‘The prisoners claimed they didn’t know what their leader did with the valuables and no amount of persuasion could alter their story. Acting upon my own initiative I decided to go personally, and invite the leader of the mercenaries to come to the barracks and answer a few questions. We found him in his quarters somewhat inebriated and entertaining, or being entertained by, five naked musicians. He was a little reluctant to join us at first but it didn’t take long before he changed his mind and came with us voluntarily. Struggling and kicking out at my soldiers, but voluntarily.’
Haqwaset smiled. He liked this Captain and would see he was rewarded for his service, either by promotion or with gold, maybe both.
‘Did he give you any voluntary information?’ asked Haqwaset.
‘Eventually, Majesty, yes. He told us the portion he received from his men was further divided, roughly in two. One half was retained by him, no doubt to give much back to the local economy, by paying most of it to musicians, dancing girls and wine suppliers. The rest he gave, in his words, ‘as an offering to the god Ptah, by whose grace I have fallen upon this work.’ I asked him in what form he made this offering and he informed me it was by way of gifts to the priests of the Temple.’
The High Priest looked horrified. ‘My King, your exalted Majesty, I have never…’
A look from Haqwaset was enough to silence the increasingly desperate cleric. He had heard stories of the punishments Haqwaset was reputed to hand out to persons who acted against him. He personally had been at the Temple of Hathor in Iunet some years before, at its dedication, and had seen, albeit briefly, a pathetic creature in a cage being paraded on a cart. A senior foreign diplomat who had crossed a line.
Haqwaset turned his attention again to the Captain.
‘Did he say how these gifts were transferred?’
Thutmose was watching the scene play out in front of him in awe and horror. He was aware of the nuances of the situation, he could guess at the planning and rehearsal which had been gone though in the seeming freshness and formality of the soldier’s report. He was impressed by how the haughtiness of the High Priest had been reduced to shaking fearfulness by looks, few words and a cleverly placed linen sack.
At the same time he was horrified by the thought that, one day, it would be him, in this position. He would be expected to be a benevolent, wise king and deal with personages of high standing in a way to make all aware there was none greater than the King. He couldn’t see himself either capable of, or being comfortable in, such a role. The decision he had made about his future was becoming more and more set in his mind.
‘Yes, my Lord, he reluctantly gave us the name of the priest with whom he liaised. It seems the mercenary leader has a cousin who came to Kemet many years ago, was taken into the Temple and has risen to be a senior priest in the Office of the High Priest.’
Haqwaset stared at the High Priest, trying to assess his reaction to this news. The look upon the Priest’s face was one of fear but mixed with incredulity. Haqwaset quickly reached the conclusion the High Priest was ignorant of what had been happening in his name and in his office. In Haqwaset’s eyes, ignorance of such things equated to negligence and laziness. These were almost as bad as if he had stolen the items himself. He turned his attention back to the Captain.
‘And the name of this thief?’
Before the Captain could answer, it was the High Priest who spoke, falling to his knees and clasping his hands together in front of him.
‘Meryptah? Meryptah? Please don’t tell me it was Meryptah. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t do such a thing to me. I have treated him like my son all these years. He’s never wanted for anything. He came to us dying for lack of food, parentless, naked. We clothed him, fed him, nurtured him. We taught him to be a scribe; we assigned him a new and holy name. Welcomed him into our home and our hearts. He could not have done this. Tell me it was not Meryptah; please tell me it was not him.’
Thutmose looked from the High Priest, to his father, to the Captain, back to his father and then back to the disconsolate High Priest. The Crown Prince and the High Priest had always disliked each other but now Thutmose felt nothing but pity for the man. If it was his decision he would have released him immediately. The man was clearly innocent of having any knowledge about what had been happening.
Haqwaset, however, was not Thutmose and didn’t think like his son. He was a god and was not afraid of acting like one when he wished.
The Captain had been standing impassively during the outburst. He waited until he was sure the High Priest was finished.
