The Awakening Aten

by Aidan K. Morrissey

  ‘Haqwaset is well my daughter. He will soon be home.’

  ‘Then what?’ she said. As Yuya looked down at Merkare and Amunitore, Tiye realised.

  ‘Come,’ she said, ‘let’s all go inside.’

  Her heart had lifted at the news her husband was well but she suddenly felt the loss of the two women beside her. Now she understood the behaviour of the two dogs; ever faithful companions, they had felt the loss of their master even across the distance of miles.

  *

  Some hours later, Haqwaset sat in sombre mood in the Great Hall. Around him were his family and friends but he felt today his life had changed forever. He would never feel the same again. He had known death of close relatives and friends. The death of his father had been terrible, but he had only been five years old and didn’t fully understand. Never before had a close friend died a violent death in front of him. Never before had the blood soaked his sandals and feet, settling between his toes. Never before had someone died in an act of sacrifice to save him.

  ‘Perneb,’ Haqwaset said, looking at his Governor, ‘I know it’s not one of your duties, but I ask you to do something for me.’

  ‘Majesty,’ replied the Governor, ‘You are my King. I’m here to serve you in any way you wish.’

  ‘Thank you,’ responded Haqwaset, ‘but today I don’t feel like a King. I feel like a selfish, foolish man who has caused the death of a close friend.’

  ‘Majesty,’ protested Mahu ‘It was not…’ Haqwaset raised his hand to stop further comment.

  ‘No, Mahu. I thank you for your loyalty and also for your advice. I wish I had taken it.’

  He turned again towards Perneb.

  ‘Please go to the tomb builder, Kha. Tell him to come here as quickly as possible. Ask him to bring his son. I have something I want them to do. They’ll need to spend some days here so they may wish to bring their families with them. The young girls who were here are similar in age to Amunitore and seemed to strike up a friendship, maybe they can be a help to her.’

  ‘I’ll leave immediately. I’ll return within a couple of hours,’ Perneb replied, already rising to his feet.

  Haqwaset looked, nodded and half smiled. It seemed an effort even to speak. Perneb bowed and left the room.

  ‘Where is Maiherpri now?’ the King asked to no-one in particular.

  Tiye answered.

  ‘Everything is being done as you asked. He was taken to the Place of Cleansing beside the river. The priests performed the washing ceremony. From there he was taken to your own Mortuary Temple. The priests will prepare him for the afterlife exactly as you have requested. Merymose, Merkare, their sons, Aperel and Djutmosis, together with Amunitore are holding a vigil tonight. Tomorrow the process will begin.’

  ‘I’ll visit him now, will you join me?’ he looked pleadingly at his wife.

  ‘Of course I will,’ she said and called over a servant telling him to prepare the King’s transport.

  ‘He must have the funeral of a king,’ said Haqwaset. ‘There’ll be seventy days of mourning. I’ll meet personally with the coffin makers. I want this planned as if it were my own funeral, only the gods can tell why it isn’t. Mahu, we must deal with the priest first thing tomorrow; we’ll discuss the details later. This putrid presence shall be removed from the world without further procrastination. His existence offends me.’ He stood.

  Everyone in the room bowed as the King and Tiye left the room. The Queen linked her arm in the King’s; it appeared as if he was leaning on her. No-one had ever seen him despondent. Happy, angry, yes, but never in the depths of depression as he now appeared. It affected all those around him and for some time after he left the room no-one spoke.

  *

  Kha and Djoser stood in the Great Hall along with Perneb and Yuya. Tjuya, Kirgipa, Mutemwiya and the young Princes, along with Merit, young Merit and Djoser’s daughters, were in Yuya’s quarters. The King’s sisters arrived and joined the women for a sombre meal. There would be no music in the Palace tonight.

