Lifting to him a face wet with tears, she said softly, “A letter has come to you from Thebes.”
He looked at her in astonishment. Letters for the Pharaoh never entered the women’s quarters of the palace, but she explained, “It is from Ramouz. He sent it with his son, whom he charged with delivering it to you personally, or, if he could not do so, to bring it to me. No one knows of it—not even the chief minister.”
Then, lightly as a butterfly, she left the room. He sat immobile, his heart pounding with anxiety, until she returned with the papyrus scroll. It was rolled up and stamped with Ramouz’s seal. Surprised, he said, “You didn’t open it!”
“I did not dare. But I think I know what it contains.”
He opened it quickly and stared at the row of cartouches Ramouz had written with his own hand, not wishing to entrust the document to any of the scribes. His voice muted, he said, “She is still alive, but her condition is grave. The temple doctors say she cannot recover from her illness, and she has reached her final moments.”
His voice shook. Hoping to lighten his burden, Nefertiti said, “Is there no way to bring her here?”
“It is too late for that,” he replied. “It is I who must go to her.”
“You must not return to Thebes, my lord!” she cried in alarm, “the city of the evil god Amun! The priests lie in ambush there, waiting for just such an opportunity!”
Her precautions were all that was needed to fix his resolve. Why did everyone keep reminding him that he had left Thebes a fugitive? Why did they think he was afraid to return to that heathen city? He was still Pharaoh! He could lead his army there rather than go to the north. Then none of the priests would dare try to stand in the face of his power . . . although he did not wish to use it, did not wish to foul the waters of the river at Thebes with blood. Yet he understood the extent of the danger that awaited him there.
“I shall go in disguise,” he said. “No one will know me.”
Nefertiti sighed—she did not agree. “Impossible,” she said. You are a king—if you wish to go to your city, then go as a king. Take Horemheb, and bring an army.”
“Horemheb is busy with greater battles. My battles are small ones, my wishes are pitifully simple—all I want is to bid farewell to my mother before she departs for the world beyond.”
“I am afraid. Each time you leave me, I am frightened to death—the girls and I.”
“I shan’t be gone long. My journey will be a secret. Say that I have gone into seclusion in order to compose new prayers to Atun. I don’t want my mother to see me in my kingly aspect—rather, I want her to remember the little child I once was . . .”
He saw her eyes shining with tears, and her hair piled on the top of her head—the arrangement she preferred, as it showed off the beauty of her neck. He entwined his fingers in its strands and began to undo the gold pins that held it. He felt a desire that spread from the tips of his fingers to the rest of his body. There was a tremor in their voices as they spoke, and they went together to the bed, there to calm themselves.
None knew of the journey but two of his most loyal guards. Nefertiti accompanied him tearfully through the subterranean chambers at the back of the palace. She stood and embraced him ardently, hoping he might yet change his mind, but he gently disengaged himself from her and proceeded on foot to the ferry slip, along with the two guards. He had ordered the guards, who had disguised themselves as servants, to treat him with the barest minimum of respect. He trusted them to negotiate with the ferryman as to the cost of the journey, without betraying his identity. He had taken care to drape his abaya over his head so that it covered most of his face. The boat was filled with earthenware vessels, as it transported honey and dates from the south, returning from the north with jugs of wine, as well as shipments of wheat and flax. One of his companions pointed to him and announced to the ship’s crew, “This is a great merchant on his way to Thebes to buy large quantities of onions. He will sleep upon a bed belowdecks, for his health cannot withstand the cold air coming off the river.”
The ship set out in the middle of the night, when the wind from the north filled its sails. The prow plunged into the middle of the dark waters, like an adder loosed from captivity. The sailors burst into song as they hauled the ropes, and their rough voices filled the night. He sat upon the ship’s rail, watching the landmarks of Akhetaten recede. His nose lost the scent of lime and mortar—the city had not yet taken on the smell of humans; it did not know their crowding, their moments of love, or their daily quarrels—a clean city, lacking the elements of life, memories to be described. The muddy shoreline began to rise like a shadowy dam built to conceal everything behind it. All at once he remembered that he had not given Horemheb the answer he was waiting for. Perhaps this journey was an evasion.
