Chapter VII
It was nearing sundown as the somber procession made its way from the river’s western bank inland toward the raised plateau and its vast necropolis. To the north standing in silent witness of this progress towered the massive Step Pyramid of Djoser with the last rays of the sun painting an orange to pinkish blush across the smooth limestone blocks of its western angles and the vertical surfaces of its sacred wall. Ancient beyond calculation even to the inhabitants of this ancient land, this man-made mountain atop the Sakkara plateau had already become synonymous with that first primeval mound that had signaled the act of creation itself. The architect of this monumental complex, a man named Imhotep, had also become by the Eighteenth Dynasty far more than a mere mortal, and by the next millennium, would be worshipped outright as a god.
Heady incense perfumed the air as eight white-kilted sem-priests of Ptah with leopard skin padded shoulders bore the elegant cedar coffin that was decorated predominantly with the feathered pattern that represented the bird-like ba, or soul of the deceased. This feathery motif was then further augmented with an overlay of the blue and gold vulture wings of Nekhbet that embraced, wrapped around, and protectively overlapped across the lid of the anthropoid shape.
It was a classic example of what later specialists in the field of Egyptology would call a rishi, Arabic for “feathered.” A religiously conservative style that began during the Theban Seventeenth Dynasty, it was particularly favored during the first half of the Eighteenth Dynasty as well. Its presence here, at this time, was clearly an idiosyncratic anachronism on the part of the deceased.
The formalized face on the coffin was of gold foil with inlaid eyebrows of the darkest ebony and shockingly lifelike eyes of white quartz centered with black basalt pupils. The whole was framed within a helmet-like black wig. A vertical ribbon made of inlaid ebony characters against a gold foil field ran down the center of the figure’s length to the curve of its upturned base. The inscription proudly announced who the occupant was.
The venerable and noble first servant of the Great God,
The Osiris Meryptah,
Exalted among men for his wisdom,
Beloved of Maat,
Righteous of spirit,
Most worthy to sit among the gods as one.
In this case such weighty words were not a falsely stated sham, for this man had indeed lived them to the fullest and during a time of Egypt’s greatest religious upheaval.
The procession snaked its way this way and that among the many and crowded lesser funerary monuments of the plateau that included long dead pharaohs of the earliest dynasties and members of their court. A powerfully muscled sem-priest led them. He carried before him the instruments necessary for the deceased’s final ceremony of The Opening of the Mouth. In one hand smoked an incense burner that produced sometimes lingering, sometimes swirling, clouds of myrrh. Such heavily fragrant smoke, it was believed, purified the way for the deceased. In the priest’s other hand was held a curiously shaped object called the nua Wepwawet, “the path-opener tool of the jackal god.” This implement is often depicted as being held before the mummy’s mouth as well as the nose, ears, and eyes during this ceremony, which magically gave the mummy the critically important abilities to speak, smell, hear, and see, not to mention to eat and drink in the afterlife.
While the tool’s actual purpose is poorly understood by moderns, ancient Egyptian religious sensibilities relied upon its magical efficacy. While a fully intact mummy was necessary in order to properly house for eternity the deceased’s ba, or spiritual double, a fully functional mummy was required if the deceased was to enjoy the fruits of the afterlife or sample any gifts of bread and beer placed before the tomb. The proper magical application of the nua Wepwawet allowed for this physical functionality. As for the tool itself, it was nothing more than a stylized version of a physician’s long-handled tongue depressor. It is neither a sculptor’s tool, nor agricultural adze, nor the celestial shape of the Big Dipper as interpreted by some modern scholars. Thus, we should really understand The Opening of the Mouth ceremony more appropriately as the “opening of the throat.”
The name for the leading sem-priest who carried these sacred objects, Mayneken – “young lion” in the ancient Egyptian tongue – was a most appropriate appellation for this second servant of the god Ptah. Evidence of that fact was clear to anyone with eyes as he bore across his back four magnificent scars that stretched from his right shoulder blade to almost his left hip. These warrior scars, it is said, were earned while he dispatched a dying she-lion armed only with a knife.
