by Allen Drury
A vast concourse had gathered on the eastern bank, for word of our journey had of course been sent out by mounted messengers as soon as he announced his willingness to go.
When we appeared on the landing we were surrounded by a group of soldiers, staff, and dignitaries headed by faithful Ramose. They bade us farewell, then stepped aside. A great gasp went up from the other side as we walked, the children close behind, up the ramp and prepared to mount the double throne.
For a second my son looked completely panic-stricken. We tensed in fearful anticipation that he might turn and hobble back.
Then his shoulders straightened, he moved to the railing and with something we did not know he had, but discovered in that instant, a very real and very great dignity apparently born of his ordeal, he lifted both arms, thin and spindly as they had become, and with a generous and sweeping wave seemed to embrace all of our tensely watching people.
At once a roar of love and approval went up, repeated again and again as he continued to bow and wave gravely to them.
Again the tears were not only in his eyes but in those of all of us. He had come through. He had survived.
So it went all down the river as we moved slowly through Upper Kemet and so on into Lower Kemet and the Delta, reaching our objective three weeks after setting sail from Malkata. Crowds were everywhere, every village we passed was filled with welcoming, loving, happy people. The private word that sometimes seems to travel faster than light preceded us the length of Kemet: the Crown Prince was changed, but well again. He was still the Crown Prince. And he was theirs.
At one particular spot, I remember, a vast bend of desert on the eastern bank of the river about halfway between Thebes and Memphis, so many thousands had gathered from the countryside about that they seemed to stretch almost as far as the low, rocky ridges that bounded the sands. Here he asked that the flotilla be halted so that he might greet them more intimately, proposing that he and Nefertiti be permitted to disembark and ride among them in one of the two ceremonial chariots we had brought along in the supply ships. With considerable misgivings his father and I looked at one another, but the two children were so radiant, so excited, and so happy that we did not have the heart to say no. We asked Aye and Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, to ride with them, gave our blessings and waved them off.
For almost two hours, while we stayed aboard and strained our eyes to watch their progress, they rode back and forth across that enormous plain, their passage marked by a constant wave of excited and happy cheers.
Finally, exhausted and almost drunken with delight, they returned to us and we set sail again. But long after we began to move they stood together at the railing looking back at that vast plain and its throngs which still shouted distantly after them.
“That was the best of all,” he said to us as the river turned away and the plain passed finally from view. “That was best of all.”
“It was,” agreed Nefertiti, her eyes alight still with the glow of it. “Oh, it was!”
But in Memphis, of course, and indeed everywhere, it was the same: acceptance, understanding, loyalty, love. We stayed three weeks, returned in the same triumphal way. This time we did not stop at their favorite river bend, but again they stood at the railing to wave and stare back, long after the loving crowd had again roared its greeting.
“Still the best,” he said with his little enigmatic smile as the plain once again slipped from view. “Still the best.”
“Yes,” Nefertiti said, holding close to his arm. “We must come here someday again.”
“We will,” he promised gravely, “when I am King.”
After that trip there has been no turning back. He took his place once more with the Family in all our public appearances, presently began to go accompanied only by Nefertiti: lately, sometimes, even alone, when his father and I for one reason or another have been unable to attend. Since the co-regency and marriage were announced, he has traveled with her again all the way to Memphis and back, to the same acclaim. They have accepted him. He has survived.
Now on this chilly day that threatens rain he is about to take his place on the throne-beside-the-throne. I am satisfied as a mother with his remarkable recovery, satisfied as a ruler with what we have all accomplished with the two of them. Under my guidance he will be a good Co-Regent and she will be a wonderful helpmate.
I, the Great Wife Tiye, Pharaoh in all but name of the Two Lands, welcome the new Pharaoh and his Chief Wife to power beside me.
Should the Aten call away me or my husband, which will effectively end my power whichever it is, Kemet will rest in good hands.
