We merged with a group of tourists heading for what looked like a small bazaar. Vendors had set up tables and tents to sell various souvenirs. Amon wandered off to take in our surroundings while I eavesdropped on a tour guide who was explaining how to buy tickets.
I took a map when he began passing them out, and I smiled and nodded at a middle-aged woman next to me, who said, “Isn’t this so exciting? I’ve always wanted to go to Egypt. My husband finally got us tickets for our thirtieth anniversary.”
“Congratulations,” I mumbled as I studied her profile. She and her husband would be an interesting duo to draw. The woman had curly red hair that was graying at the roots. It was loosely gathered in a ponytail, and a cheap plastic sun visor shielded her eyes. Her husband had a sunburned bald spot, cargo shorts hanging low beneath his potbelly, and a vacation beard. But it wasn’t their appearance that fascinated me; it was more the way they interacted with one another.
As the woman talked easily with strangers, the man remained quietly by her side, chuckling at jokes despite the fact that I was sure he’d heard them several times, and when he forgot where he had put his glasses and began patting pockets, she told him without even looking, “Check your head, dear.”
The woman clucked her tongue. “What would you do without me?”
Smiling, the man answered, “I’d never want to find out. Shall we go?”
With that, the couple headed off on their Egyptian tomb adventure after paying what I considered to be way too much for a flashlight and a stack of postcards.
Amon finally returned and pulled me away from the line. “I got us a map,” I declared as I held the document up.
“The map I require will be found within the tombs.”
“Really? How does that work exactly?”
“The tombs are all connected, and each one will provide direction to the next.”
“Are you sure? Because they made it sound like there are only small groupings of tombs. Nobody mentioned a tomb highway.”
“I am sure. I have discovered an entrance that is not as frequented. We will begin there.”
“Okay, lead the way.”
As Amon headed toward one of the entrances, I tagged along, trying to make sense of the map. “It says all of the discovered burial chambers are labeled with numbers according to the date of discovery. For example, King Tut’s tomb is called KV62, which means King’s Valley number 62. The most recent one, KV63, was rumored to be the possible burial chamber of the woman believed to be King Tut’s mother, Kiya, but it ended up being a storage cave, full of mummification paraphernalia. Hey, did you know King Tut? I mean, personally?”
“I am not familiar with this name.”
“Oh, his full name was Tutankhamun. He was a boy pharaoh.”
“It is pronounced toot-ahnk-ah-MOON. Tut means ‘the image or likeness of.’ Ankh is ‘living.’ And Amun represents the sun god Amun. So ‘Tutankhamun’ translates as ‘the living image of the sun god Amun,’ and to answer your question, no. His reign must have occurred while I slept.”
“I don’t understand. Aren’t you the living image of the sun god?”
“I have been imbued, gifted, with a portion of his power so that I may fulfill my duties, but I am not the sun god personified. It was common for the leaders of Egypt to align with one god or another. The pharaohs did this for two reasons. First, they believed that if they took the names of the gods for themselves they would receive divine aid, but perhaps more important, this also cemented the loyalty of their people. They made it so that to reject a pharaoh was to reject deity. This helped offset internal strife and rebellion.”
“But didn’t he know about you?”
“Who?”
“King Tut.”
“As the centuries passed it was considered safer if the leaders of the time were unaware of our presence. We did not wish to be seen as a threat or as a means of inciting revolt if the people were unhappy with the current politics. Our purpose was merely to protect the land from darkness, not to rule.”