by Allen Drury
A little uneasily, for they do not know what to make of my frank reference to the Aten and to recent unhappy years, my people applaud me. Aye, Horemheb and Hatsuret are listening very intently now. It is exciting to know that in their eyes the child King has become truly Pharaoh at last. Suddenly I am someone who can make things happen, and to whom they must listen because he is the Living Horus and sole ruler of the Two Lands. I like this.
“So that all may know that peace and conciliation are my purpose, I wish it known that I do not desire the destruction of the temples of the Aten at my city of Akhet-Aten, nor do I wish punishment to be visited upon any who may still wish to worship, in the privacy of their own homes or in his temples, that particular god.”
I sense a tense, uneasy stirring at my back. But I go firmly on.
“It is my desire that the Aten shall resume the honored place he had before recent unhappy years came upon us. [Again I refuse to name or blame my brother, who was always kind to me.] The Aten shall not be supreme, neither shall he be inferior. He shall not dominate, neither shall he be dominated. He will return to his rightful and traditional place among the gods, and we will continue to honor him as we honor Amon and all other gods. This, too, do I, Neb-Kheperu-Ra Tutankhamon, decree.”
Applause and approval come, but thinner and more uncertainly now, as many eyes look past me to my uncle, to Horemheb and to Hatsuret. I, too, turn and look at them. Their faces are a study in many things, but sternness is the chief. I stare at them with equal sternness and presently they look away. Suddenly I know I can do everything I wish to do to make Kemet a happy and prosperous land again.
“My beloved people,” I resume, and in the silence that has returned my voice rings clearly across the vast crowd, “in addition to the preservation and maintenance of the temples of the Aten at Akhet-Aten, for which I shall dispense suitable funds from the coffers of Pharaoh, it is my will that the temple of the Aten here at Karnak shall be enlarged and extended, so that it may be suitable for the god as he resumes his rightful place among us.
“To you, Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, builder and maker of so many great things for the House of Thebes, do I give this responsibility. And you, Tuthmose, chief sculptor to Pharaoh, do I charge to assist him in this task.”
There is a murmuring, an uneasiness. But I am only being fair and restoring justice. I continue unperturbed.
“I charge you also, Tuthmose, to make for me another set of scepters, a golden crook and flail similar to these I carry”—and I raise and show them to my people, for these are things they regard with an awe almost as great as that with which they regard my own person. “These bear the name of Amon. I wish the second set to bear the name of the Aten. Thus will Amon and Aten both be served, and confirm me in my rule.”
Again the uneasiness. They do not know whether to applaud. They know they cannot protest.
“And finally do you, Tuthmose, build for me a second golden throne, equal in size to this one on which I sit today. And do you place on the back thereof pictures of Her Majesty and me, and do you place above, blessing us, the sign and cartouches of the Aten, so that in this, too, we may restore balance and ma’at to the gods.”
Once more, murmuring and uneasiness. I do not look behind me at my uncle, my cousin and hateful Hatsuret, for I do not wish to be distracted by what I assume to be their disapproving stares. I am doing exactly what is right: I am not threatening Amon, I am not exalting the Aten: I am in fact reducing the Aten. If I am still keeping him great enough to give Amon pause, well, then, so be it. Ankhesenamon and I are agreed that this is the only way to restore the health of the Two Lands.
“My beloved people of Kemet!” I conclude solemnly, and now the whole world seems hushed and listening. I have their attention forever now. Never again will the King be considered just a boy, I can tell that, and I am glad of it, so that happiness suffuses my whole being though I do not discount the difficulties and do not fool myself that my path will be easy.
“It is my desire that from this time forward the Two Lands and all their gods shall truly be united again in love and tolerance for one another. It is my desire that you shall live together, one with the other, forever and ever, for millions and millions of years, in harmony and joy. It is my desire that all our gods shall live together, one with the other, in this same way. Thus, and only thus, can our beloved Kemet be whole again.