He could not sleep the first night. The oppressive odors of the ship’s bowels stifled him, as well as the sounds of mice ceaselessly chewing. He went up on deck, where everyone snored in cacophonous chorus.
Only a single sailor stayed awake at the helm, keeping the ship on course between the banks. All the lands were in need of someone to steer a course for them. Ought he to change his thinking and forsake his god? Should he relent and yield to Horemheb, let him prosecute his wars against everyone? In the final days of the reign of his father, Amenhotep, when he was at his weakest, in the moments of his enfeeblement, the nation was at the pinnacle of its strength. Emissaries of foreign nations poured in, bearing tribute and seeking to secure peace treaties. No one knew that the old lion was growing weak and powerless—toothless. The palace scribes spoke Akkadian, Aramaic, and Greek. Akhenaten, as heir to this throne, was always solitary, watching in thoughtful silence all that happened. He would go down to the markets of Thebes and sit there in disguise in the shops, which were crowded with foreigners. He kept company with traders and travelers who roamed the world, talking with them about the leaders of the Far East, who had been reincarnated over many lifetimes, and about the mighty warriors of the north, who lived and breathed for war alone. His mind stored away all these new ideas as he explored his old city, realizing that its powers were false, its glory a passing thing that would not long endure. It was essential that Thebes desist a little from making war on others, that it listen to their ideas instead. The priests stood firm against all this new thinking, and would be bent upon perpetuating the war, because all the profits from invasions and conquests poured into their temples.
When day broke, he was still awake. He passed the remaining days of the journey between states of wakefulness and insomnia. The complexion of the river, meanwhile, was changing, the brown water becoming denser, while on shore mountain chains appeared continuously, brilliantly colored beneath the sun, cloaked in crimson shadows at sunset. The river narrowed at times, when the mountains on both sides closed in upon it and the ship drew near to shelves of rock, and it was possible to see the mouths of the tombs and caves that sheltered fugitives. Absolute silence fell, and even the birds stopped following the boat, not to reappear until the mountains drew back, a green expanse spread out on either side, and palms and sycamores came into view. The boat stopped beside mud-brick villages presided over by pigeon towers, and the sailors disembarked to buy bread, vegetables, and fruits from the farmers.
Toward the end of the journey, the winds picked up, and the boat began to glide along easily, even though it was sailing against the current. The north winds bore it like an impetuous bird, but the sailors trimmed the sails and changed the direction of the rudder so that the ship came sharply about and tied up by the shore.
“We draw near to Thebes,” said the ferryman, “and we must prepare ourselves before we enter the city. We must offer the required greeting—Thebes is the master of all the world’s cities.”
Akhenaten remained standing at the prow, his heart pounding. There was no turning back now: here he was, come once more, in disguise and fearful, to the city whose god he was—was it possible that they might detect his presence? Did they stil
l remember his face? The boat sailed on through the night until, as day broke, it arrived at Thebes. The ship was adorned with palm fronds, sycamore limbs, and wildflowers, a tradition observed by mariners whenever they approached the master of all the world’s cities. They brought out drums and tambourines and began to sing as the boat slipped through the mist that lay upon the surface of the water.
Before them appeared a flat expanse, profusely green and studded with palms, behind which rose a chain of grey hills. There, too, were the walls of stone, which began at the edge of the beach, and formed a circle, to separate the city from the perimeter of the desert. The palaces overlooking the shore, with their thick columns, could also be seen, as well as the tops of the obelisks and the temples. There was the smell of the city, so familiar to Akhenaten—how it had lingered in his senses: the fragrance of the jasmine trees, the breweries, the limekilns, the tanneries, and the perfumeries. The moment the prow of the boat made contact with the shore, everyone entered into the city’s hubbub and commotion. They were beset by porters, beggars, and children leading donkeys. Akhenaten adjusted the hood of the abaya covering his face before preparing to disembark. He would have preferred to arrive, and to leave, by night, but it was the flow of the Nile alone that dictated the times of arrival and departure. He must look for a place to stay, and to take his meals, until evening.
