by Allen Drury
And instantly, fervently, desperately relieved that the dangerous moment has passed, the watching crowd bellows its approval. Our expressions settle back into their ceremonial patterns; trumpets suddenly blare fanfare from inside the half-finished complex; a covey of priests flutters forward to surround us; Kaires’ voice rings out the order; and the procession begins to move slowly forward into the half-finished temple complex, led, with a great show of dignity, by Aanen, his high priest’s leopard skin whipping rather incongruously around his skinny bones as Ra remains adamantly hidden and Shu the Wind-God sends chill blasts knifing off the water.
Inside the complex, crowds left behind and only participants present, the procession comes to another halt as Aanen raises high his staff of office. This time, however, it is meant to be—not that the other wasn’t, we are all convinced, but there has been no harm done save a new and graver bitterness between Amon and the House of Thebes, and what is that to fools like Aanen? He knows his nephew as well as we do, as much as anyone can, and if he chooses to make of him an immediate enemy now that he is coming to power, who can give a fool the wisdom to do any differently?
So we pause; and in the distance we hear the steady chanting of the priests as they bring Amon in his sacred barque down the sacred avenue of rams from his ancient home at Karnak. Soon we see the first ranks approaching and now it is apparent what Aanen has done: for these are not the customary forty from the ranks of Amon. These are hundreds, and from among their number, whipping high and snapping in the sharp, insistent breeze, fly the standards of Ptah of Memphis, Buto, Sekhmet, Nekhebet, Thoth, Ra-Herakhty, Hathor, Isis, Sebek, Horus and the rest. He has massed all the priesthoods for us today and is saying, in effect: “See what Amon can do!” And at this point, of course, there is nothing whatsoever that even an angry nephew can do in reply.
So we wait and slowly, slowly, to the sound of chanting, drums, cymbals and finally a series of long, triumphant blasts from the hundred massed trumpeters Aanen has also thoughtfully provided, Amon comes to rest on his new altar at Luxor, and the ceremonies, finally, are going to be permitted to begin.
It does not take great powers of imagination to realize how we in the royal party feel now.
Nonetheless, aided by the necessities of ritual and by Nefertiti, who, from her throne which now rests beside his, gives the Crown Prince frequent calming and encouraging glances, all goes smoothly at last
The thrones are lowered, the Family dismounts, the party proceeds through the half-finished hypostyle hall and walks up the gentle slope toward the altar where Amon and his fellow gods await. It has been decreed by Pharaoh that the marriage will come first and for this he himself has decided to preside. Accompanied by Tiye, he takes his place on the raised dais which has been set up, moving with a little difficulty (apparently the arthritis is sharper today) but managing well. They bow to Amon and the massed priests on each side, turn to the two figures, golden like themselves against the gray, scudding sky, who stand just below. Pharaoh says the ancient words, his son and niece respond in low, grave voices. In five minutes it is done. The newlyweds turn to one another and once again the radiant flame ignites between them, anger and impatience with Aanen forgotten in this moment which has been their destiny from birth.
With a happy and triumphant smile, Nefertiti implants a kiss upon those heavy pendulous lips. I believe we all shrink a little, inside, but for her there is no revulsion, no forcing, no holding back: only a perfectly genuine, perfectly happy welcoming in her gesture. He responds with equal joyousness and for a moment we are all relaxed and united in their happiness.
Then Pharaoh and the Great Wife step down to join them, they all turn to Amon and bow low. Aanen mounts the dais, and abruptly tension returns.
“O Great God Amon,” he intones in his pompous, stagy, ceremonial voice, “bless these two who are now united in marriage and give them strength and wisdom to rule over Kemet”—he pauses just long enough to make his point and then concludes the sentence firmly—“with your help. Make them true to you and to all things right and good for Kemet Give them millions and millions of years!”
And gravely from all the hundreds of priests there comes the chanted response:
“Millions and millions of years, O Amon, millions and millions of years!”