‘The mercenary leader’s cousin in the Great Temple of Ptah is, my Lord, known by the name of Meryptah. He is outside awaiting audience, if it is your desire.’
‘No, no, no,’ wailed the Priest.
‘Bring him in,’ Haqwaset ordered.
A guard opened a door and two Medjay walked into the chamber, pulling a man behind them by the chains which encircled his wrists. The man was tall and broad. Bigger than an average Kemetian, built similarly to the mercenaries Thutmose had challenged yesterday. The prisoner was instantly recognisable to the young Prince as one of the priests he had seen returning pilgrim’s offerings to the vendors outside of the Temple and receiving payments. He didn’t remember ever having seen him in the High Priest’s presence.
The prisoner was dressed in a simple white tunic; at least originally it had been white. Now it was splattered with blood and grime. Obviously he had spent at least some hours at the Medjay barracks before arriving here. He was escorted to a point just beside the High Priest. He looked down at the still kneeling High Priest and sneered. The guards motioned for the priest to prostrate himself before the King, but he didn’t take the hint. He spat on the ground.
The High Priest rose from his knees and, with all his strength, he swung his arm and slapped the prisoner across the face. Meryptah didn’t react. It was as if he had felt nothing. At the same time one of the escorting guards had taken a spear and stabbed it hard into the back of the prisoner’s knee. As the prisoner bent his knees in pain, the second guard pulled the man forward and down until he crashed onto the floor. His face hit the stone and there was a sickening crack of breaking teeth.
Queen Tiye closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. This was her way of composing herself so she didn’t show any sign of revulsion or, indeed, any emotion.
After a short pause, the prisoner was hauled to his feet. He was bleeding from his mouth and the fresh wounds at the back of his leg, but he was not cowed. The High Priest looked at him.
‘What have you done? After everything I taught you, what have you done Meryptah?’
The prisoner, head and shoulders taller than the High Priest, looked down.
‘Don’t call me by that name, it’s not my name, it’s a meaningless sop to a non –existent false god.’ He was spitting with anger, spraying the High Priest with droplets of blood.
‘I am Hattarna, Prince of my people. I do not bow willingly before an overdressed son of a whore sitting there on a throne, who claims it was a god who duped his mother…’
The rest of the sentence was cut short by one of the guards swinging the butt of a sword against the back of the prisoners head with such force Thutmose thought the man’s eyes would dislodge from their sockets. Haqwaset sat in studied silence. This man had sealed his fate but the King was enjoying the bravado. The thrill of the kill was always better when the prey fought back.
Meryptah moved his head to one side, made a twisting movement as if to remove some discomfort from his neck and again directed his attention to the Priest.
‘You taught me? You taught me? I would laugh if you were not so pathetic. The only thing I learned from you is that wealth is power; gain wealth at all costs, money is your god. Not some pathetic, bawling calf, you use to exhort all you can to buy a few more parcels of land for growing wheat and flax; a few more cows for milk and beef.
This is all I learned from you. Wealth is god; you can do anything with riches. You can buy wine, girls, land, people. Oh you Kemetians are so easily bought and oh so more easily fooled. The term “fool,” should be used as another word for Kemetian, along with “thief’’.’
He pointed to Haqwaset without turning to look at him.
‘The great grandfather of this whoreson stole everything from my people; our riches, our women – oh how many women he stole from us, so many he had to build a new whorehouse in Gurob to make room for them. But, more important than all of that, he stole our freedom. We will one day wrest all from the grasp of this miserable…’
He said nothing further. Haqwaset had risen from his throne, taken the few paces needed to reach the prisoner. He removed his sword from its sheath, as he walked. One strike and the prisoner was silent. His head had been removed completely. It fell, hitting the shoulder of the Priest on its trajectory towards the floor. It bounced and rolled gently towards the Captain who watched in stoic silence. The High Priest screamed, Queen Tiye shut her eyes, Mahu and Meri-Bes were stony faced and Thutmose vomited.