  Whilst visiting the body of his friend, Haqwaset spoke with the priests to ensure they fully understood the written instructions he had sent with his scribe. He appointed Anen, Tiye’s brother, as Overseer of his Temple and in charge of ensuring his wishes were fulfilled. He did not want the High Priest involved. Maiherpri was truly to be buried in the manner of the Kings. Seventy days of mourning meant, once the body was washed and the brain and internal organs, excluding the heart, removed, the body and organs would have a full forty days to be covered, dried and preserved in natron salt. As well as removing moisture from the body the salt also removed any fat. Once dried, the organs would be placed in canopic jars. Haqwaset had ordered the finest to be made.

  After the passing of forty days the priests, satisfied the natron’s work was complete, would again carry the corpse to the Place of Cleansing and thoroughly wash Maiherpri once more. With the salt removed, the body was covered in oils and resin. The body cavity filled with sawdust and linen.

  The ceremonial incision, to remove the organs, was performed by a special priest. The surgical extractions were accompanied by incantations and the wound was then sewn up and covered with a gold plate. Only with this completed could the lengthy process of wrapping the body begin. This took around twenty days. Each stage had to follow a precise schedule. Amulets were placed between layers of the bindings. At the start of each day, as the sun rose, prayers and incantations were said and sung, as prescribed. The entire embalming process was overseen by a priest wearing a jackal-headed mask to represent Anubis, the god whose duty was to care for the dead.

  The King returned, in slightly better humour. He was satisfied his orders would be carried out. He came to the Hall, accepted the obeisance of those in the room and sat on his throne. Without hesitation he spoke to Kha.

  ‘Do you have the information I requested?’

  ‘The information yes, Majesty, but clearly I haven’t had time to check it out,’ he stopped.

  ‘And?’ the King said impatiently.

  ‘From my memory and the records Majesty, there are several possibilities. If you are in agreement, I have identified one which I think is best suited for your purpose.’

  He pulled out a map he had drawn.

  ‘It is in the east valley, here,’ he said, pointing at the map. ‘Not far from where your own grandfather began his journey to the afterlife. Yuya tells me it is also very close to where he fell. It’s a simple tomb. The plans show its entry at the base of the cliff, with a small shaft leading directly to the burial chamber. In total the length won’t be much more than twelve to fifteen cubits. The burial chamber will be about four cubits by ten.’

  ‘It seems small,’ said Haqwaset, ‘is there nothing bigger, more suitable, for my lion on the battlefield?’

  ‘Nothing we could complete in less than seventy days Majesty. The main problem with tombs is that their very tight space means only a few people can work inside. I don’t believe any other tomb could be made ready in the time we have.

  ‘Then, if you’re sure, how long will you need to open it out again so I can come and see it?’

  ‘Give me ten days Majesty; I will put as many men to work on it as is possible.’

  ‘Thank you Kha, start work first thing tomorrow. I need you to reside here, in the Palace. I require a daily report on progress. Merymose insists there are to be no wall decorations. I don’t necessarily agree, but it’s a choice which I must leave to Maiherpri’s parents to decide. In any case, I suppose it wouldn’t be possible to have it fully decorated in time.’

  He looked at Kha, who pursed his lips and shook his head.

  The King moved his attention to Djoser.

  ‘Are you what I’m told you are?’ Haqwaset asked. ‘I’ve forgotten your name,’ he continued without waiting for an answer.

  ‘I’m Djoser,’ came the response.

&n
bsp; ‘Djoser, yes. Djoser, tell me, as well as spying for my father-in-law, he tells me you are a great artist, maybe the best. Is he correct?’

  ‘Majesty, I would have to let my work be my answer,’ replied Djoser.

  ‘I’m neither in the mood, nor do I have time for word games or false modesty,’ Haqwaset said. ‘A straight ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice. If you’re not, then you may as well leave now.’

  Djoser looked embarrassed, what should he say? Yuya noticed his awkwardness and spoke up for him.

  ‘Yes, Haqwaset, he’s the best I’ve seen. He’s a match for his father.’

  Mahu also spoke. ‘I’ve seen the work he’s done in the priest’s tomb Majesty, it’s of the highest quality.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll take your word. Djoser, I command you to produce the finest work you’ve ever done. I assume you are familiar with the ‘Book of the Dead’.

