by Allen Drury
“You cannot!” I said, trying to hold my voice to a near whisper but becoming almost shrill in spite of myself. “There must be no more killing in the House of Thebes. You cannot.”
“I can and I will,” he repeated in the same harsh voice, “with or without your permission, Father. It will be done this night.”
“No!” I cried. “No!”
“Yes,” he said with a steady quietness doubly devastating in contrast to my frantic protest. “Yes, Father. There will be no more turning back, no more tolerance for that which will destroy the kingdom if we let it grow again. The consequence I warned you of five years ago when he returned to Thebes has come. As a youth he toyed with the Aten and you allowed it with your policy of ‘compromise’ and ‘toleration.’ As a man he now seeks to restore the Aten fully, and that you cannot allow. You cannot permit Kemet to be ravaged again. It would be unconscionable.”
“It is unconscionable what you propose,” I managed to get out. “He has done nothing to deserve this. His gestures to the Aten have been harmless these past five years—”
“Not harmless!” he snapped. “He has kept the Aten alive, and very much alive. The throne, the crook and flail, preserving the temples at Akhet-Aten, enlarging the temple here at Karnak—they have not been harmless. And they have not been done with a child’s innocence, for Neb-Kheperu-Ra has not been a child since the Heretic’s death. He has known exactly what he was doing, and so has she. Now today, with their clever trick of a ‘mortuary temple’ that is nothing but the Aten in giant form, they move to begin the full restoration. Tomorrow he says there will be ‘new laws for religion.’ That can mean only one thing. It must be stopped. Father! Surely you can see that?”
“I can see only more horror for the House of Thebes—” I began, and I am afraid my voice broke and trembled and sounded very old: I am very old. He interrupted me without pity. This night Horemheb has gone beyond pity.
“I can see only more devastation for the Two Lands,” he cried, his voice suddenly filled with a great anger. “It is enough, enough, enough! I will have no more of it! Father!”—And he dared put a hand like iron on my frail old arm, a grasp so fierce I thought it might crunch the bone were I to endure it long. “Father! With … you … or … without!”
And he glared into my eyes with an anger so consuming that I think he barely knew I was there.
“We will hold him to the mortuary temple and nothing else,” I began—feebly, I am afraid, but I was almost at the end of my strength. “We will not permit him—”
“Not permit him!” he cried. “He is the Living Horus, Son of the Sun, full in his power as of this day! We will ‘restrain’ him? What nonsense! One restraint only is possible now. Father!” And again his painful grip tightened on my arm, his eyes stared furiously into mine, he spoke very slowly and distinctly. “You know I am right. You know he intends to do what I say. You know what this means for the kingdom. You know we cannot stand it again.…”
Abruptly his voice became very soft and very adamant.
“With you or without you, Father. With you or without.”
For what seemed many minutes he held me so, his grip unrelenting, his eyes boring into mine, his face implacable. And at last, of course, I told him what he wanted to hear: because, in truth, I felt him to be correct and I, too, was terrified of the chaos into which the last of my three ill-fated nephews might once again plunge the Two Lands.
“Very well,” I whispered huskily, shuddering and turning away as he instantly released me, covering my head with my robe and not looking at him again. “Very well. Do what you must.”
“Good!” he said—one short, sharp, explosive word—and was gone, leaving me to weep, as I have so many times before, for three dear little boys, running and laughing down the sunlit pathways of Malkata … three little boys who became great kings and betrayed their trust, and so had to die to save the Two Lands, for whose sake we of this House have seen and done and suffered so much, in all these recent dreadful years.…
I weep: but I will go on because I am Aye, and the Two Lands depend upon it.
***
Tutankhamon
(life, health, prosperity!)
The wine is creeping gently upon me. It makes me feel pleasantly dizzy—relaxed, peaceful, happy—wonderfully happy, because now I am Pharaoh in all the fullness of my powers, now I am the Living Horus beyond the hand of any man to stay, not even trusted Aye, not even mistrusted Horemheb whom I have now, I think, brought finally to heel. Now I can do all the great things I wish to do for my beloved people and our beloved Two Lands.
