‘Like what?’
‘Reform of corruption. Civil order to prevent the abuses of power. Justice.’
The old man waved his hands dismissively in the air.
‘What world are you living in? This is Egypt. Justice is for children. At the end of the day, gold talks,’ he said, rubbing his fingers together. ‘We need a strong king now, not a pretty girl. Don’t get me wrong, I pity the Queen, I do-imagine sharing a throne and a couch with Ay, who’s even older than I am! That can’t have been a pleasure, can it? Although I do know women respect a powerful older man…’
And he prodded the grumpy woman sitting next to him, who pitched in: ‘Do they? Well, I’m this one’s wife, and I can tell you it’s no pleasure sharing a throne and a couch with him,’ she said. ‘When he’s not talking, he’s snoring and keeping me wide awake. That’s the long and the short of his powers.’
The old man shook his head.
‘Well, mark my words. We’re going to have to celebrate the festival of a new king very soon. The general’s a man of the world. He knows one end of a sword from the other. He’s fought wars. He’s beaten the enemy. He’ll bring back order,’ he said.
‘I pity the Queen,’ said the wife, sadly. ‘She’s only a young woman alone in a world of bad men. I hate to think what they’ll do to her now. I wouldn’t be her for all the gold in Nubia.’
Once I had taken more of the opium and its golden bliss had calmed me, I sat looking out at the passing fields, where it seemed the terrible history of kings and generals never mattered, for the crops were ever the same, and the men and women toiling there unchanging in their endless labours. As I listened, the children along the water’s edge seemed to be calling into the golden dusk of a different world. I glanced back up the river, looking north. At this moment only fishing boats and a few cargo ships occupied its shining, languid waters. But in the next few days, Horemheb’s ships, loaded with thousands of soldiers in their divisions, would be sailing into Memphis, in preparation for the taking of Thebes. I thought of Ankhesenamun alone in her palace, and I wondered what I, an opium addict, and a disgraced man, could do to save her from the general’s revenge.
37
Hundreds of ships were crowded along the wharves of the great harbour of Memphis; regiments of soldiers marched down the gangplanks of transport boats and gathered in long lines on the quays awaiting their next orders. Horses and chariots were driven from their stalls, and the rich booty from the wars was unloaded by dockers and then swiftly transported away to the army depots by stevedores. Vast cargoes of grain were being measured by the weighers and their overseers, while scribes noted the transactions.
I went to the northernmost point of the docks, and settled down to wait, with a fresh roll to eat and a jug of beer. The jitters in my legs, and the crawling of invisible spiders through my hair and across my skin had faded as more opium calmed me. Around mid-afternoon, I spotted the military ship carrying the coffins among the busy river traffic. She negotiated a space on an outlying wharf, and docked. I watched as the gangplanks were lowered and a small military escort swiftly drew up with carts. Once more, there was a performance of military honours. The Official of the Dock and his scribe merely bowed their heads, and signed a papyrus of authorization; then the coffins were unloaded and driven away on the carts.
As they passed swiftly through the dock gates I saw one of the officers dismissing the port guards, who bowed and let them pass without checking their authorizations, and they set off along the paved stone ways of the city. I hailed a passing cart, loaded with vegetables, and bribed the driver, a surprised young lad, to follow them.
‘Where to, master?’ he asked enthusiastically.
‘No questions. Just follow those carts,’ I said.
He grinned. ‘Yes, boss!’
We followed them into the centre of Memphis, towards the district of the Temple of Ptah, whose pylons, enclosure walls and huge statues towered above the rooftops of the city’s buildings. But they did not pass across the open, western forecourt, choosing instead a series of side streets containing small businesses, and leading away from the city centre. They continued onwards until, just beyond the edge of the great city, they finally paused outside a well-kept workshop behind high enclosure walls; the gates were swiftly opened, and they disappeared inside.
‘Go on, tell me what this is all about,’ said the boy.
‘Sorry. I can’t,’ I said. ‘But know this; you’ve served the empire well today.’
His face lit up. I paid him off, and he drove away. The area I found myself in was inconspicuously ordinary; other workshops were scattered around, dirt tracks led in different directions, the shadows were occupied by sleeping dogs and unemployed men, and the dusty, derelict grounds between the buildings shimmered with heat.
I walked up to the entrance of the embalmers’ establishment, and saw the hieroglyph of Anubis, the Jackal, the One in the Place of Embalming, carved over the lintel. From inside I heard the sound of women weeping. I could smell death over the high wall. I knocked on the door.
Groups of mourners were gathered in the long, low public room. Some were waiting for the delivery of their relatives, ready for burial after the long rituals of mummification, while others, newly bereaved, keening and weeping, had come to negotiate with the embalmer. Two young men, neatly dressed, moved among them, taking orders, noting details, discussing the choice of coffins, and applying their consolations and commiserations with practised finesse. One nodded respectfully to me, indicating he would attend me as soon as possible.
Along one wall were displayed various coffins with different prices: cheap, simple boxes of roughly cut timber painted over with white plaster; and more costly ones in the form of a person, thinly gilded all over, with bands of painted inscriptions, and the wings of the Goddess Nut spread protectively over the lid. And then there were offerings of other necessary paraphernalia: canopic jars and chests of various qualities; gold-leaf eyes and tongues; gold finger-caps; masks; much funeral jewellery; heart scarabs and necklaces of scarabs; protective wedjat eyes; amulets of Isis suckling the baby Horus, of Anubis, the Jackal, and of Bes, the little ugly spirit who scares away demons; and tiny glazed hands, legs, feet, and hearts.
The two men-who looked like brothers-were preoccupied with their customers, and when both were turned away, I slipped through the doorway at the back. In contrast to the neat order of the public room, here everything was a mess of planks of wood and piles of supplies and materials. Ahead stretched a shadowy passage; I made my way carefully past a small, empty office where papyrus scrolls were scattered in great disorder. Next came the carpenters’ workshop; the sweet scent of wood shavings briefly masked the stench of dead bodies. I saw coffins in different stages of completion. An old man was focused upon his work, hammering and carving.
I continued down the passage, until it opened out into an open yard. On the far side, two bandagers were chatting casually as they quickly bound the feet of a desiccated corpse that had come to the end of the embalming process. Other withered, blackened bodies were waiting for their attention, stacked together on a cart. One worker sneezed, taking no care to protect the corpse, and the other laughed, and I took the chance to move past them, beyond more storage buildings, and peer into another courtyard. Here the stench intensified, for this was where the embalmers’ first work was undertaken. Perhaps ten corpses lay in the shade, on sloping slabs, their sides slit open, their internal organs not yet removed. Others, already eviscerated, were hidden under mounds of natron salt. And several new arrivals simply lay, undignified, naked and dead, in the open air, awaiting attention. There was a large guard dog chained in the corner, his head on his paws, watching and waiting.