  Djoser nodded.

  ‘Prepare a very special scroll. Write the words and prepare the artwork as if you knew Maiherpri. Talk to his brothers, get an idea about him. Speak with Mahu and Meri-Bes who were his closest friends. Do not disturb his parents. Visit his body tomorrow morning, early before the priests start to remove his brain and his organs and start the preservation process. Speak with Amunitore, gently of course, your daughters may be able to help you there. His tomb won’t be decorated but his journey to the afterlife will be made easier by your work – if you do it properly.’

  ‘Please Your Majesty, don’t worry, I will not let you down,’ replied Djoser.

  ‘People let me down all the time Djoser, but it’s not me you’re doing this for. It’s for my kin, my dear friend who died saving my life. You won’t let him down, Djoser, I will not permit it.’

  Djoser hoped his skill and talent were truly good enough.

  *

  That evening, Tjuya was speaking with her husband.

  ‘Yuya, I’m concerned over Merit’s health.’

  ‘She’s certainly lost a lot of weight,’ said Yuya, ‘I told her so myself the other day.’

  ‘She has no energy, and often, when she doesn’t think anyone is watching, she clutches her side. She is clearly in much pain. She refuses to allow the doctors to see her, saying she’s fine, but we can all see she’s not.’

  ‘Get Tiye to speak to her, she won’t refuse an order from the Queen,’ said Yuya.

  ‘There is something else I think we should do,’ she said and Yuya listened.

  *

  Nahkt spent an uncomfortable, sleepless night. He knew the ‘what’ awaiting him, but he didn’t know the ‘how.’ This was slowly destroying his mind. He imagined dying in a thousand different ways, each one worse than the other, each involving excruciating pain. He’d seen the deaths of the robbers the day before. Heard the screams of even the strongest, as retribution was taken upon them. He’d witnessed the skill with which the executioners used knives to extract pain without danger to life. One of the men had his skin slowly removed. It took several pain filled hours to die. He saw the bodies of the already dead bowmen dragged to the execution site, their heads swiftly removed and placed on poles.

  The opening of his cell door was a welcome relief. He was abandoned in this deep, dark, windowless room, with no idea of time. The rough hands, which pulled him to his feet, were large and calloused. Pushed out of the door, no-one spoke. Communication made by jabbing with a spear to make him walk up the stairs. Taken through to another chamber, slivers of light entered from an opening high in the wall. At first it hurt his eyes but, as he became accustomed, he noticed he was in a bath house. His clothes were quickly torn off him and he was thrown into the water.

  ‘We can’t let you into the presence of the King, stinking of shit, piss and vomit,’ snarled one of the guards.

  ‘Get yourself washed and don’t think of drowning yourself. We’re here to make sure nothing of the sort happens. The King wants you alive so he can kill you.’

  The water was dirty and tepid but Nahkt managed to clean away the grime clinging to him. Neither oils nor lotions were offered and when the guards thought he was clean enough, they forced him out of the water using their spears.

  ‘Robes?’ said Nahkt, when he got out.

  The guard laughed in his face.

  ‘You can’t use your old ones and we can’t spare any new ones, do you know how hard it is to get dried blood washed from clothes?’

  Nahkt, a priest of Amun, a man of high standing, was forced to walk out into the daylight of his last day, naked, alone, except for guards poking him for fun with their spears. It was dark by the time he had arrived at this place yesterday. He had been effectively blinded by dirt and tears and hadn’t seen properly.

  He could see now. He was in a courtyard, surrounded on three sides by large, functional buildings; barracks for the soldiers. On the fourth side were stables, at least twenty large doors. There were several rows of the same behind the first, linked by a passageway, in the centre of the construction. The passageway was large enough for two chariots to pass comfortably. The sun was rising above the building; Nahkt had to shield his eyes as he looked around. His wrists were tied so it was an awkward manoeuvre. From this passageway, coming out of the sun, the golden chariot of the King came into view.