Down the hall my dear wife sleeps, and with her sleeps our son who will soon be born to stand beside me and someday wear the Double Crown. She shares in all my plans as her mother shared with my brother and as the Great Wife shared with my father before them. We are agreed on what we will do and we know the gods will assist us, because what we plan is good for all.
Great Amon will be lowered once more to his proper place, great Aten will be lifted once more to sit beside him: about them all the other gods will be peaceably disposed in friendly rank. Equal honor, equal tribute, equal love will go to all. Worship will be freely given by those who wish to give it, to whatever god they may wish to honor. Peace and good times will prevail in the villages, including the village of Hanis of my friend Amonemhet, who regularly sends me simple gifts of fruit and grain—which I appreciate more than jewels, for I have many jewels and much fruit and grain, and I know his gifts represent real sacrifices of friendship, and I value them.… All, all, will be happy and peaceful again in Kemet, and the years will unfold in glorious harmony for us all as I father many sons and restore our borders with many brave battles, and the House of Thebes brings back the land again to happiness and love.
This do I wish for many reasons but most of all for the sake of my brother and dearest Nefertiti, who sought to do great things but went too far. I shall do them patiently, shrewdly, earnestly, with great love in my heart for all men—for such, I think, are becoming my principal qualities.
I will be a good king.
I, Neb-Kheperu-Ra Tutankhamon, Living Horus, do so decree it.
My eyes grow heavy behind their shuttered lids, my brain begins to swim away along some glorious river where I go to dream of happy days for beloved Kemet … our beloved people … our beloved House … I drift … I float … tomorrow will begin the glories, tomorrow will begin the love, tomorrow all men will know what a truly Good God I am … tomorrow all will come right … tomorrow … tomorrow …
***
Ramesses
He came to bed an hour ago, eyes drowsy and dulled with wine. He gave us a sleepy smile, amiable and untroubled.
“Good Ramesses!” he said, giving my back an affectionate slap. “Good Seti!”—tousling the hair of my sturdy fifteen-year-old with an affectionate hand. “What would I do without you two fearless guardians of my gate?”
“We attempt to keep them safe, Your Majesty,” I said, pleased with his familiarity.
“Not even great Horus could enter here unchallenged!” Seti assured him with an easy grin.
“Wonderful,” he said, holding out a hand to brace himself as he staggered slightly against the doorjamb, his words slurring a bit. “Wonderful, to know I am so loved.”
“You are by us, Son of the Sun,” I said stoutly; and Seti, who after all is only three years younger and so really a friend of both Their Majesties, nodded vigorously and said:
“Always, Son of the Sun.”
“Good,” he said. “I love you both. Keep me safe. Good night.”
“Good night,” we echoed together, and watched with fondly approving smiles as he righted himself with careful dignity and went within. Because it is true: we do love His Majesty and he does love us. It is also true that we report faithfully to Horemheb on all they do, but Horemheb does not misuse it and loves them as we do … or so we thought until just now, when suddenly all has grown dark and frightening so that we crouc
h together trembling, knowing nothing but fearing awful things, while in His Majesty’s room there occurs—what?
It began scarce five minutes ago. We were almost asleep ourselves, when abruptly we were jolted awake by the sounds of someone softly approaching—very softly, but not softly enough to get past our trained ears, which woke us even before the visitors rounded the turn in the corridor.
“Who comes?” I demanded quite loudly, for I knew His Majesty was sleeping the sleep of the wine-drowned and would not easily be disturbed. Both Seti and I had sprung to our feet, spears raised and ready.
“I come,” Horemheb said, and his voice was cold and remote as if from some far distance, which frightened me, who have been his friend and intimate for so long: but sometimes of late I do not know Horemheb.
“And I,” said the accursed priest, who lords it over us all now that Amon has been restored. “Does His Majesty sleep?”
“His Majesty sleeps,” I said.
“We would go in to do business with His Majesty,” Horemheb said.