“Join me in this, I say to you, people of the Two Lands! Join me in this, I say to you, great gods of Kemet! And together we will enter upon a new day when old bad things are swept away and the land sings again with happiness and peace!
“So do I, Neb-Kheperu-Ra Tutankhamon, decree it!”
And I bow low to them and turn to Ankhesenamon, who rises and comes forward to stand beside me. Now the great shout of love and loyalty wells up again. I have puzzled them a little, made them think, convinced them, I hope, that they must forget the past, be compassionate with one another, move forward together for Kemet’s sake. I may even have disturbed them a little—certainly I know I have disturbed my uncle, Horemheb and Hatsuret, who have other ideas. But now all is forgotten in our physical presence before them, our living proof that the Good God and the Chief Wife are with them and working for their welfare always, which we truly are. Their love for us engulfs the world.
For many minutes their shouts go on, until at last we turn away to prepare for the great procession. First we shall return to the temple to relieve ourselves and eat a hasty bit of food to sustain us during the long afternoon. Then we shall remount our baldachins and the procession through Thebes, across the Nile to my father’s mortuary temple, to the Valley of the Kings, and so finally to Malkata, will begin.
We give the Family an easy, smiling look as we step from the platform. Aye, Horemheb and Hatsuret preserve a careful politeness. Nakht-Min, Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, Ramesses and Tuthmose dare to look friendly and pleased. Sitamon steps forward fearlessly to kiss us both, and on some sudden impulse as startling and inexplicable as most of the things she does, funny little Mutnedjmet does the same while Ipy and Senna bounce about, shrilly crowing and applauding, somewhere down around our kneecaps.
“Majesty,” Sitamon says in a voice she makes deliberately clear and carrying, “I agree entirely with what you said. It means a great new day for Kemet. We have had enough of separation, bitterness and hate.”
“I, too,” Mutnedjmet says happily, “I, too.”
“And we!” Ipy and Senna flute with their customary privileged informality. “And we!”
“Thank you, Sister,” I say gravely to Sitamon, and, “Thank you,” gravely to the rest. “My wife and I will do our best in all things for our beloved Two Kingdoms.”
“You may rely on me,” Sitamon says in the same emphatic way as I take her arm and Ankhesenamon’s and we begin to walk toward the temple.
Behind us the others fall in line. No word comes from my uncle, my cousin or the dark and dangerous priest. But I do not care.
I am truly Pharaoh now, and I do not care.
***
Hatsuret
The day draws toward its close and I no longer lead the procession. I led it all through Thebes, walking ahead triumphantly as the High Priest of Amon should, sanctifying by his presence the god’s blessing and support of Pharaoh. But when we crossed the Nile and were about to land on the west bank he turned to me and said firmly in the presence of the Family:
“Hatsuret, I wish that you take your place somewhere behind us now. On that bank of the Nile I let you lead through Thebes as a sign of my respect for Amon. Here I wish you to let me lead as a sign of Amon’s respect for me.”
“But, Son of the Sun—” I began smoothly, confident I would have the support of the regent Aye and General Horemheb in my objections to this sacrilegious order.
“We so wish it,” he said evenly, and turned his back on me to point out to Her Majesty the distant towering colossi of his father which guard the mortuary temple, and the gracefully ascending stairwa
ys of the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut (life, health, prosperity!), far off against the tawny cliffs.
“But—” I began again; looked around in consternation at the others; found them also too taken aback, apparently, to speak; found myself inadvertently staring into the coolly amused eyes of the Princess Sitamon, who is not my friend and had best not become too clever with me; and was forced to subside in angry silence and confusion until the royal barge touched the landing stage.
There I made a last attempt, starting to step forward as though the conversation had not occurred.
“Hatsuret!” Pharaoh said, and his sharp young voice cracked across my face like a whip. “You heard me!”
“Obey His Majesty,” Aye said calmly, “for it is not worth disrupting this day.”
“It is not important,” Horemheb agreed.
