Colossi of Memnon

Feel the heat rising off the ground first. Out here on the west bank of the Nile, the air smells of dust and green sugarcane, and the light hits your eyes hard. Ahead of you, two enormous seated figures rise out of the flat fields. They have no faces left to speak of. Their shoulders are cracked and patched. And yet they still sit upright, hands resting on their knees, looking east toward the river and the rising sun.

These are the Colossi of Memnon. Despite the name, they do not show Memnon at all. Both statues show the same man: Amenhotep the Third, a pharaoh of Egypt's Eighteenth Dynasty. He ruled in the fourteenth century before the Common Era, during one of the most prosperous periods Egypt ever knew. Trade, tribute and building projects filled his long reign. These two giants were part of his grandest project on this side of the river.

Each figure is carved from quartzite, a very hard stone with a warm, brownish sparkle. With their pedestals, they stand roughly eighteen metres tall — about the height of a six-storey building. Most scholars believe the stone came from quarries far to the north, near modern Cairo. That means blocks weighing hundreds of tonnes travelled hundreds of kilometres, most likely on the Nile itself. Nobody knows every detail of how it was done.

Now here is the first surprise. These statues were never meant to stand alone in a field. They were gatekeepers. Behind them once stood Amenhotep's mortuary temple, a place where priests would keep his memory and his cult alive after his death. It was the largest temple ever built on the west bank of Thebes, the ancient name for this area. Today, almost all of it has gone.

So where did it go? Part of the answer is water. The temple sat on low ground, and the annual Nile flood reached it. Some researchers think this was deliberate, linking the temple to the waters of creation in Egyptian belief. But flooding weakens foundations. Later pharaohs also took its stones for their own buildings. Bit by bit, the temple disappeared, and only the two guardians stayed behind.

Look closely at the base of each throne. Beside the king's legs stand smaller female figures. They represent women of his family, including his mother and his great royal wife, Queen Tiye. Tiye was a powerful figure in her own right, and her image appears often in this period. Here she reaches only to the king's knees. In Egyptian art, size showed importance — not real height.

Walk around to the sides of the thrones, if you can see them clearly. There are carved reliefs of fertility figures linked to the Nile, tying together two plants: the lotus and the papyrus. The lotus stood for Upper Egypt, the south. The papyrus stood for Lower Egypt, the north. Binding them together was a classic symbol of a united kingdom under one ruler.

Now for the strangest chapter. In 27 before the Common Era, an earthquake struck this region. It damaged the northern statue, the one on your right as you face them. After that, something odd happened. Visitors reported that the broken statue made a sound around dawn — a sigh, a whistle, or a note like a struck string. Ancient writers described it in different ways.

Greek visitors had a story ready. In their myths, Memnon was a king of Ethiopia who fought at Troy and was killed by Achilles. His mother was Eos, the goddess of the dawn. So, the Greeks said, this was Memnon greeting his mother each morning. That is how a statue of an Egyptian pharaoh came to carry a Greek hero's name. Modern scientists suggest a natural cause, such as the stone warming and drying in the morning sun.

The singing statue became a destination. Under Roman rule, travellers came here hoping to hear it. Many of them carved inscriptions into the legs of the northern colossus, recording their visits and sometimes writing short poems. The Roman emperor Hadrian came here in the year 130 with his wife, Sabina. A woman in their group, Julia Balbilla, left verses in Greek on the stone. Look at the lower legs, and you may see the lines of ancient writing.

Then the sound stopped. According to the usual account, the Roman emperor Septimius Severus ordered repairs to the statue around the year 200. Stone blocks were added to the upper body. After that, the reports of singing seem to end. You can still see the difference today. The upper part of the northern figure is built from stacked blocks rather than one solid piece.

Here is the second surprise. The story of this temple is not over. For many years, an international team of archaeologists has excavated the fields behind the colossi. They have found broken statues of the king, of goddesses, and of the lion-headed goddess Sekhmet. Some huge figures have been pieced together and raised again on their original spots. If you look past the two giants, you may see this work in progress.

Take a moment before you leave. Stand still and listen. You might hear a tractor, a passing donkey cart, or birds in the sugarcane. You will not hear Memnon. But the morning light still falls on these faces, just as it did for Roman travellers two thousand years ago. As you turn away, look back once more. Two worn kings, still keeping watch over an empty doorway.