A God Against the Gods

by Allen Drury

  Tiye and I no longer do. Now we worry, though it is rare that we express it to one another candidly. If we did I should probably stop this pretense of sleep and we would discuss it now. But it has been one of my bad days, and I do not feel like endless discussion of the riddle we have produced. My teeth hurt, my limbs ache. Three draughts of wine for relief have proved more skull-splitting than medicinal. Min did come to my aid sufficiently an hour ago for me to render dutiful tribute to the Great Wife and all her many remarkable qualities, but that is enough. I am exhausted now, and who knows: Perhaps the result will be another such as keeps us awake tonight—though I cannot really believe that Amon would take such further revenge. The Co-Regent has given him enough to think about: he would not want two of the same kind after him!

  Not, of course, that there could ever be two of the same kind. The older he grows and the more he does, the more I believe Nefer-Kheperu-Ra to be unique among men, perhaps unique in history. Certainly he is unique among Pharaohs, for never has there been one who so openly and determinedly challenged ma’at and the accustomed order of things. He is very stubborn, our son. We set him on a certain course, thinking maturity would mellow and moderate it into a smooth and diplomatic approach that would enable him to accomplish what we wished without creating antagonisms that could ultimately bring him down if he goes too far. We reckoned without his illness, which changed all things. It brought him, I think, great visions; but it also, I fear, removed in him some balance that is necessary if a Pharaoh is not to place himself beyond the area in which ordinary men can understand him. For on that understanding, though we be gods, rests the acceptance of our divinity. Without it, even we must fail.

  With almost no exceptions, we Pharaohs have been, though divine, what one might almost call “ordinary men.” We have in our ranks no great madmen, no great fanatics, no great monsters killing and murdering. It is on the whole a gentle record, a record of averages, a record of decent and kindly things in which most of us have taken seriously, and worked hard at, our task of ruling the Two Lands with fairness and with justice. The Double Crown is ours by divine right, but we have taken it as a sacred trust. Witnessing the constant chaos on our borders, I do not think any other nation has been equally blessed.

  So in my time have I also ruled, though I know there have been occasions when this dear little head beside me has not thought so. It is true I have not led great conquests to win new lands: I did not need to, all the land Kemet requires Kemet has. It is true I have not promulgated many new laws: it has not been necessary, the laws handed down have for centuries proved sufficient to govern the Two Kingdoms peaceably. It is true I have not shown myself along the borders, made expeditions to frighten allies constantly quarreling among themselves: but why should I? Babylon, Mittani, Gebal, Syria, Megiddo, the Hebrews—let them squabble, it only makes Kemet stronger. Or so I see it, though I know that Tiye, Aye and many others, including Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, and Kaires, have often urged that I take such journeys. I have always refused: I like it here.

  But I have built. How I have built! At Medinet Habu and Malkata I have built an enormous complex of palaces, temples, granaries, court offices, nobles’ houses, army barracks, servants’ quarters. At Sakkara I have built the Serapeum for the burial of the Serapis bulls sacred to the Sun. At Karnak I have added the first row of pillars for what may someday be an even greater hypostyle hall leading to the altar, and I have erected the massive Third Pylon in tribute to the god. I have also built a temple at Karnak to Mont, the original god of Thebes. I have built a viewing-temple for Amon on the west bank of the river at Thebes, and have built a temple to him at Sulb just north of the Third Cataract. I am building the Southern Sanctuary of Amon at Luxor, the greatest single temple ever erected to the god, to his wife Mut and to their son Khons.

  For myself, I have built a palace at Memphis and a hunting lodge in the Faiyum, the great oasis southwest of the Delta where many Pharaohs before me have relaxed to hunt ducks, geese, lion and other game. And connected with the Palace of Malkata by a causeway across the Nile marshes, I have built a mortuary temple to myself which exceeds in size and beauty any mortuary temple ever built by any Pharaoh, even Hatshepsut (life, health, prosperity!). This beautiful temple to myself (where I go frequently, attended by the Court, to worship myself) is made of the best white sandstone, inlaid with gold. Its floor is silver, its pillars and portals are painted with electrum. It has a great stela inside, covered with gold and precious stones, which proclaims my glory. Along its mammoth hallway stand many beautiful statues of myself, some carved from the fine granite of the Elephantine Islands at Aswan, others of hard red quartzite and many other fine stones and jewels. It has a sacred lake which is filled by the Nile, and many priests and officers care for it. It is guarded by two colossi of myself which stand side by side at the gates, so that the visitor must pass between them as he enters. Thus may he pause as he does so and marvel at my greatness.

