Death of a Pharaoh
Read Death of a Pharaoh Online
Authors: Unknown
Death
of a Pharaoh
by Gary
Bedell
First book in
the trilogy
The End of
All Reigns
Text copyright
© 2014 Gary Bedell
All Rights Reserved
Dedication
To
my late father, Roy,
my
eternal hero. He left me
far
too soon. Seven years ago,
I
survived the same cancer
that
took his life. I live every
blessed day for the both of us.
As
I grow older, friendship
becomes
my greatest joy.
The
unconditional love and
generosity
of spirit of my best
friend,
Estanis, make everything
seem
possible. Thank you, my dear
friend,
for never giving up on me.
To
you Jamón, I owe the endless
gratitude
of a rescued soul.
Table of Contents
In
the tremulous light of a single oil lamp,
the four men neared completion of the painstaking task of wrapping the body
with long strips of linen. They labored in reverent silence, beads of sweat
glistening on their foreheads. The entire process, beginning with the removal
of the organs, had consumed seven precious hours due to the cramped conditions
in the tomb. Far too long, but the circumstances left them no choice. The
sensitive nature of the mission forced them to work out of sight. Only the Gods
could be their witnesses this night.
“We have finished,
my Lord,” Ahmose announced as he secured the last binding.
Rahotep shook his
head at the less than perfect result of their efforts. The shield of darkness
afforded too little time but it would have to do until they arrived back in
Egypt where he could complete the job with fresh linen and resins. He removed a
gold amulet in the shape of a falcon from his leather pouch and tucked it
between two folds. "May Horus protect you, my Lord Pharaoh, on your
journey to the Field of Reeds," he intoned.
As a final step,
they enfolded the mummy in a large shroud and secured it with a hemp cord tied
around the ankles and the neck.
Each of them lent a shoulder
to
carry their king outside on
the embalming board, their sadness a far greater burden. They lowered the
corpse into the false bottom of the wagon then buried it under a thick layer of
natron salt. After a thorough search to ensure they left nothing behind,
Rahotep instructed his men to replace the floorboards.
He returned alone
to inspect the tomb. The original burial shroud lined the trough where they
first discovered the body. The cloth that had covered his face lay folded on
top. No visible sign remained that might betray their enterprise and to anyone
who entered the now vacant tomb, it would appear that the body had simply
vanished.
Rahotep
rejoined the others outside. The Roman
soldiers were still asleep under the effects of Pasheri’s potion. He glanced to
the heavens and counted the decan stars; it would be dawn in just over an hour.
Ani changed into a
robe that belonged to the Pharaoh. Earlier in the tomb, the resemblance
astonished all of them. Ani more than anyone, struck speechless as he stared at
his own likeness in death. A member of the Pharaoh’s security team happened
upon him by chance in a small village in Canaan two years ago and brought him
to Alexandria to study Aramaic. When Rahotep summoned him to explain what the
Royal Council required, he accepted the task with pride.
Pasheri applied a
balm to Ani’s wrists and feet to help numb the pain the nails would cause. The
objective was not to enact another crucifixion but to create superficial wounds
that to the believing eye would look convincing enough. Even so, the pain would
be excruciating. To his credit, Ani barely flinched throughout the ordeal and
Pasheri immediately administered an ointment to stop the bleeding. Finally, he
wrapped Ani’s wrists and feet in fresh linen coated with honey.
“Try to keep them
clean until they are dry,” Pasheri advised while he and Ahmose helped him get
up. He tested his balance gingerly, wincing as he placed weight on the wounds.
Ani embraced each of his companions, his tears a combination of pain and deep
emotion.
Rahotep waited to
be last. He grasped Ani's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, “May
Lord Horus, patron of the True Pharaoh, take you under his wing until you
return safely to us!”
With that blessing
ringing in his ears, the Pharaoh’s double turned and limped away in the
direction of Galilee. In the following days, he would appear before hundreds of
witnesses. Many would swear that they had just seen Jesus of Nazareth
resurrected from the dead. They had designed the elaborate rouse to cover their
escape yet no one, except perhaps the late Pharaoh, could have imagined the
true consequences of their actions.
The remaining
three finished loading the wagon then started down the hill toward Jerusalem.
The rumbling of the metal bands of the wheels on the stone pavement sounded
like thunder in the stillness of dawn and they feared it might wake the guards.
Just before the
intersection with the road to Bethlehem, they passed three Jewish women dressed
in mourning carrying small jugs of oil. They walked in the direction from which
they had just descended. Rahotep suspected that they were on their way to visit
the tomb because no one would have had time on the day of the burial to clean
and anoint the body in accordance with their traditions. Yesterday they
observed the Jewish Sabbath and today would have been the first opportunity to
attend to the corpse.
No doubt, they
were family or close friends of the late Pharaoh and the wave of sympathy that
swept over him was almost strong enough to cause him to reach for the wagon
brake. He longed to tell them that the man they loved had given his life to
save mankind. He ached to ease their grief by explaining that his remains now
traveled to Egypt where devoted followers would replicate their tears a
thousand fold and provide a funeral fit for the King that he was. He wanted
them to rejoice in the knowledge that their Messiah’s journey would end in the
Field of Reeds where Osiris would embrace him as a son and invite him to sit on
his right in the Council of the Gods for all eternity. His compassion tempted
him to stop, but his sense of duty prevailed. He urged the horses on and
continued south in the direction of Bethlehem. With Jerusalem at his back, he
pondered whether the world would ever know the remarkable true story of his
Pharaoh.
After the long and glorious funeral rites, Rahotep sat with a scribe
and dictated a full account of his sacred odyssey. They made two copies in
Latin. A clerk deposited the codices in the secret archives of the Royal
Council in Alexandria along with the other documents related to the reign of
the late True Pharaoh, Jesus of Nazareth. The robbery of one codex during the
transfer of the vast collection to Timbuktu in the Empire of Mali almost
thirteen centuries later, unleashed a tragic chain of events that would
threaten the very future of humankind.