“But—” we both began in automatic protest. Hatsuret started to give us his usual pompous glare, but it was unnecessary: Horemheb’s cold expression was enough.
“Stand aside, good Ramesses and young Seti,” he said softly. “Our business with His Majesty will be brief.”
“But His Majesty is sleeping!” I blurted, I am afraid sounding as stupid as I know he thinks me; but a great fear was beginning to seize my heart and I could tell from Seti’s white-faced, wide-eyed look that it was beginning to seize his too.
“Aside!” he said, and it was so harsh and so violent that I, who have always thought I knew him but wonder now if I ever did, shrank back against the wall, shielding my son, who shrank back behind me. The gesture must have touched Horemheb in some way, for his expression softened for just a moment and he said more gently, “Do not be afraid, either of you. We come on the business of Kemet, and all will go well. Do you move down the corridor and take up your stations by Her Majesty’s room until we are done. Please.”
This appeal I could not deny—indeed, I could not deny him in any case, but for a moment or two this gentleness somehow seemed to make it better—so both of us mumbled some word or two of agreement and started to move away, looking back fearfully as we went.
Horemheb stood for a long moment facing the door. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, opened it very quietly, and went in. Hatsuret followed, but not before giving us a lofty and contemptuous look—to which Seti, I am pleased to say, responded with the most vulgar street gesture his hand could perform.
But our moment of pleasure at this stopped immediately the door closed behind them. Awful fears were in our eyes as we looked at one another. We crept away down the corridor to Her Majesty’s door, where now we stand, looking back in terror at the door we have left.
It is very hushed, very still, in the Palace of Malkata. What have we done, to yield up our charge so easily? What could we have done, in the face of such a demand, from such a source?
It is very quiet, very still. Presently we both become conscious of a clicking noise. It is our teeth chattering, though it has taken us quite a while to become aware of them.
***
Horemheb
He lies on his right side, face flushed, breathing sonorous and steady. Perhaps the powder was not necessary: the wine might have been enough. Anyway, there is no chance of failure now.
The once round and rosy cheeks have become a little hollowed, the brow is not quite so serene and unlined as it used to be; the years are already beginning to take their toll of Neb-Kheperu-Ra. It may be as well there are none left.
Hatsuret leans above him like the dark, avenging falcon he has always fancied himself to be. The long thin spear gleams like a needle in the light of the single candle that gutters low in the alabaster lamp by the bed. Slowly he lowers the spear, gripping it tightly in both hands, toward the tender skin near the left ear. He shifts a little, seeking exact position, lowers it still further; pauses, takes a deep breath and looks up at me. I nod.
Without a sound the spear sinks into the skull, driven with all the force of his muscles and his hatred. Blood spurts, the dying body gives several convulsive leaps … quivers, jerks, trembles, shakes … subsides. The frantically strangled breathing stops. The God Neb-Kheperu-Ra Tutankhamon has rejoined his ancestors.
Hatsuret withdraws the dripping spear, straightens, looks at me with the start of a triumphant smile. It lasts perhaps a second before my knife drives between his ribs. His face has time for a wild, horrified look, instantly erased by death, before he falls spread-eagled across Pharaoh’s body, their blood commingling on the finespun golden sheets.
Noisily I run to the door, fling it open with a crash.
“Help, Ramesses, help, Seti! Help, help, all!” I shout at the top of my lungs as dutifully down the hall my two faithful friends begin to stumble toward me. “The priest of Amon has killed the Living Horus! Help, help, all!”
***
Sitamon
So horror has come again to the House of Thebes. I am almost too tired to think about it, too tired to do anything but sit in my room and stare blankly at the wall, lost in tragedy beyond tragedy, despair beyond despair. What does it all add up to, what is the purpose, what is the point…? Except that I know, well enough. The purpose is to put Horemheb on the throne and the point is that he believes he, and he alone, is sufficiently strong of character and determination to restore the Two Lands to all their ancient power and glory.
And he may be right … he may well be right. I can see his argument. But at what a cost!