  Haqwaset was dressed for hunting. Another vision of his death flashed before Nahkt, one he hadn’t thought of before, he was again filled with fear. Beside the King, was a tall, well-built Nubian. At first Nahkt was incredulous as it looked just like the young guard who had been killed yesterday. Then as his eyes became accustomed and the chariot came closer, he realised it was one of his own two bodyguards. It was the one who seemed to be more in charge of the two. Djutmosis was his name, although Nahkt had rarely used it. His brother was on the chariot behind with a soldier whom Nahkt didn’t know. There followed other chariots and Nahkt stopped trying to recognise the faces of those on them.

  The King called over to the guards.

  ‘You know what to do, let’s get on with it.’

  Nahkt was pushed, chivvied and pulled towards the King’s chariot. The King didn’t look at him. The Nubian was staring. Nahkt felt sick again. His wrists were untied. A long cord was passed several times around his chest just under his armpits. One side of the cord was tied around each of his wrists and then attached, one each side of the chariot. His arms were thus outstretched. It was not comfortable but he knew this would be the best he would feel for the rest of his life.

  Soldiers came out of the barracks and cheered as the King flicked the reins and the horses started to walk. He kept them at a walking pace so Nahkt could, at least for now, stay on his feet. Haqwaset paraded around the large court yard, giving the jeering soldiers a clear view of the naked, walking, dead man.

  The other chariots lined up behind, matching the pace of the King. Having completed two circuits of the square, the King wheeled to the left and went out through the passageway. Still going slowly, Nahkt counted six rows of stables.

  After the stables they were on an open road. The King sped up the horses and Nahkt was forced to run. His lungs were burning. Even at this early hour the sun was relentless. Each breath seared his lungs. His heart was pumping faster and faster. He felt each beat pounding against his ribs. A pain in his side, his legs feeling weaker by the second, even at this pace he wouldn’t be able to stay on his feet for long. His feet were alternately burned by the hot ground and cut by countless stones. He tried to stay upright. He knew, as soon as he could run no further, he would be dragged. The stones now hurting and cutting into his feet would cause more damage to his body. He had no idea how long this ordeal had gone on, maybe it was just a few minutes, but his legs were getting weaker and weaker, he stumbled, just managing to stay upright. The Nubian was staring at him, sneering.

  The time when he could run no more came suddenly. Nahkt could feel his knees buckle as his body was pulled at an ang
le which completely blocked any possibility of him staying upright. In the fractions of a second it took, for him to hit the rock-strewn road, he prayed to Amun to make him unconscious and take away the pain he knew was coming. Amun was not listening. The god’s reincarnation was driving the chariot to which Nahkt was tied, why would he listen to the cries of a priest?

  By the time the chariot came to a halt, Nahkt was only semi-conscious. The entire front of his body was stripped of skin, scraped, in places to the bone. His bonds were cut and he was turned over onto his back, which had remained unscathed. Water was thrown into his face.

  ‘Is he conscious?’ he heard a voice say, as if it was coming from the end of a long tunnel. ‘We would hate him to miss the final act.’

  The King stepped down from the chariot, his face, as it had been all the time, expressionless. The chariot had stopped beside the entrance to a tomb. Djoser was standing in the doorway waiting, as ordered, for the arrival of the King. Haqwaset approached and Djoser sank to his knees and placed his forehead onto the dirt.

  The King didn’t seem to notice him, as he passed and ducked into the tomb.

  ‘Come, Djoser, let me see this famous work of yours.’

  The inside of the tomb was lit by many candles and lamps. Djoser had spent much of the previous days inside the tomb and the result of this final work was evident. Every reference in the tomb to Amun had been removed using a chisel, exactly as Haqwaset had ordered. The King looked at the artwork. He studied the words written so painstakingly over many months.

  ‘Did you really do all of this?’ Haqwaset asked.

  ‘Yes, Majesty,’ replied Djoser.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ Haqwaset said, as he stopped to admire the painting of the three musicians.

  ‘They are my three daughters.’

  ‘You have a unique style Djoser and an usual eye. ‘It is a pity this work is wasted on such as him outside.’