I, the Great Wife Tiye, Pharaoh in all but name of the Two Lands, have so arranged it.
***
Aye
I have misgivings: but events proceed.
Soon we will be leaving for Luxor, and nothing at all can now reverse the course that all our lives are taking.
I have done much to decide that course, I am as responsible as any, I have desired nothing more than this. Why, then, should I have doubts now, when it is much too late to change anything at all? When what I have dreamed and planned for fifteen years is about to come true?
The reason is, I think, the boy, and, in equal extent, my daughter, whom we have trained since babyhood to be his mirror image—if I may use such a term, knowing what the mirror now reflects … yet this, I suppose, is a cheap shot and unworthy of Aye: for the mirror not only reflects grotesquerie but a brilliant mind, a dreamer’s imagination, an idealist’s heart—and a will which is, I suspect, of iron.
He has confided much in me in these recent years, more than his parents have ever suspected, more than I have ever told. So has she, though her thoughts have usually paralleled his so closely that I have needed to know only the one to anticipate the other. I do not believe this has happened with Amonhotep, Son of Hapu; I am sure Kaires, for all the relative closeness in age and all the easy intimacy he was shrewd enough to establish early with them, has never been taken into their confidence so deeply. It has imposed on me a great burden, one more of those I have always carried for Kemet. Much of the molding of those two minds which now are about to acquire such power over the land has been done in the quiet private talks we have managed to have out of sight and sound of the rest of the Family.
From the others they have received all the standard things. From me they have received not so much instruction as sympathy and a patient ear. This they have apparently considered of greater value. Certainly to it they have given greater response, even though their response to the others has been impeccable. They have been dutiful children in all respects, moving with an easy grace to acquire the knowledge and the skills needed for government.
To the others they have revealed the formal results.
To me they have revealed the inner questionings.
These began, as did so many things in the minds of my nephew and my daughter, with the illness. That watershed in his life, whose consequences, still only partially revealed, still mysterious and not yet fully knowable, will obviously become part of the history of Kemet, apparently started many wonderings in his mind. They seem to revolve basically around the gods.
Why it should be that after almost two thousand years of recorded history there should appear in the land a Pharaoh who questions the gods, who have been ordained from the Beginning and are eternal, I could not say, unless it is that none came to his assistance when he prayed to them for help. But question them he does—not only Amon the obvious, whose relationship to the Family makes us all uneasy, but all the rest as well. Ptah … Ra-Atum … Ra-Herakhty … Mut … Hathor the cow … Sekhmet the lioness … Isis … Osiris … Nut … Geb … Khons … Thoth the ibis or baboon … Horus the falcon …
There is not a one whose existence and justification he has not challenged in our private talks these past two years. Dutifully his little echo my daughter has parroted him. What am I to make of this?
I have tried to tell them how our belief in the gods began:
how the first unification of the Two Lands came with Menes (life, health, prosperity!) of the First Dynasty, which believed in Ra, and so gave Ra—the Sun at the height of his noontide glory—an initial supremacy over all other gods. I have told them how our ancestors—those dim and distant folk whom we call, across the haunted valleys of two thousand years, the Ancients of Kemet—initially worshiped the deities they saw in the major elements about them, in the earth, the sky, the waters of the River Nile, the wind, the rain, the scarab in the sand who symbolizes the formation of the earth as it forms tiny balls of dung in which to house its eggs and thus shelter and bring forth life. I have told them how the spreading unification of the land after Menes—psychological and mental unification, as well as physical unification—gradually merged Ra with all these other deities, yet kept him supreme, so that the sun cult always remained the dominant religion down to the time of their own immediate forebears of the Eighteenth Dynasty, when Amon (even he still retaining Ra in his formal name) became through circumstance and politics “the king of all the gods.”
I have told them how each town and locality had its own god, how each developed its own priests and temples, how all were absorbed finally by Ra and Amon, yet how each has still to this day retained its separate individuality in the hearts and minds of the people, who worship, fear, or love many gods.