  And my wife, my brother-in-law and my most trusted lieutenants say of me that I have done nothing for Kemet! I believe there must be jealousy there, for the gods know I have done more than any other king.

  And furthermore: at my first Jubilee three years ago, I made a deliberate attempt to restore the balance with Amon which my son by then had already done so much to overturn. He had already started eight temples to the Aten, including the enormous ones at Karnak and Memphis; he had named his first two daughters for the Aten as he was subsequently to name his third; and he had begun to abandon the daily rituals that all Pharaohs have always performed for Amon at the dawn of each day. It is true that last year he named a senile old man, Maya, to be High Priest of Amon, but this was regarded by everyone as simply a gesture, and an insulting one at that. It did not please Amon and it only blunted the nose of my brother-in-law Aanen, who remained the still all-powerful Second Prophet of Amon and became even more embittered and subversive toward his nephew. So I felt I should do something.

  Therefore when the time came for my First Jubilee—and what a magnificent ceremony I caused that to be!—I formally changed the name of Medinet Habu and the Malkata complex from “The-House-of-Neb-Ma’at-Ra-Shines-Like-Aten” to “The-House-of-Rejoicing.”

  My first intention was to rename it “The-House-of-Rejoicing-Which-Is-Pleasing-to-Amon,” but that was not to be. The idea brought the first open argument between the Co-Regent and me, and it proved to me beyond all doubt how headstrong he had become. Because, I regret to say, he won.

  The Great Wife and I had returned from our northern capital at Memphis, where the Jubilee was celebrated in conjunction with the festival of the falcon death-god Sokar. These secret rites, which only Pharaoh is permitted to attend, are a reminder to Pharaoh of his mortality and also a reminder of the very ancient time when the thirty-year Jubilee was held for the purpose of killing and dismembering the King, presumably by then a fairly old man, so that a new and vigorous ruler might assume the crown. If this ever really happened it is lost in the mists of time, but the priests of Sokar over the centuries have taken it upon themselves to act as what they like to call “the conscience of the King” by re-enacting it in mime for each of us who reaches Jubilee. They deem it good, and the people seem to agree, that Pharaoh be reminded of this presumed grisly fate of his probably mythical forebears. It is the custom of ages. So one attends, solemnly—all participants knowing full well that if anyone nowadays dared so much as touch the hem of Pharaoh’s garment without permission he would be instantly struck down.

  That pleasant duty performed, and suitable time having been spent in Memphis to satisfy our loyal subjects of Lower Kemet, we embarked upon the river and sailed north through our adoring people to come again to Thebes. There the Great Wife and I were towed in a barque along a canal in western Thebes, our passage an imitation of Ra’s as he moves through the final hours of night to emerge once more in the east for glorious rebirth. So did we emerge at the end of the canal, which terminated at the foot of my two colossi, and there wer
e once more formally recrowned by Aanen and his priests of Amon.

  I announced, amid wild rejoicing (led noisily by Aanen), that I intended to rename Medinet Habu in Amon’s honor and would presently issue a scarab containing the new designation. Tiye, Aye and I had just returned to Malkata, congratulating ourselves that we had done much to make Aanen happy and pull the sting of his anger, when word came by flustered messenger that the Co-Regent, instead of recrossing the river to the small palace he has chosen to build for himself and his family in southern Thebes, was on his way to Malkata to see me.

  “I came to warn you, Son of the Sun,” the messenger said humbly from his position face down, prostrate at my feet. “His young Majesty is angry.”

