A God Against the Gods

by Allen Drury

  And I have decided: so be it.

  But the gentle Aten still tells me that I should not attack Amon directly. He tells me I should continue to be patient and forbearing. He says to me, simply: “Withdraw. Go your own way, which is the way of right. Live in truth and fear not. And the people will come to believe, and all will be done in good time as you desire.”

  And I have decided: so be it.

  Very far, very faint just starting to touch the low ridges of the distant hills, I see his light beginning to spread across the world. I turn my face to the east, I lower myself with clumsy awkwardness to kneel upon the sand, and I say to him:

  O Aten, Great Father, Great God, in you I believe!

  I shall not be afraid.

  I shall do as you direct me in all things.

  I shall proclaim your glories throughout the Two Lands and to all the ends of the world.

  I shall live in truth with you and together we will rule forever and ever, for millions and millions of years.

  I face you naked as I entered the world and I say to you; Only you and I understand, O Aten, Great God, Great Father! Only you and I know.

  I will never betray you, though I live through all eternity.

  I, your son Akh-en-aten, so pledge myself!

  A little wind is rising. Soon the day will come. I must return to camp and get ready for my wonders.

  I turn to the west. Kaires’ torch flares up, beckoning me back to the world of men.

  I do not go alone into that harsh territory.

  I go armored with the love of my god—the one God, who loves me as I love him.

  ***

  Kaires

  He returns to me out of the east as the first thin edge of Ra begins to rise above the jagged hills. His figure is tall and misshapen against the light as he shuffles forward. Hurriedly I help him struggle into his concealing garment. We mount and flog our horses back to camp as fast as they can cross the sand.

  From time to time in the growing light I give his face a quick, surreptitious glance as we hurry on.

  It is transfigured, unearthly. He has gone out of himself somewhere.

  My fear increases.

  ***

  Kia

  I am excited! Oh, I am excited! I think I have been excited, constantly, ever since I came to this strange land of Kemet two weeks ago from my home in Mesopotamia to become the second wife of the young Pharaoh. He has never touched me, we have barely spoken, but I am his wife and it has been exciting! Oh, how exciting!

  I have seen such strange sights, such beautiful temples, such marvelous cities, such gold, such jewels, such wonders everywhere! Such amazing people, such amazing things, such an amazing land!

  My father said to me: “Daughter, Na-phu-ria (as we call the young Pharaoh in other lands) desires an alliance with our city. I am sending you to be its symbol and its seal. Be a good wife to him and he will be good to you. Go, with my blessing.”

  And I, being just fourteen, said to my father:

  “Oh yes, Father! I will do it, I will do it! I shall be so happy! It will be so exciting!”

  And oh, it has been! Because I had not been married to him more than two days, after traveling up the river from Memphis to Thebes in a glorious golden barque to the happy laughter and shouts of my new people everywhere, when he decided to bring us all back down the river to this enormous empty place for reasons he will not tell his family or anyone! It is so mysterious, and such fun!

  Now it is nearing noon, when their sun-god Ra will stand high overhead. At this hour he has announced that he will perform “wonders.” None of us knows what they are—except, my new mother-in-law the Great Wife Tiye tells me, Na-phu-ria’s Chief Wife, Nefertiti. But already he has done a lot, I would say! He and Nefertiti have been out since two hours after their sun-god Ra rose in the east, and together with two of their three daughters and my new sister-in-law and brother-in-law, the Queen-Princess Sitamon and the Prince Smenkhkara, they have been riding back and forth across the plain in a great electrum-plated chariot to greet the thousands who have gathered to witness his “wonders.”

  And how many thousands there are! Thousands and thousands and thousands! I heard Na-phu-ria’s uncle the Councilor Aye (he is very dignified and really forbidding) tell the old Pharaoh (whom we call Nib-mua-ria) that he estimated there were probably more than two hundred thousand. Now we of the royal procession, which includes other members of the Court—the old Queen Mother Mutemwiya; a funny, dried-up, wise-looking little old man with the curious name of Amonhotep, Son of Hapu; the Chief Scribe and Commander of the young Pharaoh’s troops, Kaires (small and sharp-featured but kind and also, I think, very wise); and many other court dignitaries—have come to the center of the plain where a big empty block of stone has been dragged into place just this morning. And there seems to be a solid sea of faces dwindling off into the distance as far as one can see.