I have told them why we worship certain animals and birds—not because we actually worship them but because we worship certain attributes they have which we associate with the gods they represent: the falcon, fierce and protective of Pharaoh and the land, as Horus; the ibis and baboon, shrewd and quick and full of shining wisdom, as Thoth; the lioness, stern and punishing to those who transgress, kindly and protective of those who obey, as Sekhmet; the crocodile, who guards longevity in the good and takes it away brutally from the bad, as Sebek; and all the rest. I have told them how we worship ritual because ritual each day reaffirms the order of things as it existed from the Beginning, and enlists each god anew in the service of the land and of Pharaoh—and in turn, of course, enlists Pharaoh himself anew in the service of the land and of the gods.
And from two shy yet stubborn eyes, and from two sparkling yet equally stubborn ones, there has looked out the one question I cannot answer if they cannot comprehend:
Why?
I have told them why, many times over. And so I think it is not a matter of “cannot” comprehend but a matter of “will not” comprehend.
And this, I tell you frankly, much disturbs me.
For if Pharaoh himself does not believe in the gods, then what will happen to the land? What will happen to the ancient order of things which, save for the unhappy subjugation by the Hyksos and one or two other relatively brief chaotic periods of our history, has always kept Kemet a happy, prosperous and stable country, a marvel to the nations and a beacon to the world? What will become of all of us, when the Co-Regent and the new Chief Wife pick up the power that already trails listlessly from the hands of my brother-in-law, that needs only time to fall forever from the strong, indomitable hands of my sister?
What will happen to Kemet then?
I can only hope: I can only hope. I have done my best to listen sympathetically, to try to understand, to try to end their questioning and bring them back. If they have an alternative to offer, they are not telling me. If they are not telling me, I know they are telling no one.
I cannot believe—I cannot believe—that they really contemplate any serious attempt to change the immutable order of things which has come down to us from the Beginning. I must tell myself, as I have told myself constantly since this most disturbing irreverence began, that it is simply the exuberance of young minds, simply the game of youth running free for a few last independent hours before it goes under the yoke of discipline and joins in the task with which all in the Great House are charged, the preservation of the eternal order of this eternal land,
I have to believe this, but I am not sure I do. The wind blows cold off the Nile, but it is not only the weather that chills my bones: the cold goes deeper, it strikes my heart. I love them both most dearly, yet if they really feel as they hint they do—if they really attempt to challenge the very soul and being of the Two Lands—then there can be only one ending.
And in that ending there can be for the Councilor Aye, in love and fear and horror, devoted always and only to the good of Kemet, only one role he can possibly play. And he will not be alone.
The cold strikes deep, it ravages my heart. I dress to go to Luxor now, but I go in a growing fear I hope I may succeed in hiding from them all.
They must never perceive it, for there is the possibility I cling to as desperately as every sailor tossed unsuspecting into the arms of Hapi clings to the floating palm branch.
I may be mistaken.
I pray to all the gods that this is so.
***
Nefertiti
The day is here, the day is here! It is here.
I, Nefertiti, shall be Queen. My cousin, my love, will be King. We will rule Kemet with the Good God and the Great Wife as long as it pleases the Aten to let them live.
Then we will rule alone.
And things will change.
My noble ladies in waiting have washed me thoroughly with scented waters softened with salts of natron. Now they dress me, here in the main Palace of Malkata. They bring me warm woolens against the windy cold They bring me, to go over them, a sheath of gold, pectorals filled with many jewels, rings, bracelets, golden sandals for my feet, my own special conelike blue crown which I designed and which is like no other, rising high and drawing back from my face to reveal it in all its beauty.
There is no one in Kemet as beautiful as I. There is no one in Kemet—I hesitate, but I am strong and fearless, and I say it—there is no one in Kemet as strange as he. He believes this gives us great advantage. I believe it too. What he believes, I believe. For he is always right.