  I reached down, touched his shoulder in a kindly way, and said:

  “Thank you, good friend. I think I know why, but it need not trouble you. Take this jewel, and go.”

  And I detached a small carnelian from my ceremonial belt and gave it to him. He backed out, bowing low and uttering many grateful sounds, arriving at the doorway just as my son started to enter. Bowing to me, he did not, of course, see my son, and, in fact, bumped into him. When he turned around and saw who it was, he turned so completely white that we all thought he would faint

  “Here!” the Co-Regent said, grabbing his arm to steady him, though the sudden movement almost upset his own somewhat precarious balance. “You are all right, my good man. You are all right! There is no harm. Go, now!”

  And for a moment, as he watched the poor devil flee in relieved confusion down the corridor, he could not suppress a smile. It did not last as he turned to face us.

  “Father,” he said evenly, “what is the name you intend to give to this place?”

  For a second I contemplated some evasion; but he has an instinct, sharpened no doubt by adversity—one more of the damnable consequences of his damnable ailment—which very often permits him to see through evasions. And I am, after all, his father and Pharaoh, and hardly afraid to speak.

  “The-House-of-Rejoicing-Which-Is-Pleasing-to-Amon,” I said with a calm indifference I did not entirely feel, for I did not know what explosion this might produce.

  “I forbid it,” he said, very quietly but with unmistakable force.

  “Forbid it?” I cried in astonishment, and at my side Tiye cried also, “Forbid it? How dare you address Pharaoh like that?”

  “I, too, am Pharaoh,” he said, still quietly, still evenly, still with the same soft but adamantine force.… “Would you uncrown me, Son of the Sun?”

  There have been times, I must admit, when I have thought this might not be such a bad idea; but he knows as well as I that it is impossible. Once done, it is done, forever and ever. He also knows that his mother and I love him too much to do him the violence which has disposed of some other obstreperous heirs to the Double Crown over the centuries. So it was not with gratitude but with something close to mockery in his voice that he repeated calmly:

  “Would you uncrown me, Father?”

  “I may not do that,” I said, keeping my own voice steady with great difficulty, “but I could send you on an expedition to Punt or Kush or Mittani or Naharin and keep you away for as long as it pleases me.”

  I was aware of a small warning movement from the Great Wife, which of course instantly weakened my authority; followed by a discreet but insistent clearing of the throat by my brother-in-law Aye, which did not help either. My son, who for a split second had looked shaken, took these signs to mean exactly what they did.

  “I should refuse to go,” he said.

  “I should order you!” I shouted, aware as I did so that the shout in itself was an abandonment of authority: I should somehow have managed to keep as calm as he, but for the life of me I was unable.

  “Then you would have to kill me,” he said with perfect control, “for I still should refuse to go.”

  “You would have to go!” I cried.

  “Son of the Sun,” he said, “I would not go.”

  For several moments I am afraid I glared at him, simply too frustrated and angry to speak. He returned me gaze for gaze from those long, narrow eyes that reveal so little he does not wish them to. And presently, once again, my brother-in-law Aye gently but insistently cleared his throat.

  “Yes?” I snapped, turning on him sharply, relieved to be able to vent my anger on someone who at least thinks and acts like a normal human being. “What is it, Brother?”

  “Majesty,” Aye said quietly, “we are all aware that there is no purpose to be gained by threatening Nefer-Kheperu-Ra. We all know that he lives in truth and speaks the truth. When he says he would die rather than go, we know he would die rather than go. Therefore I think there must be some other way to resolve this impasse.”

  “And who has created this ‘impasse’?” I demanded with an anger made greater by the fact that my teeth, as always when I am under stress, seemed to be choosing this particular moment to hurt worse than ever. “He has, by his ridiculous attempt to interfere with my desire to rename my palace as I wish in whatever way is pleasing to me, who am Pharaoh and King of the Two Lands.”

  “But as he truly says, Neb-Ma’at-Ra,” Aye pointed out, respectfully but firmly, “so is he. And therefore he perhaps has some small voice, though I will agree a junior one, in a decision bearing so directly upon the relations of your House with the priests of Amon.”