Besides these scars, this Mayneken also wore the ambassadorial signet ring of the Lady of the Two Lands, Queen Nefertiti. As the bearer of this ring, it made the priest-warrior her personal adviser – in essence her remote eyes and ears.
Mayneken was also the journeyman assistant of a once powerful seer-priest of Ptah known as Piankhotep, who was well known for his miraculous curative powers and second sight.
As if this were not a sufficient biography, Mayneken was also the adopted elder brother of the hereditary prince of Memphis, Horemheb, and the adopted son of the deceased – hence his foremost role in the burial of that much-revered high priest of the Great God Amen Re.
With so much importance and influence placed within his grasp, this seer-priest-warrior, royal ambassador, adopted member of a noble family, and a high priest, Mayneken possessed a remarkably centered character and uncommon way. His rise to these positions of trust and influence was not through guile or mischief, but rather through his unwavering sense of loyalty and recognition of place. That he possessed considerable wisdom there could be no doubt. That he possessed a poet’s quality of speech was a true joy to behold. That he possessed the speed of a cheetah and was a master of the arts of war – beware unto those who should choose to challenge him!
As this meandering processional group neared the twin entrance pylons of Horemheb’s own family mortuary complex, Mayneken’s eyes began to flood as they had when he had first found the elderly priest had gone West. Remembering back to that heartrending moment, the priest vividly relived finding him that early morning, having died peacefully in his sleep. Mayneken had gently stroked the stubble of Meryptah’s usually smoothly shaved pate, noted the bluish hue of his cool skin, saw the lifeless sag of his peaceful face, and the dried rivulet of drool from the corner of his mouth. These were the images that had come to mind shortly followed by the crushing sense of loss, the rage, bottomless sadness, and finally the sublime feeling that Meryptah’s time had finally come. This last had prompted the priest-warrior to whisper a wish of “safe journey” into his elder’s left ear and caused him to place a kiss of farewell upon his forehead.
After much grunting and groaning, Meryptah’s cedar coffin was carefully lowered down the eighty-foot shaft and maneuvered to its final resting place upon the magical bricks within the high priest’s single-chambered tomb. Prior to Mayneken’s performance of his religious duty, the high priest of Ptah, Ptahmesou, offered to his deceased colleague and older brother heartfelt words truly meant that were filled with the imagery and theology so typical of Memphis and its patron deity, Ptah. That finished and after first purifying the tomb with incense, Mayneken acting as both officiating sem-priest and adopted son, then led The Opening of the Mouth ceremony. He began by intoning the opening words of that magical ritual, while brandishing the nua Wepwawet before the mouth of the coffin lid.
I open your mouth, so that you may speak,
I open your eyes, so that you may see Re,
I open your ears, so that you may hear of your glorification,
And I grant movement to your legs, arms, and heart,
So that you can repulse your enemies.
When ceremony was completed, all turned to exit the tomb except Mayneken, who carefully placed on the floor before the coffin a festive meal of roasted duck, quail, pork ribs, several cheeses, breads, and sauces. These were accompanied with some forty sealed beer jars and fifteen wine amphorae of several vintages – all generously provided by the estate of Prince Horemheb. Finally, the adopted son concluded the rite by placing before the tomb’s inner entrance a fragrant bouquet of the old priest’s favorite flowers. To it he attached a papyrus roll bound with blue yarn that began with the following pious words.
My father, your faithful son
but not of your loins
Blesses your final journey
through the Amduat
May you live for eternity
Thereafter, with Horemheb and the chief guard of the necropolis as witnesses, the tomb’s narrow entrance was filled in with rough masonry and plaster. As a final seal, a smoothed layer of plaster was applied and its still moist surface stamped everywhere with the seal of necropolis. Once so capped and with the laborers gone, the tomb’s entrance was then cunningly hidden by more plaster by Horemheb’s own foreman. That task finished, the four climbed the temporary ladder of the shaft into the starry dark of the late evening.
