Over the years, Akenaten had the pleasure of watching his son mature into a valiant hunter, so unlike him, and much more like his uncle Tuthmosis. The pharaoh had never imagined that he would know joy with his son as he had with his daughters, but in the nine years since his birth, Tutankhaten had become the best part of his life and the reason his heart remained young and vibrant. The slight cleft palette and deformed foot that plagued his son at birth had all but vanished within a few years—sealing the Aten’s blessing that his son’s deformities would never be carried into his adulthood as had been the case for him.
Tutankhaten was a brave and skilled nine-year-old boy for his small stature, and Akenaten watched him, filled with pride as his son balanced himself in his chariot while preparing his bow. Tutankhaten’s driver guided his horse, wrestling with the animal to keep it aligned with the speeding chariot that shadowed them. Tutankhaten loaded an arrow, took aim at the moving picture of the gazelle and released. Akenaten, Nefertiti and their daughters all chanted ‘Go Tut Go!’ in exhilaration.
Everyone called Tutankhaten Tut,’ but not because it was a shortened version of his name. It was in honor of Tuthmosis, because Tut’s courage reminded Akenaten of his brother.
Akenaten kissed his brother’s Aten amulet that he still wore around his neck day and night. Seeing his son mastering his chariot brought back childhood memories of Tuthmosis riding off for the last time in his war chariot. Although the memory of his brother depressed him, he found a way to appear cheerful so that Nefertiti wouldn’t question why he was melancholy at such a jubilant occasion.
Akenaten had never grieved for his brother because he had never accepted the finality of his death. Tuthmosis had been ripped from his life, and young Teppy always expected his older brother to return. Thirty-two years had passed and the pain of it still cut just as deep. Akenaten was still there, in the same state as he was as a child, waiting for a sign of his brother’s return from the afterlife. Only when Tut dismounted his chariot and approached them, did Akenaten free himself of the memories.
His daughters were so proud of their little brother; they each took turns embracing him.
“You were so good, Tut, a real gazelle would be of no challenge to you,” said Mayati.
Meketa squeezed Tut’s bicep.
“It’s not getting any bigger but your head is growing much too thick for your neck to hold,” she said as she pulled on his side-lock of hair that had grown halfway down his back. Meketa would get a certain gratification out of taunting her younger brother.
Tut took it all in stride, but Nefertiti was not so amenable.
“Meketa, stop it. Leave your brother alone so he may rest from his training. Return to the palace.”
Meketa stormed away and Mayati followed behind her. Everything Meketa and Mayati did, they did together. The two were inseparable. Senpaten remained with her parents and congratulated Tut with a gold bracelet. They were the closest in age and had deep affection for each other.
“One day, Tut, you will be a great warrior king and all the people of Egypt will honor you,” said Senpaten.
A chill went down Akenaten’s spine, and before he could couch his words, he shouted back at his daughter.
“My son will not become a warrior! He will be honored because he is a son of a god. And you, keep your foolish words of war and warriors to yourself.”
Tears formed in Senpaten’s eyes. Never in her life had her father raised his voice at her. He had always treated her delicately, believing she was the most fragile one of his daughters. While Meketa and Mayati both had hearts of iron, Senpaten was acutely sensitive, with a heart as soft as linen. Nefertiti eyed Akenaten as she took Senpaten in her arms and consoled her. She then escorted her daughter to the palace, leaving Tut and Akenaten in the courtyard.
Senpaten encouraging Tut into war highlighted Akenaten’s debility and was a reminder to him that because he was not a warrior king, he might never be truly honored as a god-pharaoh. War meant death and suffering. War was darkness and pain. The Aten would never allow war to visit Amarna. Tuthmosis died from the horror of war, and Akenaten was determined that his son, Tut, would not suffer the same fate.
Though there were rumors emanating from Thebes that his unfinished city was plagued with disease and political turmoil, Akenaten was proud of Amarna’s growth. From what he observed, all was well there in the city of the Aten.