Haqwaset handed his bloodied sword to one of the guards. His clothes, feet and sandals, like the guards’ and priests’ around him, were splattered with the blood which was still spurting from Meryptah’s neck. The headless body lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Haqwaset returned to his seat and spoke to the High Priest in a tone which was controlled but shaky. Adrenaline was pumping through his body and he needed to control his emotions.
‘Do you see what you’ve done?’ the King asked the High Priest. ‘You see what you’ve created? The crimes of this man are your crimes. You brought him into our nest and like a viper he has tried to destroy us. How could you not have known? I’m sure you knew but turned a blind eye. You encouraged him, you developed his capacity. His capacity to steal, his capacity to plot and scheme, his capacity to blaspheme our gods, capacity to threaten me and our people. You heard him. He and his foul relations, here in the Holy City of the white walls, desecrating our holy places, stealing from our people and all done in the name of the High Priest of Ptah. Guards, remove the stinking body. Priest, remove your cloak and cover the blood on the floor, the sight offends me.’
The Priest moved slowly, he was in shock. He did as he was ordered but nothing appeared real to him anymore. Everything around him slowed down. He no longer felt a part of his body or of the scene around him. The King’s voice broke him from his trance.
‘I see you’re not comfortable with the sight of human blood, Priest. Obviously you haven’t been subjected to enough of it in your life. Let’s rectify this gap in your education. Captain,’ he said, turning his attention to the soldier. ‘I want each and every mercenary publicly flogged to within a finger’s breadth of their lives. The Priest is to be present at the event. Once the flogging is finished they should each be beheaded, their heads displayed at the entrances to the city as a warning to those who would steal from us. Priest you will then open your personal grain stores and give two khar of wheat to each household in the city. My wife’s father, Yuya, will oversee this is done as I ask. You will compensate all those who have had possessions stolen by these mercenaries. My soldiers have been charged with the task of accepting reports from citizens and pilgrims and you will repay everything claimed without question.’
‘You are immediately removed from your position as High Priest of Ptah. My Queen’s brother, Anen, will take temporary control until your successor is found. You will be escorted from here to your private residence. Your assets will be assessed by my scribes and then I will decide what, if anything, you will be allowed to keep and whether I will have duties for you. Maybe I should send you as a missionary to your recently deceased protégé’s home country. I’m sure you will receive a very warm welcome there, particularly when the events of today are reported to them. Captain, everything is clear. See to it.’
The Priest was escorted, bent and bowed, out of the Chamber. The King rose.
‘Let’s get out of here. I’d better speak with Yuya and Anen to inform them of what’s needed.’
He held out his hand towards his wife. She looked at him, then at his hand, still bloodied from the execution.
‘I’ll get up myself, thank you husband. You need to bathe before you meet anyone.’
Haqwaset looked down at his hands. He hadn’t realised how blood stained they were. He nodded, waited for her to rise and then walked beside her out of the chamber, followed by Thutmose.
Outside, Thutmose wanted to choose his words carefully. He tried to formulate what he wanted to say to his father, but he forgot everything and blurted it out.
‘Father, I could never do what you did in there. I’ll never be King.’
His father turned and stopped. He looked straight into his son’s eyes.
‘Thutmose, you are the Crown Prince of Kemet. It’s your fate and destiny to one day take on the mantle of Kingship. You will learn to do all things necessary to maintain the Kingdom and protect its people. Don’t be upset by what you have seen. You will come to understand and get used to it before your time comes.’
‘No father, it’s you who needs to understand. I’ll never do what you did today, from start to finish, my whole being cried out against what you were doing. I can’t, and won’t, ever be King. It’s you who needs to get used to it, not me.’
This said, he started walking along a corridor towards his quarters. Haqwaset called after him.
‘Thutmose, don’t walk away from me. Don’t speak to…’ he stopped.