“Neb-Ma’at-Ra,” Aanen says, using, as is customary on such occasions, the coronation name of Pharaoh, “Amon understands that it is your desire that Nefer-Kheperu-Ra, your son and Son of the Sun, great of wisdom, farseeing of vision, powerful”—again that slightest mocking hesitation, quite deliberate—“of strength, be crowned this day Amonhotep IV—”
“Life, health, prosperity!” chant the priests.
“—to rule beside you and do all things to assist you in guarding the eternal glory of the Two Lands. Neb-Ma’at-Ra, does Amon understand correctly that this is your desire?”
“He does,” Pharaoh says firmly.
“Then upon this Good God Amonhotep IV—”
“Life, health, prosperity!” chant the priests.
“—Amon does hereby confer his blessing, and says unto all men throughout the land of Kemet and to all the ends of the earth, in all places, at all times, forever and ever—”
“For millions of years, O Amon,” chant the priests. “For millions and millions of years!”
“—that Amonhotep IV is hereby crowned Co-Regent, Pharaoh, King of the Two Lands, Good God and father forever of his people; and that his wife, Nefertiti, is hereby crowned his Chief Wife, to rule with him, and with you, Neb-Ma’at-Ra and the Great Wife, Her Majesty Queen Tiye, forever and ever, as long as Amon and the gods may give you strength.
“So be it!”
And from the heads of the Crown Prince and Nefertiti he lifts and then replaces, first the Double Crown of the Two Kingdoms and then her blue conoidal crown; lifts and replaces them again; and for a third time, lifts and replaces them.
The trumpeters blast a mighty fanfare, Aanen and all the priests shout, “It is done!” And from outside the walls, starting in Luxor and racing along the river as far as the massed throngs stretch, another great shout, of love, of loyalty, of adoration, affirmation and happiness, rises and races and turns and grows and builds upon itself, until all the world seems filled and overflowing with it.
And so it is done, and while Ra still does not deign to part the clouds and smile down upon us, all appears to have gone well: although it will be a while before those of us who heard it can forget that sudden disturbing flash of near-hysterical anger with which the boy demanded entry.
Our procession turns with great solemnity to watch Amon start his return to Karnak along the avenue of rams amid cymbals, drums, blaring trumpets and chanting priests. Then we follow Aanen and still more chanting priests as they lead us out of the temple of Luxor to the royal landing, the golden ships, the slow passage back up the river to Malkata past the adoring thousands who sing, dance and shout their happiness every excited, crowded, jostling inch of the way.
This afternoon to Malkata will come the envoys of Mittani, Naharin, Nubia, Hatti, Retenu, the Isles of the Great Green, Babylon, Assyria, even wretched Kush, to lay at his feet the tributes of their treacherous and obsequious kings. And then tomorrow the two, no longer children now but symbols of state, will travel down the river, receiving hysterical greetings all the way, to repeat the coronation ceremonies in the temples of Amon and of Ptah at Memphis, so that Lower Kemet, too, may confirm with its own eyes that all is properly completed.
So it is done.
Now the strange, horse-faced boy, whom none of us really knows, is God.
***
Nefertiti
Now we have the power!
***
Amonhotep IV
(life, health, prosperity!)
Now we have the power.
Now, O laughers, mockers, jeerers of Amon and of Kemet, your “strange, horse-faced boy” is Pharaoh, too. Now he is also God.
What wonders will you see i
ssuing from this hateful, misshapen body, O mocking, hurtful land of Kemet? What revelations will fall from these heavy horse’s lips, O Amon and you other gods, when this God speaks?
Softly, all.
Softly.
Wait upon me and prepare to learn.
I have surprises for you.
For I am Akh-en-aten, he who has survived and lived long, and I will do great wonders, such things as you cannot imagine, and I will live forever and ever.
***
Book III
Ascent of a God
1372 B.C.
***
Sitamon
This evening I see a new Nile, though it is the same we see at Thebes. Perhaps I should say I see a new Kemet, for I do not see our stark and lovely Peak of the West turning purple in the dying twilight as Ra-Atum, the sun in old age, gently leaves the land. The river blazes molten into gold, then copper, then a last slow shimmering of bronze, before Nut, goddess of the night, ascends her throne; and that is as always. But the hills are low and far away, and not the same.