Tired, yet pleased with the course of things thus far, the foreman and chief guard then assured the hereditary prince and the sem-priest that the shaft would be filled in that very night with rubble and any evidence of its existence would vanish from sight before the appearance of Re’s next appearance. While the prince remained confident of their word, the sem-priest did not. Although Mayneken’s attitude annoyed the prince, vexed the foreman, and outright angered the guard at the implied insult, the sem-priest and warrior held his vigil nonetheless throughout the rest of the night and into the morning to bear witness that all was completed as promised. As the final block was carefully placed and a layer of waterproof plaster smoothed over its edges, then, and only then, did the priest-warrior begin to relax. The foreman and chief guard had indeed kept their word, for the shaft’s entrance had been placed in the northwestern corner of the mortuary temple’s own internal reflecting pool. To Mayneken, its placement had been perfect.
“After all,” he reasoned aloud to the pair, “who in their right mind would even look for such a thing?”
“Noble Mayneken, now that the final affairs of your father have been attended to, what are your plans?” queried the hereditary prince of Memphis.
“My noble brother, I think it would be best for me to journey south to that ‘other’ capital, the former capital of the heretic who-has-no-name. After all, the Lady of the Two Lands still dwells there, as do the remnants of her family. Eventual preparations for their departure to Thebes must be made, and no doubt, a myriad of other details as well. Do you wish me to take to her a personal letter, some news, a greeting perhaps?”
While pinching in thought his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, the Horemheb considered Mayneken’s offer.
“Yes, my elder brother,” he said with a smile. “Yes indeed, I do wish to send a letter to the queen. Allow me a few moments with my scribe in which to gather my thoughts, and then be off with you.”
The prince thought to add, “And my brother, make use of my river craft for it is a swift one with broad sails, well provisioned, and,” now broadly smiling, “is without lice and fleas.”
As Mayneken made his way south toward the capital of Akhetaten – the center of Egypt’s religious revolution and former residence of the heretic pharaoh Akhenaten – the Inundation had fully made its impact upon this parched land. The Nile’s muddy brown water, saturated with fine and fertile silts transported all the way from Central Africa, had flooded both banks and was advancing inland by almost a third of their predicted extent. Once cracked mud banks were long submerged and only the tops of the dense papyrus rushes peeked above the water’s surface.
Lotus tendrils stretched out in the flood’s gentle current as if they were the long tresses of a goddess’s hair. The trunks of date palms, submerged up to a quarter of their height, seemed to swell before your eyes as they gorged themselves on the plentiful and rich moisture. Irrigation ditches, which only days before were cracked and dry as a bone, were now in full spate as the Nile’s waters flooded into them and filled their associated retention pools.
Mud brick farmhouses that were purposely built near the river’s edge on low mounds now appeared as isolated islands with clusters of waving humanity crowded on their flat roofs and with farm animals penned within their courtyards. Larger animals, the oxen and cattle, gleefully wallowed in the knee deep waters occasionally flopping over, rolling, bellowing, and splashing in the slow moving and muddy slurry. Here and there displaced river crocodiles slowly moved like logs among the cattle in search of any predatory opportunities.
Birds clustered in ridiculous and precarious bunches atop everything and anything above the flood’s waters. Flocks of waterfowl alternately darkened the sky with their riotous plumage before landing and creating floating carpets of color. But above all, it was the rich mucky smell of the flood waters that overwhelmed the senses. The black earth of Egypt was clearly in full renewal.
But other matters intruded upon this priest’s otherwise unconscious recording of his riverine observations. They took the form of a nagging suspicion based upon a subtle shift in emphasis, a thought itching to be scratched, and all because of those enhanced skills of observation implanted within him by Doc Allen.
Mayneken deeply thought.
Yes, the northern Memphite dialect was indeed quite different from that of southern Thebes, and at times, even a bit amusing. No, that was not it. But what was it? Now I recall. It was something that the high priest of Ptah had said. Something he had mentioned at the funeral just prior to Meryptah’s final entombment. Something about the god Ptah.
Ah, yes, now I remember. It was that sublime Memphite benediction so pregnant with meaning. That’s what it was! The high priest obliquely referred to creation as being the authoritative utterance of a thought by the god Ptah. How different the religious perspective is of this Memphite priesthood! How cerebral in comparison with the creation theology of Thebes, where Atum and Amen Re begat creation as a mere autoerotic act.