  They are restless but happy, at this moment. They shout greetings to us constantly, great waves of sound keep coming from them. In my birthplace in Mesopotamia we do not have such thousands; a few hundreds only, at the most, attend upon my father when he rides out. But here—my goodness, how many people Kemet has! Five millions, so Kaires tells me. And how they love the House of Thebes! Every royal progress draws thousands and thousands; my own trip up the river when I came here, and now our trip down again, have been examples. Everywhere, people, people, people! And all happy, cheering, welcoming, adoring—at least of the old Pharaoh and the Great Wife, though it seems to me perhaps not quite so much of the young Pharaoh and Nefertiti.

  In this, I expect I am probably imagining things, but it has seemed to me as we all came down the river, and this morning as we rode in our chariots (so much gold, so many jewels, so many beautiful things I now have, to own and wear! It is wonderful!) onto the plain, that there was a note of hesitation, almost of puzzlement, when my new husband (it still seems strange to me to say that. I think I shall just call him Naphuria as we always have)—when Naphuria and Nefertiti appeared. There seemed to be almost a coolness.

  Everyone in the party pretended this was not so, and they acknowledged the greetings with the rest. In fact, they were much more open about it as our procession approached the great altar stone. Nib-mua-ria and Queen Tiye remained solemn and stately, but Naphuria and Nefertiti suddenly began smiling and waving very informally—almost in an undignified way, I thought, it was so open and natural and not at all like the style of the others. I am not sure the people liked it. It was then, it seemed to me, that I noticed the little hesitation, the puzzlement—almost, one might have said, the doubt. It was as though the people thought their young Pharaoh and his Chief Wife were too friendly—as though they wanted them to remain remote and not come down, so to speak, to the people’s level.

  But everyone in our party pretended this was not so, and everyone continued as they were, Nib-mua-ria and Tiye and Aye and the rest being very solemn (I did my best to be solemn, too. It is not easy at fourteen, but now I am a Queen of the Two Lands and I must learn. I think I did very well, really), while Naphuria and Nefertiti grinned and went on like two peasants on the banks of the River Nile. It was odd, in a way, and rather disturbing. I suppose their motives were all right, but I must admit it puzzled me somewhat, too. It seemed to me that they carried it so far that at moments it became almost hysterical. It didn’t feel right, somehow. It was as though they felt differently inside, maybe tense, and were going too far the other way, as a result.

  Anyway, we have arrived now at the big stone, which Sitamon whispered to me was intended to be an altar to her brother’s new god, the Aten. It is not at all like the altars of the king of the gods, whose name is Amon-Ra. His altars are hidden away at the end of long, dark corridors. Altars to the Aten—which is a funny-looking sun disk with a lot of thin arms—are out in the open where their sun-god Ra can shine down upon them. I like the Aten’s altars better, though I already sense there is some big argument going on, in the Family and in Ke
met itself, between the two gods. I probably should not offend the priests of Amon, who I can tell are pretty powerful, by showing any favoritism. I expect I had better just watch and keep my mouth shut, at least for a while.

  Now we are all taking our places in a big space in front of the altar that has been cleared by the troops of Kaires. Kaires looks somber and tense as he goes about giving orders, and now that we are nearing the moment for the ceremonies to begin, the young Pharaoh and Nefertiti look somber and tense too. In fact, all the Family and all the court officials look the same way. Everybody seems afraid of something, and suddenly I feel afraid too, though I am a stranger here still and do not yet understand Kemet and its many mysterious ways.

  I wonder why I should feel afraid.

  Because I do.

  I really do.

  Now their sun-god Ra is reaching his peak, he is standing almost directly overhead. The shadow of the altar stone has almost disappeared upon the sand. It is very hot today; we are all very thinly clad.