Tiye had put her hand on his arm.
‘Not now husband, this is a bigger problem than can be dealt with here at this moment. Let him go. We’ll all speak to him later, for now let him go. Meri-Bes, go after him, calm him down and make sure he doesn’t run off.’
The dwarf bowed and followed the young Prince, without saying a word.
‘Times are changing,’ Meri-Bes thought to himself.
chapter thirty-four
Three days after the encounter with the High Priest, Haqwaset and the Royal entourage boarded the barges and boats which lined the Palace docks and headed south towards Waset. Haqwaset was not unhappy to be leaving the white walled city. The enjoyment of coming here had been taken from him because of his confrontations in the last days with the priest and later with Thutmose.
Attempts to change Thutmose’s mind proved futile. Finally, Haqwaset had succumbed and taken the advice of his family, even if it went against his own feelings. He granted Thutmose his wish. Tiye had convinced him, if he was ever going to alter the young man’s opinion it would not be now. He needed to act with patience.
‘Let him go for a while,’ she said. ‘In a couple of years he’ll have matured and will be able to see the future more clearly.’
Haqwaset reluctantly concurred.
‘It will take years of training and instruction from me to enable Thutmose to take the reins. He is of an age where he would rule immediately without a Regent. He is just wasting time.’
‘Our son is different, Haqwaset. He’s not the same as his brother, or anyone else from the kap. He is unlike my father, or brothers. His thoughts are formed in unique ways.’
‘He needs to be by my side, watching, learning and waiting, knowing when to act and when not to act, react and not react, when to flatter, when to cajole and when to strike. These are all lessons a man must master if he is to be Lord of the Two Lands. These are matters which can’t be assimilated overnight and perhaps if Thutmose is away from Court too long, he won’t have time to learn them. It took me ten years to grasp the intricacies, from Yuya, before being able to make any decisions on my own. It was at least another ten years before I developed the confidence I now have in myself.’
‘If Thutmose is to be King, then he will never be a copy of you. He has his own ways. Of course he has much to learn, not only fro
m you, but from others around you. He must be permitted to grow, in his own way. He will fulfil his duties, I’m sure of this.’
For his part, Thutmose had stood his ground stubbornly and vehemently. He had made himself clear. He didn’t want to learn the lessons his father could teach him. He was not cut out to be even a diplomat, let alone a king. His own feelings and beliefs were too strong to be able to subvert them for the sake of political expediency. A man, no matter how powerful, could never be god and should not pretend to be.
Haqwaset had reacted angrily to what he viewed as youthful pretentiousness and a personal attack on him and his rule. He variously threatened his son and tried reasoned argument. However, Thutmose stood resolute and determined. He wanted to go to the river’s source in the mountains beyond Punt. He wished to spend time at the home of Yuya and Tjuya. He wanted to travel, as Teppy had done, to visit the lands of his grandfather’s forebears, to meet the uncles and cousins he had only ever heard about in stories.
Thutmose believed he was a part of a tradition and heritage which was not solely based in the Two Lands. He was convinced his destiny transcended national boundaries and nepotism. He felt in his heart, he had been singled out by God, or the gods, for something special. He had no idea what it was nor where it would lead him, but he knew it wasn’t in Kemet. To force him to remain would be like to cage a lion. This would be unbearable and, either with or without his father’s blessing, he was determined to make his own way, make his own mistakes and make his own decisions. Whether they be right or wrong they would be his.
The day before Haqwaset’s departure, he had taken Thutmose alone on his chariot. They went out into the desert beyond the white walls, retracing the route Haqwaset’s father had taken many years before to the great lion bodied statue he had rescued from the encroaching sands.
Thutmose was always in awe of the magnificent statue and the ancient pyramids which altered the skyline around them. The craftsmanship and sheer size of the monuments, which had stood for centuries, were a testament to the genius of the architects and the skill of the workers.
The Awakening Aten Page 42
