He lies deep within, sealed into his new world for ever, in total darkness, in total silence, in total sleep. He awaits his ka to deliver him from his slumber. And then, as he languishes in the secure silence, he hears faint noises at the doorway, far away in the blackness. The sounds grow louder. Suddenly a distant rumble as the first mud bricks in the doorway are smashed inward and fall to the stone floor of the corridor. The thud of a body dropping to the floor. Another. And another. And then voices. Echoing towards him as they grow louder. They are in the upper chamber now. Many loud crashes as they sort chaotically through the funerary equipment, tearing the gold plate from the furnishings, tossing the wood aside, rummaging through the boxes of toiletries, bagging the ushabtis, tearing the jewels from the clothing, stripping the gold from the royal weaponry, ripping the gold statues from their cases, emptying the boxes of their jewellery.
They come ever closer, scurrying down the final corridor. The cacophony of noise is all about him as they hunt through the piles of grave goods stacked box upon box in the storerooms adjoining his burial chamber. The sounds of destruction are everywhere.
Then, a sudden silence.
There are the voices once again. They are very close now; they are all around him; even above him. He senses their hands on the roof of his shrine. The pop of rivets as they begin to dismember it, prising away the sheet gold, ripping at the walls, tearing the one from the other, tossing the panels aside.
Another silence.
There is the sound of copper on stone and the great stone lid to his sarcophagus begins to shift. As it is levered up a little, at one corner the seal breaks and there is a rush of exchanged air. Then a loud grinding as it is slid over to one side. It tilts under its own weight and crashes to the ground, breaking into pieces.
They are now inside contaminating the sanctity of his holy burial. The sheets are pulled off. There is a frantic tugging at his coffin set. He rocks within as the lid of the first is torn from its dowels and thrown to the ground. Then the second. Gasps of excitement as the robbers look upon the third coffin. Here and there, where the holy unguents did not adhere, glimpses of gold flash in the flickering light of the oil lamps.
With far greater difficulty, the third lid is slowly raised, tipped and allowed to fall to the floor, rolling unceremoniously onto its face. The robbers cover their ears. The deafening, blunt echoes of solid bullion striking stone fill and refill the chamber – for minutes it seems.
And then he feels the frantic digging of fingers seeking for a purchase around the edges of the mask upon his head. His body rocks from side to side until the mask loosens and is ripped from his face, the bandages and some of his facial skin tearing off with it. His body falls back into the coffin. The clawing, grubby hands grab him by the feet and drag him out and over the lip of the stone sarcophagus. The oily, bandaged body in its crimson shroud, stiff as a log, falls to the floor and rolls onto its back.
The dark shadows of anonymous common criminals tower above him. He stares up into their faces – Pharaoh at the mercy of scum. He struggles to move but his arms, tightly bound within the mummy bandages, are fixed rigidly across his chest. As Pharaoh calls to the gods for help, one of the infidels raises a hatchet high above his head and, with all the strength he can muster the robber brings it sweeping downwards. The blade chops deep into the mummy’s chest…
An excerpt from Tutankhamun Uncovered, by Michael J. Marfleet.
Copyright 2009-2010 Michael J. Marfleet. All rights reserved.
Published by Apex Publishing Ltd.