  Naphuria, who with Nefertiti and their two little daughters has not stepped down from their chariot, but has waited while we all disposed ourselves to listen, gives his horses a sudden thrash with the thong tied to his wrist. They start and leap forward to the center of the space before the altar. He yanks them roughly to a halt, then yanks them to the right. They turn and spin about, Nefertiti clinging tightly to her girls to steady them, until he and his family are facing directly out upon the enormous throng.

  Suddenly and deliberately, he and Nefertiti raise their hands to their shoulders, unhook their golden garments, and let them fall.

  Naked, she in her beauty and he in his strange ugliness, they stand before us.

  A great silence falls.

  Suddenly I am dreadfully excited. Nothing yet in all of Kemet has been as exciting to me as this!

  In his high, thin voice, which now is descending almost to a croak under the great emotion he obviously feels, he begins to speak. At my side Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, who is wise in all things including languages, kindly translates.

  ***

  Amonhotep IV

  (life, health, prosperity!)

  Now they see me, O Aten, as I truly am, naked before them and living in truth. They are absolutely silent, absolutely still. All the great plain, no longer desolate but crowded from edge to edge with my people who will soon grow to worship you and me as we worship one another, waits upon my words.

  I take a step forward so that I stand at the chariot rail with my family behind me, and I begin to speak, slowly and carefully so that those in front may hear my words clearly and be able to pass them on back to those beyond who cannot hear. Ra is directly above, there is no more shadow on the sand. And thanks to you, O Aten, there is no shadow on my heart, nor will there be shadows anywhere if my people will but believe in you and me and the wonders we will bring to them together.

  “Good people!” I cry, and my voice, in spite of my angriest inner efforts to prevent it, turns to its croaking note under the stress of my emotion—but no matter, Aten, that you cannot help, no one can help, I shall do my best anyway. “Good friends of Kemet, draw near and listen as your Pharaoh speaks!”

  “Great wonders have I prepared for you this day, and great will they be forever and ever, for millions and millions of years!”

  I pause, for I seem to be losing my breath, and in front of me I see the solemn faces of my parents, my sister, my brother, the new child Kia, Aye, Kaires, Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, Aanen, and all. All, all are tense and somber. Momentarily I feel a great panic, but suddenly on my arm there is Nefertiti’s tiny reassuring hand, and in my heart I hear your loving, protective voice, O Aten. And I continue:

  “People of Kemet, you all are aware how almost five years ago I became Co-Regent with the Good God Neb-Ma’at-Ra. You know that in that time I have labored long and hard to serve you and to be a Good God worthy to sit beside him.

  “You are also aware that from the beginning it has been my purpose to befriend all the gods, but to keep to myself the privilege and the right to worship as I please the god that to me seems best.

  “You all know that this is the Aten.”

  Again I pause, and become aware that to my right, standing just a little apart from the line of the Family, my uncle Aanen for a second has cracked his somber mask and is looking at me with a savage anger in his eyes. My eyes narrow to the cold slits I can make of them when I too am angry and he drops his head and looks hastily away. I go on, satisfied and feeling much stronger inside.

  “It is the Aten!

  “Yet, people of Kemet, you know that I have not attacked Amon or any other god. I have not desecrated their temples, or robbed their granaries, or struck down their priesthoods, or done them any bad thing, anywhere, at any time.

  “And yet do they hate me.”

  There was a gasp from someone in my family, taken up and echoed on back through the crowd.

  “Yes!” I cry. “Hate me, for such is the only word that describes their constant interference with my will. But what have I done to cause their hate? Nothing, I say to you, and you know it—nothing!

  “I have only worshiped in my own way. The Chief Wife and our daughters have joined me.

  “I have built temples to the Aten, yes. I have glorified his name, yes. I have offered him to you to be your god, too—yes.

  “But have I ever asked you to do what you would not do of your own free will? Have I ever forced you to come to the Aten’s temples? Have I ever required you to worship him? Have I ever ordered you to live in truth with him as I do?