My brother has brought us here, and none of us, as yet (except, I am sure, Nefertiti), knows why. I have not had much chance to talk to him, for as always we traveled in separate vessels on our way down the river, and when we have made camp at night I have stayed with our parents and he has visited us only once. Then, as always, he remained enigmatic and uncommunicative, even under our mother’s gentle teasing—which conceals, as her children all learn early, a determined and persistent curiosity that does not rest until it is satisfied.
My brother is the only one of us who never satisfies it; and this, I think, in some curious way makes her love him more. He is the one problem the Great Wife has never really understood or solved; and I can tell from his expression that this is one of the things that please him, and from which he derives enjoyment.
There are others. Already he and our cousin have three daughters, all named for the Aten: Meryt-aten, Meket-aten and Ankh-e-sen-pa-aten. And already he has done other things for the Aten which have caused much comment in the land—and much grumbling in the temples of Amon.
Within a month after Pharaoh had made him Co-Regent he ordered a new sandstone quarry to be opened at Gebel Silsila for the building of a huge temple to the Aten at Karnak. Yet, with the deliberate perversity which he also seems to enjoy, he made all Kemet as confused about his motives as he makes his family. He ordered that there be carved at Gebel Silsila a stela, the inscribed slab, usually of stone, upon which Pharaohs are accustomed to relate their achievements for posterity, and on it he had himself depicted making sacrifice to Amon—in the regalia of High Priest of “Ra-Herakhty, rejoicing on the Horizon in his manifestation of the Light that is in the Sun-Disk”—in other words, the Aten.
Sacrificing to Amon as High Priest of the Aten: such is my brother, the Pharaoh Amonhotep IV (life, health, prosperity!). And this is what not only his mother and his family, but all of Kemet, the Empire and foreign states, are expected to make some sense of.
I must confess that his sister does not, as yet. I, the Queen-Princess Sitamon, am as baffled as any peasant along the Nile. I think there may be a pattern here. I am as curious as Queen Tiye. But he never explains, my brother: he simply does, and the world may make of it what the world will.
So the building of the great temple to the Aten at Karnak proceeds posthaste: I think it may overtake the slow and endless construction of our father’s temple to Amon at Luxor. To it, at a formal ceremony when the cornerstone was laid, my brother gave the name “The Aten is found in the House of the Aten”—which many of us took to have the added sense of, “So do not try to imprison him in your house, Amon!” Certainly that is what our uncle Aanen chose to make of it, buzzing angrily around the Palace like some bothersome bee: him I hope my brother will squash, in due time, because he is an increasingly annoying man, and I find him not only a bore but an active nuisance. At any rate, his instinct told him this was another of those insults to Amon he is always reading into everything, and he did much fuming on the subject, to the deliberately deaf ears of the Family and the absolute complete disregard of his nephew my brother.
Then just ten days ago, shortly before we all set sail on this unexplained progress down the river, my brother did something even more startling. He ordered placed on the walls of the new temple two cartouches, or name plates, for the Aten exactly like the cartouche of a Pharaoh. And to make it still more pointed, he gave the god the titularies of a Pharaoh celebrating Jubilee, even though theoretically Jubilee, symbol of a Pharaoh’s renewal and continuation in office, comes only once in thirty years.
Thus the Aten now is almost a third Pharaoh (at least in my brother’s mind—or in my brother’s plan, whatever that may be), and his proper form of address are these words which have never before been conferred on a god, even on Amon:
“Ra-Herakhty, rejoicing on the Horizon in his manifestation of the Light that is in the Sun-Disk, Aten, the Living, the Great, Who is in Jubilee, Lord of Heaven and Earth, Giving life forever and ever.”
