Online Book Reader

Home Category

The Egyptologist - Arthur Phillips [157]

By Root 978 0
the wall grew real and three-dimensional, symbolic illustrations expanded to fulfil their meanings, and mummies (the king’s, most importantly) woke from their temporary sleep, reconceived and reborn for their journey to immortality. Statues of warriors (such as those that Carter stumbled into) would have come to life to guard the king. Pictures of money, food, arms, serving girls, celebrations, concubines—all of this would have served the king. And this being the case, human or animal sacrifice, whilst not unheard of, was generally unnecessary and thus very rare in Egypt. Given that, the presence of this very real cat likely means that an actual cat died, most likely a cat that Atum-hadu would have known and loved. This was probably his very cat, described in the History Chamber. Knowing what we do, we can speculate that he would have insisted that this being, which he adored and which adored him, must of course sit on his lap purring for all eternity. He raised her to immortality, promoted her from cat to cat-goddess.

It is late. I am tired.


Monday, 18 December, 1922

WALL PANEL K: “ATUM-HADU WITHDRAWS FROM COURT”

Text: Defeat followed on defeat. Atum-hadu prepared. Under protection of Nut, he carried goods from his palace across the Nile, and a friend illustrated his life upon these walls. He returned to court. The palace was lively, the people fornicated and drank. “Flee!” Atum-hadu ordered, but they laughed. “Do you know what is coming?” he demanded. “We do, and this is how we will wait,” they replied, and he loved them. The master of musicians bowed to him. “Here everything is magical.” Atum-hadu loved this gentle man. He embraced him in brotherly farewell.

Atum-hadu found one of his cats choked on a fish bone. The king’s sorrow devoured him, as if he were an old woman. The king wept at the implacable enemy that had chosen Atum-hadu at birth, wept like a child until sleep came.

Journal: When Carnarvon sees the twenty chambers still to come in this vast subterranean complex—even if they contain no further art or treasure—such a mysterious maze in itself will justify a second, fully funded expedition back to Deir el Bahari. Marlowe and I were unquestionably right: the tomb is here or near, quite close, perhaps only one hill away from this temple of history, or I am doubting too much, and the full tomb is here, behind one more door. Enough.

I take the sledgehammer to Door C, though I can hardly stand on my burning leg, and my gut is full of fire and smoke. My arms are puny. Two hours of hammering, and all I have is dust and pebbles throughout the Bastet Shrine, powdering the cat-goddess. I fell asleep just now. I will try the door again.

Evening, I believe, and now I have this:

(FIG. I: THE FIRST EIGHT CHAMBERS, 18 DEC., 1922)

Extraordinary find, beyond wildest dreams. The Chamber, the Hall of . The Chamber of Mysteries. The Hall of the Magician. The


Tuesday, 19 December, 1922

Journal: Fell asleep last night on the floor, exhausted from work, and this morning I am stiff in leg and neck. It was only from the hallooing that I realised I had been woken by Carter of all people. I was just able to reach Door A before he entered the tomb uninvited. He should know better, the old fool. I hobbled outside to greet the grand lord taking time out from his garish pit to visit the working man. He had me at a disadvantage in his efforts to sneak past me, as I was blinking, nearly blind in the sunshine.

“Hard to find you over here. So, it’s true what Carnarvon said? Uncovered something quick-quick, have you?” he asked. “My God, man, are you all right?” Carter was, as always, unnaturally obsessed with my health.

“Woke me from a dead sleep, old man, is all.”

“Well, congratulations to you, Trilipush. The gods seem to be smiling on us all this season.”

“Quite.”

“I take it you’ve notified Lacau, for an Inspector’s visit. What do you think you have in there?”

“In good time, Carter.”

He gazed at the opening of Door A in that nasty manner of his, no praise or criticism, just a calm and disinterested Eye floating disembodied,

Return Main Page Previous Page Next Page

®Online Book Reader