  “Never have I done these things, never! And Amon and all the gods know it well, as you know it, my people of Kemet.

  “But Amon and the gods are not content with my worship of the Aten. They are not pleased that I offer him to you. They do not like his temples, which are open and bright and full of happiness. They do not like the joy he offers you if you will but worship him, and me, who am his Son.

  “They are jealous. They defy me and they seek to drive you from the Aten, and from me, who am his Son.

  “So I have drawn you here this day to hear what I intend. It is this.”

  I pause, and abruptly there is silence while the sibilant whisper, “It is this! It is this! It is this…!” runs back and dies out in the crowd. Below me I see my family and the Court grow yet more tense. On my arm Nefertiti’s firm little hand gives me strength and in my heart you, O Aten, comfort and encourage me.

  “From this day forward,” I say, and my voice, which has steadied into its shriller register, again grows low and choked with emotion, “I shall no longer be known as Nefer-Kheperu-Ra, Amonhotep IV.

  “From this day forth I shall be known, and all my cartouches, monuments, sculptures, paintings and titularies shall bear it, and all men and all women everywhere, be they great or small, shall address me as:

  “Nefer-Kheperu-Ra Akhenaten, ‘The Incarnation of the Aten.’”

  At this there is a great gasp from everywhere, a murmuring that rolls back through the crowd in a giant wave.

  “And also,” I cry over it, so that it abruptly ceases and gives way to my words, “the Chief Wife Nefertiti shall no longer be known as Nefertiti, but as:

  “Nefer-Neferu-Aten Nefertiti, ‘Fair Is the Goodness of the Aten.’

  “And so shall she be styled in all things, and by all shall she be so addressed.”

  Again there is the great gasp, another wave of murmuring, louder and more troubled. But you are with me, O Aten, and I must do as you direct. I must live in truth and so must they. I am determined that I will. And by my example, so will they.

  “My father the Aten,” I resume (but this time the silence does not quite return as it was, there is still a sibilant murmuring and whispering, an uneasiness that might upset and distract me did I not have Nefertiti and you, O Aten), “has brought me to this place. He has said unto me, ‘It belongs to no god, goddess, prince or princess, and no man has any right to act as its owner.’r />
  “And to him I have replied: ‘Only you, O Aten, Great Father, Great God. To you it belongs, and in it I will make for you a Place of Origin, a Horizon and a Seat to have your Being.’

  “Thus on this day do I dedicate this place, to be known forever and ever, for millions and millions of years, as Akhet-Aten, ‘The Horizon of the Aten.’ I decree that all men shall so receive it, and here do worship of the great god Aten.”

  I come to full stop, turn to Nefertiti. Together we take from the hands of our wide-eyed, solemn little daughters, Meryt-aten and Meket-aten, two baskets of fruit and other gifts. Together we descend from the chariot and, clothed only in your love, O Aten, approach your altar. Now there is absolute silence again as we place the baskets on the huge, bare stone. Only our voices ring out loud and clear together as we bow low to the altar and chant:

  “So do we honor you, Great God, Great Father, Aten, who speaks only to his son Akhenaten and through him to all peoples! So do we bring offerings to mark this sacred day and the founding of your Horizon! So do we call on all men to join us in your worship, O Happy, O Beneficent! So do we honor you, O Aten, forever and ever, for millions and millions of years, founder, creator and protector of all things on this earth!”

  Then we turn with quiet dignity and remount the chariot. Again I step forward. I can sense a relaxation in my family and in my people. I sense that they are saying to themselves, “Oh, this is all it is. He wishes an altar here. We do not mind that. So be it.”

  But I have other wonders for them, O Aten, and you know what they are.

  And when I begin to speak again, my damnable voice begins to choke once more with emotion, and they know, instantly, that they have not yet heard it all. And again the tension returns and grows in all who listen, here on my enormous plain, drenched in Ra’s fierce light.

  “O Aten, Great Father, Great God,” I cry, “I ask of all those witnesses, is it not true what we have said, and do not these witnesses agree?”