Tomb Raiders

If walls could talk, I would have revealed it to them. Early enough. It would have eliminated the bad apple right from the beginning. 

But would they have listened?

Despite what you may think, even walls with gods on them have no voice. They may tower over you, receive awe and veneration, even for thousands of years, but they have no power. 

Three hundred men toiled in the daylight. In the moonlight, I could hear a few men exchanging low-toned banter outside. I imagined they were guards, guarding the entrance to keep raiders at bay. Great wealth lay in our midst. And more was expected to be brought in. 

Every day at first light, I could see the painters strolling in. I always wondered how early they had to wake up as they were always the last to leave. They always looked tired and would stretch before resuming work. A few of them would even yawn. The chamber was high. Sometimes they would step on stone pillars and ladders as they worked. Many would have to bend their necks for long periods of time when they painted close to the ceiling. It was hard work. 

The Pharaoh had to be grandly escorted on his journey to the afterlife. He was a god and a king after all. His chamber had to be ready for when this journey would begin. And the painters and artists played the key role of telling the story of his life as a mighty ruler and of his journey to the underworld and afterlife through us. 

I was a vessel and shelter. At least to them. I was also a scribe. A historian. At least to me. A silent observer and recorder of the happenings around me. 

The scribe usually followed the painters after they strolled in. I knew him from his linen garments and from the parchments he was always holding. Every morning he would keep a record of how many workers turned in and the tools they used or needed. 

The foreman, the one with the shaven head facilitated all activities. Even the ones after work. 

In the dims of some nights, I would see him accompanied by two or three unknown men carrying small pots. The strange men would pour the diluted pigments from the ceramics left by the painters into their pots and then disappear faster than they had appeared. Sometimes they would spend a little bit more time rummaging through the ceramics in the chambers lit by their torches as though looking for specific pigments.  

In the morning when the scribe would come in and would take account, the foreman would list the quantities of pigments needed to continue the job after consulting with the painters. 

Sometimes I would see the painters scratch their heads confused as to what had happened to the pigments overnight. 

" I swear I left more in there last night," they would say.

'Or maybe you were too tired to remember correctly," the foreman would nudge and banter with them, " Were you not painting under the moonlight? The Pharaoh's journey might begin soon. This is not the time for swearing. Speak if you need more pigment. We don't want the curse of not having fully prepared the chambers for the Pharaoh when his time comes! You shall not bring a curse on all of us!" 

It wasn't long before the art and painting was complete. We had all been plain rock before, uncarved in the valley, buried deep under the sand. Then we were plain plaster. But now we were masterpieces, decorated with images of the gods, displaying them for eternity. 

Across me, was the image of the Pharaoh as a young boy being welcomed into the afterlife by Nut, blue skies soaring above them. Next to it, Osiris embraced him. On the right side was the Pharaoh on a boat on his journey to the underworld, a huge feather of truth balancing on a scale awaiting him after the gate. 

On the left were all the servants he needed on his journey. Cooks, fan couriers, chariot handlers, warriors, storekeepers… all carrying food and the various items he would need. All there to cater to his needs on his journey. 

On me was Anubis, mighty, bold and threatening, with his solid black canine head guarding the burial chamber against vandals and thieves. 

I felt like I was Anubis. That's why he was painted on me. But small. Powerless. Voiceless. 

How was I expected to protect the chamber, its contents, and the Pharaoh on his journey to the afterlife for the aeons it would take if I couldn't even protect the pigments used to decorate me from theft by the very people entrusted of their safety? 

" The chambers are complete my lords, the Pharaoh's journey will be peaceful and successful. And he will keep blessing us in the afterlife as he did on earth. " I heard the scribe telling the others accompanying him who based on his behaviour were senior to him. 

He had brought them on an inspection I could tell. And from their sombre mood, I could also tell that the Pharaoh's journey had begun. And soon, our purpose, the one we had been prepared for years earlier would begin. It had indeed been many moons since the artists and painters had left after finishing their work. 

Not long after the inspection, I saw the foreman back. His skin had sagged in the time that I had not seen him and had gotten darker, maybe from working under the sun on other burial chambers, but I could still recognise him. In the coming days, he supervised some retouches and final touches in the chambers before disappearing again. 

He gave me the same look he did the day he took account of the work for the scribe after it was done. Before leaving, he had kissed my feet. The feet of Anubis on me as though praying for protection or forgiveness for what he had done. 