  “Does he consult me when he idolizes the Aten and thereby offends the priests of Amon?” I demanded bitterly; and my son, of course, turned it upon me, which I suppose I had invited.

  “Who first urged me to worship the Aten, Father,” he asked quietly, “if it was not you, O Son of the Sun?”

  For a moment I was at a loss to reply, and it was the moment Aye had been waiting for, because, as always, he had a compromise to offer. Aye is full of compromises, which is why he will probably survive us all. But he is a good and shrewd man and has helped our House times beyond measure. I cannot be too harsh with him—even though now, with this new move of accepting the assistant priesthood of the Aten, he has me somewhat puzzled, though I think I see his reasoning.

  “Perhaps the solution is a simple one, Majesty,” he said to me. “And perhaps if your father agrees, you will be considerate enough to agree also, Majesty,” he said to my son.

  Neither of us gave ground at that moment: we simply stared at him and waited.

  “Neb-Ma’at-Ra,” he said, “why do you not be content to rename Medinet Habu simply “The-House-of-Rejoicing”?—but tell my brother Aanen at the same time,” he added quickly as I started to protest, “that of course this means rejoicing for Amon—for it were not so, why, then, have you built such great works for Amon? On every hand he sees them rise. The sounds of the hammer, the adze, the chisel and the shovel are everywhere in Thebes, ringing from Karnak, ringing from Luxor, to the greater glory of the god. Surely if there is rejoicing in Medinet Habu it is rejoicing for Amon. Aanen and his priests can see this with their eyes and hear it with their ears. Why, then, is it necessary to spell it out?”

  “Because I wish to spell it out,” I said, but less certainly.

  “It is not necessary, Son of the Sun,” Aye said. “It is apparent in everything you do.”

  There was a pause while I thought. My son, as always, remained absolutely silent, absolutely still. No expression, of interest, triumph or concern, appeared upon that long, unsmiling face. Only the eyes were alive behind their narrowed lids; and them I have long since stopped trying to analyze.

  It was his mother who finally spoke, siding, as I expected, with her brother and her son.

  “Son of the Sun,” she said, “my brother speaks much wisdom, as always. It is not necessary to emphasize to Amon what Amon already knows. And it is not necessary to insult our son and the Aten, which such a complete renaming as you propose would do. In fact, if you insult the Aten you will not only please Amon but you will seriously weaken the Aten as well. And I do not think you wish to please Amon that much.”

/>   “Of course you do not, Majesty,” my son said then, so calmly that one would never have guessed the triumph he must have been feeling. “Why do you not simply announce that you have decided to add the name ‘The-House-of-Rejoicing’ to the name The-House-of-Neb-Ma’at-Ra-Shines-Like-Aten’? Those who choose may use either. Thereby both gods will be appeased, the balance will be kept, all will be happy. Is it not so?”

  Confronted by their massed opposition, and by what Tiye has since succeeded in convincing me was a quite logical argument (my son’s compromise, ironically—not Aye’s, after all), I presently yielded. I told them I had secretly arrived at these conclusions myself, and had only wished to test them with my seeming obduracy. I congratulated them upon their shrewdness in correctly perceiving my own ideas. I said I would proceed as I had always intended to proceed: the old name would stand, but to it would be added a new designation which those who so desired might freely use; namely (I told them) the name I had always secretly contemplated—“The-House-of-Rejoicing.”

  I then dismissed them, telling them my teeth made further conversation too painful at the moment. Aye went to his house in the compound, Tiye retired to her chambers, the Co-Regent, face impassive, bowed low, kissed my hand, and departed for his boat and the short sail across the Nile to his palace in the south of Thebes.

  I sent immediately for my brother-in-law Aanen and told him flatly and without embellishment what I intended to do.

  “But—” he stammered in anger and amazement. “But you told me—”

  “I did not tell you everything,” I snapped, “nor do I need to. You will go now and tell your priests that they may rejoice at the new name of my House, for it honors Amon as many, many other things I have done have honored Amon.”

  “But—” he sputtered.