He went ahead, the guards following a few steps behind him but never out of sight. The city was more crowded than usual, boisterously enlivened by a special celebration. The sound of drums and singing rose from a great many tents, which had been set up in the middle of the street. The temple squares were filled with people, and everywhere there were tables laden with food and drink, but what surprised him most of all was the large number of slaves who were strutting around, flaunting their oiled black skin and leading by the hand women of various colors. Akhenaten probed his memory, trying to recall which great occasions were so noisily celebrated by the city, but all he could think of was the festival associated with the succession of a new Pharaoh following the death of the previous one. Were they, then, celebrating his departure?
He stopped in front of a tavern. The voices of men and women rose stridently from within it, and it occurred to him suddenly that this was the right place—the place he had been looking for. He would go in and mingle with the inebriated crowd. He would sit quietly in a corner and spend the rest of the day there, until the shadows fell upon the city. There was nothing else for him to do, so he signaled to his attendants to stand near the door, so that they could warn him of any approaching danger. It was a dimly lit establishment, oppressively smelly, set upon stilts formed of palm trunks and thatched with their fronds so as to repel the sun’s heat. He made his way among the scattered tables and couches, around which the drinkers were seated. Set before them were great flagons of beer topped with white foam, as well as plates of green onions, fava beans, and lupine seeds. Akhenaten did not care much for beer, for it was Amun’s preferred libation, and the priests filled his temples with casks of the stuff at times of celebration. Now he must sit and make a pretense of partaking with everyone else of drink and its heady effects. Indeed, the proprietor of the shop came forward at once and set a full cup before him.
He sharpened his ears to listen to the diffuse conversations, which were being conducted in all manner of languages and dialects. There were peasants from places all along the valley, from Nubia in the south to Memphis in the north; Akkadians who had crossed the desert to come from the countries between the Tigris and Euphrates; sailors from the northerly isles; fishermen from the coasts; shepherds from the open country; and the Bedouins of the desert. They conversed intimately, alcohol having dispelled any barriers between them. He tasted the beer, which was sour and disgusting. He closed his eyes, wishing that he was not in this city, that he was sitting at home, surrounded by his wife and daughters, in a city fresh and blooming, unencumbered by the sins of the old world. He lifted his eyes and found, seated before him, a black-skinned woman, naked from the waist up. She leaned toward him until her breasts were directly beneath his nose. She was one of those in-house prostitutes, so common in these taverns—they would take customers to houses specially assigned to them around the perimeters of the temples. In a hoarse voice she asked him whether he might like to take his ease at her lodgings for a little while. He declined, his face reddening; she looked away in annoyance, then went off to join a group of women, who whispered, then laughed obstreperously. He looked the other way; the place was filled with women, a great many of them, of various sorts and different colors, but no sooner did he turn his head again than he found himself face-to-face with a bare-chested black male slave who began showing off the muscles of his chest and arms. He offered his services. “What kind of services?” Akhenaten asked in a strangled voice. “My god—no!” And raucous laughter burst from the women’s table. The slave shook an angry fist at him. The tavern was in a state of such tumultuous agitation he could not stand it—and yet he could not leave. From the corner of his eye he noticed another woman, who sat by herself not drinking beer with the rest. Before her, however, was a glass of high-priced grape wine. She was beautiful, and wore a splendid gown. She seemed to be affiliated with this place. He knew her face, despite the cosmetics that masked it—he was sure he had met her on several occasions, perhaps within the palace or at temple celebrations: an important woman, or at least the wife of an important man. His memory had retained the impression of her features even after he left the city, but he could not remember her name. What had brought her here? Might she recognize him? He ought to get up and move away from her, but now he found that in fact the woman had seen him, and her gaze commanded him, as she stared at him quizzically. He groped in his pocket for a coin to leave for the tavern keeper, but she had risen from her place and begun to move toward him, blocking his exit. Had she recognized him and decided to confront him? She approached his table and leaned toward him, her breasts all but spilling from her gown.
