we were not yet in fetters. But that might only be a matter of time. No matter what the truth of this accident, we would be blamed for the King’s death. He was our responsibility, and we had failed. Suddenly I wanted badly to go home. I wanted to walk away from this chamber, and these indifferent corridors of power, and cross the black waters of the Great River, and go quietly up my street to my house, and close the door behind me, and curl up beside Tanefert, and sleep, and then, when I had slept for many hours, wake up to the simple sun, and for this all to be nothing but a dream. Reality was now my torment.
We were escorted to the King’s chamber, and left to wait outside. Time passed slowly, obscurely. Muffled voices, sometimes raised, carried through the thick wooden doors. Simut and I glanced at each other, but he gave nothing away of what he was thinking or feeling. Then the doors suddenly opened, and we were admitted.
Tutankhamun, Lord of the Two Lands, was laid out upon his couch, his thin hands folded across his thin chest. He had not yet been properly attired for death. He was surrounded by the toys and game boxes of his lost childhood. They seemed now to be his grave goods, the objects he would truly treasure in the Otherworld, rather than the golden paraphernalia of royalty. Ankhesenamun gazed at the dead face of her husband. When she looked up at me, her face was hollow with sorrow and defeat. How could she forgive me? I had failed her as much as I had failed the King. She was alone now, in this palace of shadows. She had become the last living member of her dynasty. No one is more vulnerable than a widowed queen without an heir.
Ay rapped his walking stick suddenly upon the floor stones.
‘We must not indulge our grief. There is no time for mourning. There is too much to be done. It must appear to the world that this event has not occurred. No one may speak of what they have seen. The word
Ankhesenamun, stirred from her grief by this astonishing proposal, broke the silence that followed.
‘That is absolutely unacceptable. The obsequies and funeral must be conducted with full honour and dignity. Why must we pretend he is not dead?’
Ay approached her furiously.
‘How can you be so naive? Do you not understand that the stability of the Two Lands is at stake? The death of a king is the most vulnerable and potentially disastrous time in the life of a dynasty. There is no heir. And that is because your womb has failed to produce anything other than stillborn, deformed infants,’ he sneered.
I glanced at Ankhesenamun.
‘So the Gods have willed,’ she replied, staring at him in cold anger.
‘We must take control of this situation before chaos overwhelms us all. Our enemies will attempt to destroy us now. I am God’s Father, Doer of Right, and what I decree will be. We must maintain the order of
It sounded like preparations for a state of emergency. What dissent could be so alarming? Who did he mean as the enemy? Only Horemheb. He was Ay’s greatest threat at this moment; Horemheb, General of the Two Lands, could easily mount a campaign for power now. He was young, he commanded the majority of the divisions of the army, and he was intelligently ruthless. Ay was old. I looked at him, with his painful bones and teeth, and his rage for order; his earthly power that had seemed so absolute for so long, suddenly seemed vulnerable, and weak. But it would not do to underestimate him.
Ankhesenamun saw all of this.
‘There is another way. All of this would be resolved by a strong and immediate succession. I am the last of my great line, and in the name of my father and grandfather, I claim the crowns,’ she countered, proudly.
He glared at her with a contempt that would wither a stone.
‘You are nothing but a weak girl. Do not indulge in fantasies. You have tried to oppose me once, and failed. It is necessary that I will crown myself King shortly, for there is no one else fit to govern.’
She was provoked now.
‘No king may be proclaimed before the Days of Purification are completed. It would be sacrilege.’
‘Do not contest my will. It shall be so. It is necessary, and necessity is the most compelling of all reasons,’ he shouted, his cane quivering in his hand.
‘And what of me?’ she said, intently, calmly composed against his rage.
‘If you are lucky, I may marry you myself. But it depends how useful such an arrangement would be. I am by no means convinced of its value.’
She shook her head in derision.
‘And how is it for you to be convinced of anything? I am Queen.’
‘In name only! You have no power. Your husband is dead. You are quite alone. Think carefully before you speak again.’
‘I will not tolerate you addressing me in this way. I will make a public proclamation.’
‘And I will forbid that and prevent it by any means necessary.’
They stared at each other.
‘Rahotep is assigned as my personal guard. Remember that.’
He merely laughed.
‘Rahotep? The man who guarded the King, and brought him home dead? His record speaks for itself.’
‘The King’s death was not his fault. He is loyal. That is everything,’ she replied.
‘A dog is loyal. That does not make him valuable. Simut will provide a guard. For now, you may mourn in private. And I will consider your future. As for Rahotep, he was given a clear responsibility, and yet the very worst has happened. I will decide his fate,’ he said casually.
I had known these words were coming. I thought of my wife and my children.
‘What about the lion?’ asked Simut. ‘The King cannot be seen to have returned without the trophy.’
‘Kill the tame one, and display it,’ replied Ay dismissively. ‘No one will know the difference.’
And with those words he departed, insisting she accompany him. Simut and I remained standing before the slender body of the King, the young man whose life had been entrusted to us. He was the very image of our defeat. Something was finished here, in this bundle of skin and bone. And something else had begun: the war for power.
‘I doubt even Ay can contain this,’ said Simut. ‘People read signs, and the King’s absence from public life will