The ladies in waiting flutter about me, exclaiming and awe-struck by my beauty. They increase it with kohl for my eyes, powders and rouges for my cheeks, tints for my hair. I hold my head very still, examining myself over and over in the bronze jewel-ringed mirror which he gave me on our last birthday. (I gave him a small scarab which he wears as a ring, showing on its reverse Horus the falcon representing Pharaoh, standing on Sebek the crocodile representing longevity, and flanked by two cobras representing the goddess Buto of Lower Egypt—thus, Lower Egypt protecting Pharaoh and giving him long life. These are things we no longer believe in, but it is a pretty conceit. And it symbolizes something for us: we seem to feel more at home in Lower Egypt, away from the intrigues of this city, though it is here in Thebes that we will chiefly rule.)
I study myself in the mirror, and slowly, carefully, with infinite delicacy, my principal lady in waiting, An-ser-Woss-ett, draws rings of green kohl, made from ground malachite, around my eyes, heavily shading my eyelids, drawing out the fine lines at the end of each eye to exaggerated lengths to make me seem glamorous and mysterious—not that I need much of that, for I am glamorous and mysterious: but it is the custom. Then from another little pot she takes powdered red ochre, which she applies to my lips and cheeks to heighten their already lovely color. My hair (which will be seen briefly when my unusual crown is removed after the wedding and then formally returned to my head by my uncle Aanen to signify my coronation as Queen of the Two Lands and Chief Wife of the Co-Regent) she tints lightly with henna—again, a custom, for it shines with a beautiful dusky red color, as it is. Custom also calls for it to be shaven after I become Queen, and for me to wear heavy wigs thereafter; but this I think I will not do. I have classic features, a long, lovely neck; why hide them under an ugly thatch of someone else’s hair? I will permit them to be covered with cloth of gold for certain major ceremonies, but for the rest I shall wear my crown and look as nature intended me. This will be treat enough for Kemet, I think, and while there may be a little grumbling that I break tradition, what of it? It is not the only traditi
on we intend to break.
Now An-ser-Woss-ett is preparing to drench me with perfumes, which I must admit I like. Myrrh and frankincense, cinnamon, bitter almond, sweet wine mixed with honey, sweet rush, cardamom—they all blend together in a delicious jumble which I thoroughly enjoy. I shall smell lovely when I come to his bed, though it will not be the first time: we have had each other many times in the weeks since our marriage was announced and no one, save possibly Kaires, has even suspected. We have become very clever at concealing what we do—and concealing what we think. Only my father suspects our thoughts a little, and even him I think we have succeeded in confusing. It is vital that we do so, until we have the power. There will be time enough then for the world to exclaim.
I said “many times” but actually it has only been twice, for it has not been easy to arrange: but it has been enough to prove to me that I can be his wife, as he can be my husband, willingly and joyously in every sense. I was not at all sure of this, for you must understand that his terrible illness imposed a strain on me greater than it did on anyone save himself: and of course I did not know what final damage it might have done to him. For a long time I was uncertain on all counts, even though I have known almost from the time I knew anything that someday we would marry. I knew that this would still be true if he should survive the change, no matter what he looked like, or what, if any, his powers might be—for from the first our marriage has been considered necessary for Kemet. But I really thought for a time that it might have to be a marriage complete with all the love, affection and support I could give him, but incomplete in the one thing that matters most to us and to Kemet—that we should be able to love one another in all ways, and that we should also be able to have many healthy sons to strengthen our House and continue the Eighteenth Dynasty forever and ever.
Since the continuation of the House and the Dynasty are so important, I was even prepared if necessary to accept the fact that I might have to submit myself to some substitute father (undoubtedly Pharaoh himself, ailing as he is), so that my sons could be produced for Kemet behind the public screen the marriage would provide. But now I know that this will not be necessary. It is the one thing I had to know to be able to go through this day with the genuine joy and happiness I should feel, and show the people.