“It is important to me,” Tutankhamon said; and I almost replied with equal arrogance, “And it is important to me.” But I did not quite dare, particularly since my allies seemed for some reason to be abandoning me.
I said no word but waited for them to disembark and then took my place behind Horemheb and Nakht-Min. As I did so Horemheb turned and shook his head slightly with an expression as if to say: Do not worry. We will tame this cub.
But we had thought he was tamed! Suddenly he does not seem to be, any more.
Well: this does not frighten me. Three times now I have done the work of Amon and the House of Thebes. Smenkhkara—Merytaten—even that great proud beauty who scorned Amon in all her pride and arrogance, that spoiled one who thought she could live forever but could not, Nefertiti. I killed them all for Amon and for those who, like myself, sought the restoration of the god and a rebirth of ma’at and justice in the Two Lands. I will not be afraid to kill again for the same reasons, if we all decide it necessary.
Today I sense the thought has begun to enter the minds of Aye and Horemheb. Certainly it has entered mine. For four years the boy King and Ankhesenamon have appeared to be docile tools in our hands as we have restored the old religion and begun the long task of bringing back the ancient order of Kemet out of the chaos left by the Heretic. The task is far from complete: we have much farther to go. Years of patient work still lie ahead to repair all the damage the Criminal of Akhet-Aten left behind.
Two stubborn children cannot be allowed to stand in our way.
We reach the mortuary temple of Amonhotep III (life, health, prosperity!). The procession halts, the Good God and the Chief Wife are lowered to the ground. They walk into the temple to do worship to his father.
Horemheb drops back a step. I whisper urgently, “We must discuss this!”
He nods.
“Tonight I shall talk to my father.”
“Where shall I meet you?”
“Alone!” he snaps, and starts to turn away. Then he hesitates and turns back to murmur more courteously, “Do not press, Hatsuret. You will be advised in due course. Rest assured all things will come right for Kemet and for Amon.”
And for Horemheb, I think, but this I would never, ever, dare say to anyone. He, too, can kill for his purposes as I have killed for mine. We are allies and must remain so. The welfare of Amon depends on it.
I convey my understanding with one swift look, bow impassively, raise my staff of office and move off as he leaves me to approach Ramesses, standing at the foot of one of the Colossi. Every line of his body as he walks away speaks determination and power.
I must always remain his friend.
I sense it is becoming very dangerous to be his enemy.
***
Ramesses
He is greatly troubled. He calls me aside as Pharaoh and the Chief Wife go into the mortuary temple of Amonhotep III (life, health, prosperity!) and demands in the peremptory tone he uses more and more frequently now:
“Ramesses, what do you make of this?”
“It seems to me,” I say cautiously, “that Their Majesties wish to restore harmony and peace to the land.”
“So he says,” Horemheb agrees, skepticism heavy in his voice. “So he says.”
“What do you think?” I ask, still cautiously, for I have learned that there are times when it is best to approach Horemheb slowly and let him do the talking.
“I think,” he says, and his eyes narrow, “that though he pretends to lower Aten, he still means to leave him in place high enough to threaten Amon. I think he means someday to restore the Aten altogether.”
“Oh no!” I say, shocked into speaking loudly enough so that soldiers and priests waiting nearby shift uneasily and glance at us as openly as they dare. “Oh no!” I repeat, hastily whispering. “He would not dream of such a thing. He knows the evil Nefer-Kheperu-Ra—”
“The Heretic,” Horemheb interrupts sternly, and dutifully I amend:
“—the Heretic—brought upon the land. He knows how thankful Kemet is to be rid of him. He has seen how speedily in these past four years, under your magnificent leadership”—(it does no harm, these days, to flatter Horemheb)—“the Aten has been reduced and Amon raised again to his supreme and rightful place. His Majesty would not dare reverse this process!”
