A queen shuffles silently behind her husband’s funeral procession. She keeps her eyes downcast to avoid the glare of the midday sun reflecting off the limestone cliffs rising from the valley floor, off his gold sarcophagus, borne by a team of four ochre red oxen. Ordinarily, she’d feel sorry for the beasts, knowing they’ll be sacrificed after the opening of the mouth ceremony. But not today. Today she feels like Anubis, the jackal-headed god of death, has opened his maws and swallowed her whole, engulfing her in darkness.
She pushes the heavy braids of her Nubian wig out of her eyes, lapis lazuli beads tinkling as she hooks them behind her ear, and a trickle of sweat runs down her forehead. Her own thoughts are drowned out by the brassy rattle of sistra and the shrieks and wails of mourners. The dancers twisting and contorting behind the sarcophagus beat their breasts and rake their long nails over their skin, drawing blood in their fits of grief. Tutankhamun has died, but Ankhesenamun feels like her life has ended.
The Boy Who Would Be King
Tutankhamun’s father, Akhenaten, was a game changer. During his turbulent reign, Akhenaten stripped the priests of Amun of their power, led his people out into the desert where he constructed a new, shining capital city that Bedouin tribes called Amarna, and began worshipping the sun itself, the almighty Aten. How were his reforms remembered? His people called him the Heretic and destroyed every trace of him after his death.
Enter Tutankhamun. He was the Heretic’s only son, a product of brother-sister incest when Akhenaten’s queen, Nefertiti (made famous by her extraordinarily beautiful bust) produced six daughters but not the required male heir. Just a boy when he assumed the double crown of upper and lower Egypt, he was effectively managed by two powerful men, the general Horemheb and the man who had served Akhenaten as an adviser before him, Ay. When the Heretic died, Tutankhaten—as he was known then—was pressured by his advisors to change his name to Tutankhamun, meaning The Living Image of Amun, to pacify his nation.
From the outset of Tutankhamun’s reign, the future looked promising. The great upheaval was over. Amarna was abandoned, the court moved back to the traditional capital at Thebes and the old gods were restored. He was only eight or nine years old when he achieved something his father never did—peace throughout the land.
Foul Play? Or Poor Genes?
Tutankhamun died when he was 18 or 19 years old. He was depicted as a healthy and active teenager, hunting ostriches from his chariot and holding court with his lovely wife, Ankhesenamun. But appearances can be deceiving. The Pharaoh was the living embodiment of a god, and Tutankhamun was no such thing. Not at all like the budding warrior his statues and engravings portrayed, he was a sickly adolescent. Still, his death was a sudden and unexpected tragedy to those close to him. His tomb was not complete, so Ay buried him in a great hurry in a smaller tomb not befitting his royal status. Not long after the limestone steps leading to his final resting place had been swallowed up by the scorching hot sands of the Valley of the Kings, a power struggle ensued.
Rumours that Ay was not ready to relinquish power when Tut was on the cusp of manhood spread like wildfire. When Howard Carter found the boy king’s final resting place in 1922, a fracture on the back of his skull reignited the hot topic. We know now that there was nothing nefarious about Tut’s demise. He was riddled with malaria, which weakened his immune system. Tut was finished off when he broke his leg falling out of his chariot and the wound became infected. However, that never smothered the rumours.
What Became of Poor Ankhesenamun?
Tut’s sister-queen, Ankhesenamun, purportedly sent word to the king of the Hittites, an emerging Anatolian civilization. She promised him the throne of Egypt if he would send one of his sons to marry her. The tablet found in the ruins of the Hittite capital in modern-day Turkey reads “My husband has died and I have no son. They say about you that you have many sons. You might give me one of your sons to become my husband.”
Being the Pharaoh’s sworn enemy, the king of the Hittites was of course confused. After some deliberation, he conceded and sent Ankhesenamun a mail-order husband. But dashing prince Zannanza was murdered before reaching Thebes. Being jilted at the altar was the final blow to Ankhesenamun’s already precarious position. Left with no son, no groom and an angry Hittite king to contend with, Ankhesenamun married Ay. Shortly thereafter she disappeared from the historical record.
This is Part Two of a two-part special about Howard Carter and Tutankhamun.