For the annual meeting of his court, Akenaten brought gifts for his advisers. Ranefer, Ay, Meri-Ra, Maya, and his newly appointed lector priest, Panhessy, sat around his grand table as he praised them for their achievements in organizing the city. Akenaten gave each of them a gold necklace as a token of his approval, then waited for their report, pleased with his generosity. He was not prepared however, for the news they had to give him.
“We are concerned about the stability of the city’s wealth, my Pharaoh,” said Maya, the city’s treasurer. “Because the inundation did not occur this year, the crops were not fertilized properly, and now our grain stores are extremely low. Normally, we would trade with other kingdoms, but our supply of gold has not been replenished.”
“General Horemheb has sent letters here requesting your approval to wage war against Nubia so that they’ll return to paying Egypt the tribute of gold and grain,” said Ay. “It might be wise, my Pharaoh, to reconsider and grant him your blessing.”
“In the meantime, my Pharaoh,” added Ranefer, “we can order Kafrem, the mayor of Thebes, to send us grain supplies immediately and also the gold they have collected in storehouses across the city. That way the people here in Amarna may survive.”
Their talk of gold, grain, and war made Akenaten’s temper rise.
“Raise the amount of taxes here on the people, Maya, if that’s what you must do, but Egypt will not go to war with anyone. Amarna is the city of peace and plenty, and the Aten gives us all that we need.”
“But, my Pharaoh,” said Maya, “The city of Thebes will deliver to us whatever you command.”
“We will not beg for anything from Thebes!” shouted Akenaten.
Panhessy, who had been silent, spoke out. “There are other matters, my Pharaoh. Many of our citizens believe the purple death, so feared in Thebes, has come to Amarna. The disease has made some sick with fever and purplish bruises over their bodies. They murmur that this scourge is a curse from the gods, and if—”
“Why are you repeating rumors from Thebes, Panhessy?” interrupted Meri-Ra. “There is no scourge here in Amarna, nor the purple disease. Those who are sickened are because they failed to cleanse their food properly before consuming it.”
“More importantly than cleansing their food, it would be in the people’s best interest to make a grand offering to the Aten, proving their loyalty to me—the manifestation of the sun god,” proclaimed Akenaten.
“Panhessy and I will both immolate a ram in your honor, my Pharaoh, and a calf bull at the altar of the Aten,” said Meri-Ra as he eyed Panhessy.
“Let the people fear the Aten, not a disease. The Aten will always prevail against the machinations of false gods,” replied the pharaoh.
Irritated by their lack of faith in the Aten, Akenaten concluded the meeting and left his counselors to bicker amongst themselves.
The grand temple of the Aten was where Akenaten became one with his god, rejuvenated by its rays as they shone throughout the temple from the many openings in the ceiling and walls. There, in the light of the sun, in the heart of the Aten’s power, Akenaten would make his animal sacrifices.
But that day in the temple, he was not alone. His son, Tut, accompanied him. The day marked his tenth year of life, his coming of age into manhood and the beginning of his dedication to the Aten. Tut entered before his father, nervous and afraid.
“It’ll be all right, my son,” said Akenaten. “Did you bring with you the honey and the linen strips?”
Tut handed him a satchel. Inside was a jar filled with honey and several pieces of linen. He wouldn’t look at his f
ather, thinking he would be ashamed of how frightened he appeared. Akenaten embraced Tut and kissed his forehead as his mother did for him whenever he was afraid.
In spite of his fear, Tut put on his bravest face.
“I am accepting to what must happen, Father. Still, I would like to know, will it be painful?”
Tut knew the answer to his question but yearned to hear any advice from his father that would soothe his fear.
“There will be pain, but not so much that you cannot bear it,” Akenaten said to him. “When you have healed, you’ll find pleasure beyond anything you have ever known.”
His words were only a mere sense of relief for Tut, just enough to relax his anxiety.