“I am not so sure now as I was a week ago what His Majesty will or will not dare,” Horemheb says dryly. “I think His Majesty is beginning to fancy his majesty. I think we must be on guard against him, lest he overturn all our work. He took us by surprise today. He must not be allowed to take us by surprise again. I wish you to make it your special charge to know all that he does, at all times. Starting immediately after the procession. You and Sitra have guarded the children before. Do so again tonight. Take Seti with you—they like Seti. Arrange it so that you become their intimates. Insinuate yourselves. Watch. Listen. Report to me everything.”
“What if he objects?” I ask, knowing it is probably a stupid question, but then I have never pretended to be clever. Ramesses is only a simple soldier—a very good one, but not brilliant like Horemheb. Or like my son Seti, whose mother must have been embraced by Amon, for the boy certainly does not get his brains from her or me.
“He will not object,” Horemheb says with the obvious patience he sometimes shows me when I fail to grasp his intentions immediately. “I said, take Seti with you. They both like Seti. Work through him. Officially, I will have you assigned as Head of the King’s Household. The rest will fall into place.”
“But suppose he does object?” I repeat, again rather stupidly, I am afraid: but after all, the Good God is reaching an age, as he showed today, when he is beginning to get his own ideas. And he is the Good God.
“He will not object,” Horemheb says, a certain harshness entering his voice. “How can he object? He is only thirteen.”
“But he is the Living Horus—” I begin.
“He is not going to fly yet awhile,” Horemheb says with a sudden grimness in his voice. “We will see to it that his wings remain clipped. Do not worry about things that do not concern you, Ramesses. Do as I say. Tell Sitra and Seti to be prepared to move into Malkata tonight. From now on you are Head of the King’s Household and they are the King’s friends and helpers.”
“They are,” I say truthfully. “So am I. Will that not make it difficult for us to—”
“Ramesses,” Horemheb says, placing a hand like iron on my arm and lowering his voice in the way that has made me a little afraid of him, of late. “I have never had cause to question your friendship or your loyalty in all these years we have fought and worked side by side. Do not give me cause now.”
“No, Horemheb,” I say hastily. “Of course not. We will do as you say.”
“Good,” he says, releasing my arm and lightening his tone so that those few who had dared glance our way glance no longer. “Look! The Good God comes!”
And from the mortuary temple the two children emerge blinking into the softening afternoon sunlight and the procession prepares to resume its stately progress to the Valley of the Kings, and from there to Malkata. I search for my wife and son in the crowd, finally find
the bright and handsome lad of ten who belongs to me.
“Go find your mother, Seti,” I direct, “and tell her that we are moving into the Palace of Malkata tonight.”
“Why?” he asks blankly.
“Because your ‘Uncle Horemheb’ decrees it,” I say, “so no argument. Get along to your mother!”
“But only Pharaoh ‘decrees’—” he begins; and then abruptly stops. His eyes widen thoughtfully: all children around the Palace in these recent years have become old before their time. He apparently sees something I do not understand.
“Very well, Father!” he says briskly, and runs off, leaving me standing puzzled in the sun.
“Ramesses!” Horemheb shouts as the procession begins to move slowly forward toward the barren rocky gorges where a special altar has been set up for the Good God’s worship of his ancestors.
“Yes!” I shout back as I hurry to catch up. “I am here, Horemheb!”
***
Horemheb
I move them about like black and white pieces on the checkered board of the game of senet, and they jump to my command. Many things in Kemet, now, jump to my command. And why should they not, since I am the principal power and moving force therein?
Or so, at least, it says in my titles.…
“King’s Deputy” was given me by my father at my insistence, you will recall—which he did not relish too much—when he assumed the title and position of Regent. Since then, with his agreement, sometimes willing, sometimes grudging, I have added many more:
“The King’s Elect … the Administrator of the Two … The Greatest of the Favorites of the Lord of the Two Lands … the Two Eyes of the King of Upper and Lower Kemet … The True Scribe, The Well-Beloved of the King … Chief Intendant … The Confidant of the King’s Special Confidants … The Greatest of The Great …The Most Powerful of the Powerful … High Lord of the People …”
Thus the titles, which I have adopted to impress all the people—and which, I suppose, impress some of the Court.