“There’s no need,” he heard her say, “for you to sit by yourself on such a day as this.”
She went around the table and sat down next to him, pressing herself against him so that he felt one of her breasts resting against his arm. Despite the odd situation in which he found himself, he breathed a sigh of relief: she had not recognized him, perhaps because of his beard, which had grown out during his river voyage, or because she couldn’t imagine that the Pharaoh of Egypt would be sitting in a stuffy hole like this one.
She spoke again, pressing him, “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Indeed,” said Akhenaten.
The woman pushed her breast still harder into his arm. In a voice husky with louche desire, she said, “Don’t tell me your name or where you’re from. All I want is for us to take advantage of this opportunity together, before things get back to normal. Right now all cravings are permitted, nothing is forbidden. Come, let’s seize the day before it’s too late!”
Boldly she reached out and placed her hand on his thigh. His whole frame convulsed with a shudder, but he couldn’t resist asking, “What is this riotous holiday that the city is celebrating?”
Surprised, the woman said, “You really are a stranger in town, then—what luck! I adore strangers.”
She took his hand and placed it on her bosom, which was soft and warm. He felt himself drenched in cold sweat. “We’re enjoying the inter-annum holiday,” she said. “The old year has finished, and there are three days before the new year begins. So now we’re all living outside of time, outside of all regulations and proscriptions. Everything is allowed—you’ve come to the city at just the right time!”
She tried to sit on his lap and put her tongue in his mouth, but he pushed her gently aside. He needed to hear more from her—it enraged him that the feasts of Amun still held sway over the populace. “Don’t be afraid of me, my dear,” she said. “I’m not doing this professionally—I’m a respectable married woman, and from the high-ranking classes of th
is city, too. But this is a chance for me to gratify my appetites. As soon as the new year comes everyone will forget all about what happened!”
“And where is your husband?”
“Oh, don’t be dull. He’s somewhere or other, doing the same thing I’m doing. Look around you. Everyone in the tavern—even respectable wives like me—is looking for strangers for some unconditional fun. Just give me a little piece of silver so Amun will be pleased with me . . .”
The mention of Amun was enough to bring him abruptly to his feet. She clutched his hand and tried to pull him toward her. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” she said.
He snatched his hand away and started to weave among the tables, until he found his way out. He could scarcely believe he had made it out into the fresh air once more. He wandered the streets blindly, watched over by the two attendants. This was not his city. Even during the wildest of celebrations he had never seen it in such a state. Evening was falling, and torches were being lit everywhere, filling the air with the smell of pitch. There rose a general clamor, women’s cries mixed with the sounds of dancing and singing, as the city passed through these unruly moments of abandon, in which there was no time and the gods had no power. The streets were crowded with vendors, whose wares were spread upon the ground: spices, strong-smelling perfumes, necklaces of beads and African ivory, soft carpets, herbs and potions from Asia. Tents, shacks, and huts had been erected and were clustered around one another, women’s sharp cries issuing from within them. There were wooden tables laden with all sorts of food. Gypsies told fortunes; African women danced naked around a blazing fire, digging their heels into the mud and whirling in the air like black butterflies; noblewomen came leading slaves by the neck into reed huts. A woman stood beside the road, advertising her price on a sheet of papyrus—and a low price it was, because sex was allowed and virtually free. He walked along the walls of the Temple of Karnak, from inside of which he heard the chanting of the priests and the clanging of cymbals, while the outside wall teemed with prostitutes and gigolos, and virgins offering their virginity for sale in exchange for a piece of silver.
A Cloudy Day on the Western Shore Page 37