Tut removed his kilt and stood before his father naked. Akenaten washed Tut’s penis with water and natron, then took the base of it in his hand and squeezed the foreskin above the tip, until he was clenching the excess skin between his thumb and forefinger. Tut tensed up as he gazed upon what his father was doing.
“Listen to me. Do not look down. Keep your eyes focused straight ahead at the sight of the sun-disk. Under no circumstances should you glance at what is occurring. This will be quick and over soon,” said Akenaten, still clenching his son’s foreskin between his fingers.
Tut peered ahead as his father had instructed, bracing himself for the pain sure to come.
Akenaten retrieved a flint knife from his garment and recited a prayer to the Aten. Without warning, he swiped the blade across Tut’s foreskin, severing it clean off.
Tut’s piercing scream disrupted his father’s prayer, so he repeated it louder.
“To you, the Aten god, my son, Tut, makes his sacrifice. May the unclean blood become clean.”
Tut fought the urge to collapse on the floor from the pain. His father was still clenching the severed skin on his penis to control the bleeding. So Tut remained standing, quietly now in front of his father, tears flowing down his cheeks.
“The circumcision is done; the pain will subside in time,” Akenaten said.
He massaged the honey over his son’s penis and wrapped it in the linen pieces. The bleeding stopped though the pain continued. Tut sat on the floor and rocked back and forth trying to contain the inner cries of agony.
“You’ll remove the linen pieces every morning at dawn and wash with water, then reapply the honey for twelve days, after which it will be fully healed.”
Tut nodded, clenching his crotch. Even in the midst of intense pain, he wanted to prove to his father that he was strong.
“The Aten has cleansed you,” said Akenaten, “clearing the way for your ascension to high priest that you will soon share with Meri-Ra. And as you have sacrificed your foreskin to him today, you must also sacrifice a clean animal to him during the days you appear here at the Aten temple. This has to occur twenty-four times before you can become my heir to the throne of Egypt.”
Akenaten helped Tut to his feet, and the two left the temple.
Once Meri-Ra was sure that the pharaoh and his son had departed the temple grounds, he turned to the three commoners who had arrived in their donkey carts.
“Did anyone see you come here?” Meri-Ra asked.
“No, my lord,” one of the men answered.
“There are reports of six dead somewhere in Amarna. You will seek these diseased bodies out and take them in your carts to the burial pit at the edge of the village.”
“We have heard the disease is contagious. How will we protect ourselves?” asked another of the men.
“If the purple bruises are visible on the body, lift them by their garments without touching the skin.”
Meri-Ra handed each of them a nugget of lapis-lazuli. “Tell no one of what you see or do today.”
The men nodded, returned to their carts, and drove away.
The revelation that the disease was spreading in Amarna would reflect badly on Meri-Ra’s ability to appease the Aten god, exposing his weakness as a high priest to the pharaoh. It was necessary to keep the devastation of the purple disease a secret from Akenaten until it subsided, or until he could at least conjure up the right incantation that would annihilate it from the city.
CHAPTER
25
AKENATEN OFTEN SURVEYED his grand city of Amarna with a daily stroll in his royal chariot. Every morning he wrote down on a scroll how many new foundation structures were laid each day and at what stage of completion was each statue and monument. Seldom would he direct his driver to travel away from the center of the city into the village where most of the Amarna citizens lived.
To quench his sudden curiosity, he changed his course and made an impromptu visit to see his people in their daily course of life. He expected most would be farming, making pottery jars or even weaving clothing for themselves and the royal family—thriving from the abundance of the Aten god. Instead, there was hardly anyone attending to the animals nor farming the vegetables or fruits, only crowds of people appearing at dozens of funerary rites performed throughout the village. When Akenaten questioned Meri-Ra about the abnormally high death toll, the priest dismissed his observations as a mere timing coincidence and assured him he had no reason to be concerned. It wasn’t until he encountered Panhessy at the entrance of the Aten temple that he would hear what Meri-Ra had kept secret from him.