How I wished I could have stricken him right there and then! 

From the look he gave me, threatened and yet daring, I knew the chamber and its contents would be at risk. 

He was the one who guided the servants on where to place the Pharaoh's coffin. He also guided them as they placed the golded sarcophaguses, one enclosed into the other. 

He stood outside as the Pharaoh's belongings were brought to the chamber. Golden chariots, golden shoes, pots and baskets of cheese and fruits, wine in ceramics, bows and golden arrows, fine linen, games made of gold, heavy chests layered in gold… Items that took hours to pack. He looked intently at the Pharaoh's mask made of solid gold that was placed on a table next to the sarcophagus. I could see him rub his hands. 

Had he already planned a heist? I wondered. 

The last thing he did was give me the look he had always given me. I wished I could spring to life as Anubis and strike him dead. And I also wished I could shout his intentions to all those present. 

The high priest burned incense after the chambers were filled. He looked at me and invoked the power of Anubis to protect the Pharaoh and his chambers. He read from the Book of the Dead casting spells that would guide the spirit of the Pharaoh and sending curses to anyone who would dare disturb him and his chamber on his journey to the afterlife. 

They then all left with the rest of the workers sealing the chambers layer after layer as the priest kept invoking the protection of Anubis. 

It got darker and darker. And the priest's voice got fainter and fainter until I couldn't hear him anymore. 

My work, our work had officially begun. Now we were to remain till infinity. Together, but alone in the darkness. 

But our peace was not to last. 

Soon after, I heard sudden bangs. Then some whispers. Not long after, I could see some light. It didn't take any longer before I saw the foreman squeezing his slim frame on a hole that they had created through the chambers. He got pulled back. It seemed there was a scuffle. 

" He knows where they are… Let him go in. You will waste time searching and we need to be quick. We don't want to get caught, let him go in!" came the voice. 

The foreman dropped in. A torch was passed to him through the hole which he flashed around careful not to let the flames touch the items in the chamber. With one hand, he grabbed some pieces of linen and passed them through the hole. He then grabbed some golden arrowheads from the chests and did the same. Then some more items and more from other chests. He focused on the shiny ones. I could see the reflection of the flames on them as he threw them through the hole. 

As though in sudden realisation, he flashed his torch on me and came to kiss the feet of Anubis. He then started uttering some chants which I imagined were to protect him from the curses cast by the high priest. 

I felt violated. The man had desecrated my job on the first night. How I wished the gods would give me a voice. How I wished they would give me power. 

He then left crawling back through the hole. 

" Let's get these ones to safety first. Tomorrow we come for the mask and the rest. The guards could be marching in this direction now," I heard his whispers echoing in the corridor as they left. 

When they came next, they had dug an even bigger hole. Three men dropped in.  

They kissed the feet of Anubis and were uttering chants as they rummaged through searching for smaller items that they could carry. Anger raged within me. 

" Remember to take the golden ones. And we need to work faster as we don't want the others to reach the items before we do…" one of them ordered. 

My anger was distracted by a sudden scream coming from outside, then voices. 

" Tomb raiders! Tomb raiders! Thieves! Arrest them! Arrest them!" 

"Finally!" I said to myself. 

And had my anger invoked the curses, I wondered. 

I watched as the chamber's entrance was forcefully penetrated and royal guards with long sharp arrows arrested the men who after hearing the shouts had sheepishly crawled to the floor. 

They pulled and dragged them out as they begged for mercy. Before he disappeared in the darkness, the foreman looked at me one last time. Fear, a thing I had not seen on him before filled his eyes. 

He looked so small compared to the god on me. 

And at that moment I felt powerful. I didn't have a voice but I had intimidated him one last time. I felt a like a god. 

The next day the chambers were unsealed again and the scribe guarded by royal officials and guards and together with some workers had come to take account of the items that had been stolen.

" We need to replace them. The Pharaoh's journey must be comfortable," I heard him tell his subordinates, "Be patient as I take account." 

He took his time looking around the chamber in inspection. He kept scribbling some notes on his papers and then finally announced, "They only took some linen, some games and some cheese. Apart from the ones found on them, the golden items in all the chests are intact. You see the mask is still here… And the sarcophagus has not been penetrated." 

It was clear to me that a battle had been won, but the war was still being fought. 

And I wanted to scream to the guards while pointing at the scribe, "Thief!"