When the Palace was awakened last night, not long after we had all retired, there were great cries, shouts, uproar throughout the compound. People raced through the corridors and along the paths, there were shouts of “Guards!” and the sound of arms. I arose hastily, clothed myself—my pleasant, incompetent ladies in waiting had already hurried across to the main Palace, too excited and too curious to help me—and also hurried out, not knowing what had occurred but sensing that, whatever it might be, I should undoubtedly have a part to play. And so I did, and much yet lies ahead for me—who, with my uncle Aye and aunt Tey represent, I think, the last islands of sanity left in Malkata this day.
Brushing aside my squealing, fluttering ladies, striding imperiously past the frightened guards who themselves were so curious, frightened and confused that Suppiluliumas of the Hittites might well have invaded us without challenge at that moment, I came swiftly to the room of my niece. Beyond it down the hall I could see a crowd gathered at the door of the King. I recognized Horemheb, Ramesses, Seti and my uncle, saw from their expressions that something awful must have occurred; but before I could proceed further was compelled into my niece’s room by a long-drawn recurring howl, almost animal in nature. I knew at once what was going on and where I was needed most. I turned instantly and went in.
On her bed Ankhesenamon was writhing in premature childbirth, her eyes blank with pain as she repeated her continuous cries. One hand tightly clenched gentle Tey’s, the other ripped the cloth-of-gold sheets in frantic agonies. All around hovered nurses, bringing hot water and compresses, uttering soothing, crooning sounds: here, at least, instinct was compelling all to do efficiently what nature demanded. Outside the men’s tumult in the corridors continued; in the Queen’s room we had our women’s work to do and could not be bothered.
Tey looked up at me with tear-filled eyes and said gratefully, “Thank the gods you are here, Sitamon. His Majesty has been slain by the priest Hatsuret, himself killed by Horemheb, and this—this is the result. They did not even tell her gently, some soldier rushed in and shouted it out. She went immediately into convulsions. Pray with us that we may save her and the Prince.”
“Yes,” I said; gave her a hug of encouragement; laid my hand for a moment on Ankhesenamon’s sweat-drenched, unheeding brow; and then took my place in the line of ladies who were bringing buckets of hot water and co
mpresses from a huge kettle boiling in the corner.
For three hours we labored so. Time blurred, shrank, expanded, passed. Outside the noise gradually died away; when I could think at all, I assumed that my poor nephew’s body must have been taken already to the House of Vitality to begin the seventy days of embalmment. Now and again I found myself weeping convulsively for him who had been so gentle and kind and young. Then Ankhesenamon would utter some particularly rending cry and I would be called back to the only reality we knew in that room, her reality. Once, at some point I cannot fix now, there was an imperious rapping on the door. I knew that impatient sound and said quickly, “I will go,” before anyone else could respond to it. On the threshold stood Horemheb, his face looking drained and, either sincerely or artfully, ravaged with pain.
“What do you want, Cousin?” I demanded coldly, for even then I knew instinctively what had happened, I knew he was no longer friend or lover to anyone save himself. “We are busy here.”
“How are Her Majesty and the child?” he asked.
“They are well,” I lied, “and no concern of yours.”
“They are of concern to everyone,” he said, “for Her Majesty is now the sole ruler of the Two Lands.”
“And will so remain if I have anything to say about it!” I snapped, and with all my strength flung the heavy wooden door shut in his face, having time only to catch a glimpse of the sudden naked rage that replaced the pious sorrow. If I had any doubts left as to what had occurred in Tutankhamon’s room, they vanished then. And not fear but a cold fury wiped away the last lingering traces of any love I might once have mistakenly felt for my cousin Horemheb.
Back I plunged into the ceaseless yet orderly activity in that overheated, fate-filled chamber. Again time did strange things, shrank, expanded, blurred, faded, re-emerged, became a jumble, passed. Finally there was a last dreadful shriek and my niece fell back, eyes closed as if in death. Hastily we ascertained that she was all right, then turned to the child which lay on the bloodied sheets before us. Frantically Tey and I washed it, slapped it, breathed upon it, shook it, sought with cries and supplications to bring forth some sign of life. There was none.