And then there is something curious about Ptah’s name itself. But just what is it?
Upon arriving at the eastern quay of Akhetaten, Mayneken noted that the level of the usual hustle and bustle had not diminished since the passing of the heretic, a secret assassination that he had successfully participated in. His coregent, Smenkhkare, who had assumed the throne shortly after his father’s mysterious disappearance, did so under the most fragile of political fictions. His “reign” would only be a matter of months before unknown agents would permanently remove him from the scene.
Fortunately, little of this deadly intrigue affected the royal court and general population. The markets remained crowded with day-to-day commerce and the docks were clogged with river craft of all descriptions. River ferries crisscrossed here and there, going this way and that in dizzying patterns. The docks themselves were veritable hives of loading and unloading activity with boat captains and merchants haggling in their usual, distinctive, and time-honored ways. Products from all over Egypt were in evidence as were the distinctively painted transport amphorae from the island civilization of Minoan Crete and that of mainland Mycenaean Greece, long and narrow wine jars from the coastal city of Syrian Byblos, and even a large aromatic load of Levantine cedar wood.
With his private craft tied up near the southern limit of the long quay, Mayneken disembarked and made his way through the morning market area that was in full swing before the heat of the day. For the young priest, his sense of déjà vu was unmistakable as was an oppressive guilt as he wandered here and there, looking for and unerringly finding public water wells – wells that he himself had seeded only two years before with the Russian manufactured flu crystals. Rumors that had reached Thebes told of a virulent outbreak of plague that had claimed hundreds and even members of the royal family. Looking around, Mayneken could only marvel at the town’s recovery. It was as if it had never happened.
Now munching on a proffered sweetbread roll that a merchant refused to accept payment for, the priest gave the middle-aged woman a short bow of thanks nonetheless, which earned him a wide-grinned smile in return.
Such generosity granted to a strange priest.
Then peering down at the rippling muscles of his six-pack, he reconsidered.
Well, maybe she thought I was just undernourished. Mothers are always mothers, no matter when, no matter where, no matter who.
More by instinct than anything else, the priest-warrior worked his way through the market district of Akhetaten’s main thoroughfare. Called the Royal Highway by modern archaeologists, this generally straight, broad, and paved road coursed along a north-south orientation. The town itself was sandwiched between the Nile’s course and a crescent arc of towering limestone cliffs to the east. Along the paved road’s course were located the Royal Palace and its residences connected by a flyover structure that bridged the Royal Highway to the Aten Temple and its many subsidiary structures. At the northern limit of the city a cluster of impressive structures were built now known as the Northern Palace. It was these last structures that were Mayneken’s goal – the household of the Lady of the Two Lands, Queen Nefertiti. As her personal advisor and ambassador, he carried a letter for her from his recently adopted brother, Prince Horemheb. Besides, Mayneken reckoned that it was indeed high time to check in with her highness before he returned to sacred Thebes and eventually his own proper place in time.
The sensation was certainly different, and Richards never, ever, seemed to get used to it, or even know what to expect next. To him, moving through the electromagnetic field of the Soap Bubble’s drop ring had a sort of sticky, humid feeling to it, accompanied by either a mild case of disequilibrium, slight nausea, or at worse some muscular cramping. Fortunately, never did all three occur at once. Equally fortunate, all of these sensations passed quickly. He had discussed them with Doc Allen at Horizon Pass. Had been poked, prodded, and stuck, but nothing seemed to be amiss. As the good doctor from Norman, Oklahoma, liked to say, “If it isn’t broken and I can’t find it, then I have nothin’ to fix.”
Waiting on the other side at 2:12 a.m., August 14th, Major Charles Tuna Abraham Cartwright of the U.S. Army’s Special Command Detachment stood patiently next to the floating drop ring of portable Mark V-A temporal device. The man expected a certain “big fish” to yank on the line extended into the ring’s field that would be hauled on by the raw muscle of three of his team. The means of extraction was a braided hemp rope and an ancient-looking wooden pulley attached to a wooden beam on a pivot. None of these materials were conductive and neither would any of these simple implements alter the time line, if they happened to collapse and drop through to the other side.