He also caused to be carved on the temple walls a new symbol of the god which he himself, apparently, designed—based on the hieroglyph for sunlight, but enlarged and elaborated so that now it represents a disk encircled by a uraeus, with an ankh hanging from its neck. Radiating out from its edges are more than a dozen long rays, each having at its end a tiny hand, many of those hands offering ankhs and other tributes to my brother, to Nefertiti, and to their daughters.
And he reiterated that he was the High Priest of the Aten and formally appointed Nefertiti the High Priestess. And he also appointed, to universal astonishment, our uncle Aye to be his assistant. And, to universal astonishment, our uncle Aye bowed gravely, seeming not at all surprised, and accepted.
He also has just commissioned the sculptor Bek to carve three colossal statues of himself, one to be placed at the entrance of the Aten’s house in Karnak, one halfway along the slope up to the altar, and the third at the altar’s entrance.
Where all this puts Amon, I leave to my uncle Aanen and his overweening priests to figure out. It is a very dangerous game my brother plays, but there are those who deserve it, and Amon, I think, is one.
This sharp sentiment does not sound like Sitamon, who, as I recall her, was a sunny and amiable child who grew into a pleasant and tolerant young girl and then into an apparently happy woman. This I suppose I still am, basically, though testiness has a way of creeping on us all in times like these. I see Kaires with reasonable frequency—as always, he accompanies us now, and is off in camp with his soldiers, half a mile up the river: through the palms I can glimpse the fires burning, hear the distant shouts over the general hum of the Court’s encampment. We have a permanent agreement that later we may meet behind some sand dune, but that is hardly the life we should like to have together. I am now twenty-seven, he is thirty-four, and we do not grow younger. Gilukhipa still helps when she can, though lately she has not been feeling well, and is confined for the moment to her own tent, some hundreds of yards away from my parents and me. She cannot help tonight. It will be sand dune or nothing, which has often been the case in our secret romance, begun when I was fifteen and continued without a break ever since.
I should like to marry him, but this of course is impossible. My father pre-empted me to confirm his own claim on the throne, and not even my brother, who would normally have married me to secure his own claim, could ever do anything about that
Nor, as a matter of fact, has my father; although there was an occasion, just after Kaires and I suddenly realized that we were in love and must find our own secret channels for expressing it, when I thought he might try.
It was late, in the Palace of Malkata. The Great Wife had gone to bed. Pharaoh, presumably suffering one of his periodic bouts of illness, was confined to his room. I was practicing the harp, pretending to gossip with my ladies in waiting and inwardly planning desperately how I might next see Kaires. Suddenly there came a summons: Pharaoh desired wine
, and I was to bring it to him.
Instantly everyone in the room made an assumption. I also made the assumption and, strengthened by my new-found love for Kaires, followed it with an iron determination that, for this royal daughter, it was not to be. A citizen of Kemet is taught from infancy that whatever Pharaoh desires Pharaoh must have, automatically and without question; and I suspect, had I not just fallen in love with Kaires, that I should not have objected. It is the customary thing in the royal House: I should probably, though it might at first have seemed a little strange, have welcomed the chance to bear a possible heir to the throne. I had no particular antipathy to the prospect, which I had long expected and to which, except for Kaires, would have willingly agreed. But—there was Kaires, fair to me then, and fairer even to me now. So I took the wine, gave my ladies one sharp look that silenced their softly smiling titters, and walked alone, save for the guard who customarily accompanies me, to Pharaoh’s door.
There I nodded dismissal to the guard, who also gave me a secret, knowing glance which only served to strengthen my determination; called out clearly, “Father, I have your wine,” and was bade to enter.
As I suspected, the room was darkened and Pharaoh was naked on the bed, bearing a close resemblance at that moment to the god Min, the only god in Kemet who is ever portrayed sexually. Min is always a very vigorous and obvious figure in this respect, and so was Pharaoh; and something—a combination, possibly, of my determination, my nervousness, my fright, and a sudden sense of the ridiculous that Hathor, Sekhmet or someone equally friendly sent winging to my rescue—prompted me to make the comparison aloud.
“You look just like Min, Father,” I said, “only I think possibly he is a little bigger.”