“Pharaoh, before you enter, it’s my sworn duty as your lector priest of the Aten, to inform you of what’s really occurring here in Amarna,” said Panhessy.
“What’s occurring that I’m not already aware of?”
“My pharaoh, can you not smell the putrid stench of dead bodies that has enveloped our entire city? It’s not just from the dung of dead animals seeping in from the village. The people are becoming sick and some are even covered in bruises. Dead bodies are being discovered and buried in mass graves throughout the village. The afflicted are being ostracized by their own families, and left roaming the village streets scavenging for food. Our food supplies have dwindled and the people have come to me mumbling that the disease has reached Amarna because we have angered the gods of Thebes.”
“And what was your answer to them?” asked Akenaten, holding in the anger of hearing Panhessy’s undesirable news.
“I had no answer.”
“There is but one god, the Aten. The false gods of Thebes have no power or place here in Amarna. Tell the people this, Panhessy: If they continue not to put their faith and obedience in the Aten, he will not heal them. If they are sick and indeed dying, then it’s because their offerings and sacrifices to the Aten were not to him alone, but shared with other gods in their hearts. The Aten requires unconditional loyalty and devotion from them all if they truly want his blessing.”
Akenaten left Panhessy and entered the temple, content with his condemnation to a faithless people, yet the news of mass graves and death deeply concerned him.
Nefertiti knew of the onslaught of famine and disease spreading throughout Amarna. Ay had told his daughter about the shallow graves and the enormous number of Amarna citizens the disease had most likely killed. What was actually occurring there was contrary to the wonderful prosperous life that Akenaten had promised his citizens. Her husband’s blind devotion to an untested god made her hesitant to discuss the reality of their predicament with him. Nefertiti’s faith in the Aten waned though she dared not tell Akenaten and provoke his anger. Something had to be done to help feed and care for the people or they would surely revolt against her husband and harm her children. Even if it meant disobeying Akenaten’s decree not to request supplies from Thebes, the risk of an uprising justified her disloyalty. The surplus crops and wealth of the capital city belonged foremost to the royalty of Egypt, and Nefertiti would have whatever part of it whenever she desired. So, without Akenaten’s knowledge, she wrote a letter to Horemheb and had Ay deliver it by messenger. She then went and sat by the river to watch her daughters swim.
It was a hot and humid day that for Meketa and Mayati could only be relieved by a playful dip in the cool water of the ri
ver. They both reveled in challenging each other to see who would be brave enough to swim out the farthest. The game frustrated Ay. One of his many responsibilities was to search for crocodiles while the royal daughters swam the river. The further they ventured out into the water, the more strenuous it was for him to spot the threatening creatures. He warned the girls many times not to stray far from the shore, but rarely did they obey him. The challenge of the dare proved irresistible, and the girls found it humorous watching their grandfather scramble back and forth across the shore like a madman stalking them.
It was Meketa’s turn in the dare, and she swam out into the river farther than any of them had ever before.
“Meketa, return to the shore now!” shouted Ay.
“We’re the only creatures in the river today, grandfather. Calm down,” replied Meketa, as she swam out even further.
“Listen to your grandfather and return to the shore Meketa,” Nefertiti repeated.
Mayati had remained near her mother, close to shore, where she could stand up in the water whenever she wanted.
“C’mon Mayati, it’s not over yet. Don’t be afraid,” shouted Meketa.
“I’m not afraid. I don’t want to go out that far.”
“Then I guess that makes me the winner again.”
Meketa submerged herself in the river and when she surfaced a moment later, there was something floating toward her. It had no features of an animal or flora, but resembled a dark opaque mass swirling slow and aimless in a circular motion.
Curious, Meketa swam toward it.
“Meketa!” screamed Nefertiti. “Return to the shore!”
Meketa suddenly stopped when the identity of the object became clear. Hundreds of duck carcasses had floated together forming a large ring-shaped mass of death, and along with it, a putrid and sickening smell.
VALLEY OF THE KINGS: The 18th Dynasty Page 20
