‘What brings you back to the palace after all this time?’ he asked.
‘I’m accompanying the royal envoy, Nakht. But in a private capacity, as it were. I’m really only here for show…’
‘Ah,’ he said, delicately grasping my meaning. ‘Well, it’s good to see you. How long has it been?’
‘A while,’ I replied, carefully.
‘Best not to dwell too much in the past,’ he offered. ‘Although the present isn’t promising, either. And as for the future…’
He shrugged his big shoulders. And then he added quietly: ‘She still asks after you, from time to time, you know.’
I felt ridiculously gratified to hear the Queen still remembered me.
‘I hope all goes well with her,’ I said.
He glanced up and down the corridor to check we were alone.
‘The Queen’s position is delicate. She is greatly admired, and many still love her with the old devotion. But when Ay dies she will be extremely vulnerable. People in power are weighing up their alternatives. Without Ay she will not be able to control the army-indeed, no one could. Horemheb is on the warpath all right…’
‘I thought he was far away, in the northern lands, fighting the Hittite wars?’ I asked.
‘Indeed, he is supposed to be. But…’ he leaned in closer, and lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘… no one knows exactly where he is. He might be in Memphis, or he might be with his battalions. Things have changed, you know, especially the business of war. He’s taken it all into his own hands, built a new network of garrisons, changed the whole management of the conflict. The grand old days of heroic and mighty armies clashing on the field of battle in blood and bravery are a thing of the past. Now there’s a new strategy-low-key occupation of cities and towns. The garrisons control the ways and the trade routes. And…’ he lowered his voice even further, ‘… he’s set up a very efficient new system of army messengers. Basically, he’s created his own intelligence network, independent of the palace-’
I was about to ask Simut more about this when the huge, gilded ceremonial doors before me suddenly opened. We both leapt to attention. Nakht appeared, but instead of departing, as I had expected, he absorbed the little scene of my dialogue with Simut; and then, to my astonishment, he invited me into the great Audience Hall.
‘Life, prosperity, health.’
I offered the royal greeting, on my knees, my head bowed.
My words echoed quietly among the columns of the great, hushed hall.
‘Stand up, Rahotep.’
There was a warm pleasure in the voice of Ankhesenamun, She Who Lives through Amun, the Queen of Egypt, as she spoke my name.
I looked up. She sat on a gilded throne set on a dais at the end of the hall. Her face had changed. The soft, delicate, slightly unfocused youthful features I remembered had acquired great beauty and angularity, and more authority, without losing the charismatic glow that became her so well. There was a new depth of understanding in her eyes. She wore a highly fashionable black wig, perfectly curled, cut precise and short under the back of her head, that framed her face perfectly. It enhanced her beauty and added a powerful, stylish severity. Her diaphanous pleated gown was elegant and elaborate, with a knot under her left breast, leaving one shoulder bare. She wore a magnificent, inlaid gold vulture collar and the rearing gold cobra of the uraeus on her brow, to express her royal authority. On her wrist she wore a gold bracelet inset with a large lapis lazuli scarab. She was composed and regal. She had grown into herself. She had become Queen. I felt unexpectedly moved, as if she were a youngster I had once admired, and now met again as a famous and accomplished adult. But as I looked into her eyes, I realized she was also extremely tense, coiled with an anxiety she struggled to disguise.
And we were not alone. On the other gilded throne set upon the dais, I saw a strange bundle of linens. And then I realized the bundle was alive. It was Ay, Doer of Right, King of Egypt. The last time I had seen him he had been suffering from the misery of toothache, sucking on a lozenge. Now, in his shroud of white linen, and with an exquisite gold ankh amulet hanging around his scrawny neck, he looked like something that should have crossed the border between the living and the dead long ago. I observed the blunt facts of his bony skull, his jutting, quivering jaw, and his crippled fingers. He seemed as shrunken and fragile as a wingless, featherless bird. His skin was thin and dry, stretched between bone and bone, blotched and stained purple and brown by time. But there was also a grim tension, a determined force that still held him together, and I realized that that tension was acute physical agony. For the left side of his face was completely disfigured by a vile canker. It seemed to be eating him alive. It was pink, red and black, and in places beaded with blood. It gave off a scent that was not of rotting flesh, but something more acrid and revolting and animal; I knew it would haunt me for the rest of the day. He panted lightly, struggling for each breath. And he could not speak. Only his right eye still seemed alive; and it gleamed with all the hatred of the pain destroying his body. Once, this diminished monster had held all earthly power in his hands; he had controlled kings, he had destroyed great enemies, he had waged war on other empires, and he had aspired to the status and power of a god on earth. And now he was nothing but skin and bone, and the grim black blossom of the canker that would soon destroy him.
In truth, the revenge of time on this tyrant seemed like earthly justice. But even I was shocked when I noticed the open canker’s wounds were dotted with tiny white eggs-and that, despite the attentions of the Bearer of the Fan who stood impassively behind the throne, waving the ornate ostrich-feathered royal fan, minute black flies whirred incessantly around Ay’s head in a quiet cloud. He gestured for me to approach, as if he wanted to communicate with me. He struggled to speak, but only weak grunts issued from his constricted throat. In a fit of impotent fury, he gradually raised his arm and pointed a quivering, gnarled finger at me, as if concentrating all power and meaning into the gesture. Then his eyes swivelled towards Nakht as if to say something; but suddenly he fell back, powerless, flopping weakly on to the arms of his gilded throne.
With surprising compassion, Ankhesenamun laid her warm, beautiful hand on his vile claw. This simple gesture seemed to draw him back to consciousness, and he revived slightly. There was a touch of froth on his desiccated lips. He gasped lightly for air like a suffocating fish. He had so desired immortal life on this earth, and now he was brought down to the simplest of truths: he would die, and very soon. The water clock of his life was nearly dry; the last drops were falling, slowly, slowly. He would soon lie in his magnificent tomb, encased in the gold and stone nest of his sarcophagus and coffins, waiting for the life after life. No doubt it was already well prepared.
Ankhesenamun nodded; four servants picked up the throne with little effort, and carried him away, out of the Hall, and into the private apartments beyond. I knew I would never see him again. And I could not help thinking the world would be better off without him, no matter what came next.
I wondered why I had been invited to witness this grotesque spectacle. I glanced at Nakht, who seemed to be unaffected by what had passed, and merely waited for the doors to close behind Ay. Then he bowed his head to the Queen, and waited. She seemed to have something she wished to say to me. She began to pace the great Audience Hall, moving through the elegant pillars, keeping away from the strong light from the clerestory windows, and within the deep shadows that lay across the beautiful painted floor. She gazed at the walls inlaid with coloured tiles depicting the victories of Egypt over her captive enemies-rows of Syrians with their arms behind their backs, Libyans kneeling, and curly-haired Nubians prostrating themselves.