by Paul Doherty
Crown Prince Tuthmosis’ corpse had been taken across to the Necropolis to be dressed and moved to his father’s royal mausoleum where the Keeper of the Secrets of Anubis had bathed his young body in natron, packed it with perfume and adorned it with exquisite jewels. The Hope of Egypt had been wrapped in the purest linen, gently placed in his nest of gold coffins and laid to rest. Egypt had mourned, observing the seventy days’ ritual when the young Prince’s Ka travelled into the Eternal West. Courtiers and officials rent their robes, strewed ash on their heads and faces, wailed and keened in mourning.
At last the funeral obsequies were over. Life in the city and in the palace along the Nile continued though Great Queen Tiye had been busy. Ten days after Crown Prince Tuthmosis had been sealed in his coffins, my master, under his first name Amenhotep, was proclaimed Co-regent in the Hall of the Great Feast of the Royal Diadem at Karnak. Nefertiti had given him the strictest lectures so he behaved himself beautifully. He had allowed the priests to sprinkle him with holy water, consecrate him with the sacred oils and clothe him in the royal robes which clung around him like some beautiful mist. This time there was no murmured laughter or mockery at Akhenaten’s ungainly body and awkward gait. The crook, the flail and the ankh were pressed into his hands. Priests wearing the masks of hawks, rams, greyhounds and jackals clustered about anointing him, blessing him with incense as the great Double Crown, with its Uraeus head-band, was lowered on his head. Shishnak himself, scowling in the Royal Circle, had to proclaim the words on behalf of his god, the great Amun-Ra.
‘I have established thy dignity as the King of the North and as the King of the South.
Oh my Son, Lord of the Two Crowns,
I bind the lotus and the papyrus for thee.’
Afterwards Akhenaten had processed solemnly to the Great Room of the Royal Rising and Divine Embrace. He had broken the holy clay seals of the naos and adored the sacred statue surmounted with its ostrich feathers and enamel eyes glowing fiercely out at this new Pharaoh of Egypt who, as he secretly confessed later to me, would have liked to have smashed it to dust with a mallet.
Akhenaten was now Master of Egypt. He sensed it, he felt it and so he had changed. He brimmed with quiet confidence, a slumbering majesty which pervaded all his movements and gestures, voice and words. He watched everything with amused eyes and a cynical smile, yet remained tactful and discreet. Nefertiti was the same. She had not been proclaimed as Queen, not yet, but her hour had come. She was the Great Wife, mother-to-be of Pharaoh’s children, Mistress of the House, Lady of the Palace. If her hour had come, so had Ay’s. The only obstacle, a counter-balance to the influence of his son, was the confirmation by the Magnificent One of his close friend, Hotep, as First Minister. All matters had to be decided jointly with him. Queen Tiye had urged her son to co-operate fully with this powerful courtier as well as with the other dignitaries, generals, priests and nobles, the ‘Sheneiu, People of the Royal Circle’, or the ‘Quenbetiu, the Royal Corner’. All these men bore the title of ‘Sole Friends of the King’, ‘Lords of the Secrets of the Royal House’, ‘Lords of the Secrets of all the Royal Sayings’, ‘Lords of the Secrets of Heaven’. Fan-bearers and dignitaries rejoicing in their glorious titles, these represented the real power of Egypt.
In the middle of the council chamber squatted scribes from the Purple Chamber of the House of Secrets, writing trays across their laps, ready to catch the words of Pharaoh’s friends. Each member of the Royal Circle was allowed one retainer in the chamber. I was Akhenaten’s and Nefertiti’s. I was amused that Hotep had chosen Maya, who seemed discomfited, shuffling now and again, moving from one foot to the other. At last Meryre’s boring chant died away. Akhenaten immediately moved to establish his authority.
‘I wish,’ he intoned, face all solemn, ‘to quarry stone at Silsila to build a temple to Re-Herakhty, the Aten. As you know,’ he warmed to his lecture, ‘Re-Herakhty is a manifestation of the Sun God: a man with a falcon’s head crowned with the Disc of the Sun and encircled by the Uraeus.’
Shishnak coughed, a gesture of quiet contempt for this lecture. Akhenaten ignored him.
‘My Father,’ he continued, ‘my Father,’ he emphasised, ‘has revealed to me a new manifestation – no longer the symbol of a man with the hawk’s head, only the Sun Disc itself encircled by the Uraeus with a pendant ankh sending forth rays of light. I saw this in a dream. At the end of each ray of light was a hand which blessed me and mine! My Father is determined on this. I have shared my dream with the Overseer of Works: stone will be quarried and my temple to the Sun Disc, the Glorious Aten, will be built at Karnak. This is my wish, my will shall be done!’
Shishnak’s face betrayed a seething fury. Akhenaten’s first official gesture had been to recognise a different god and insist that a temple to that god be built in the sacred precincts of Amun at Karnak.
‘My Lord Shishnak,’ Hotep’s voice carried softly, ‘you have heard the words of the One.’
‘I have heard,’ Shishnak replied through gritted teeth, ‘and the One’s will shall be done. I have a question.’
Hotep nodded. Shishnak turned his face to Akhenaten.
‘When did your Father, the Divine One, the Magnificent One, reveal this to you?’
‘Are we here,’ Akhenaten retorted, ‘to discuss the love between Father and son? I am the will of my Father. He who does my will, does the will of my Father and pleases him.’
The matter was closed. I stared at the back of Nefertiti’s head; her resplendent hair was gathered up beneath a jewelled head-dress. Despite her pregnancy she sat majestically, back straight, eyes staring assuredly out, quietly baiting the likes of Shishnak and the rest. I recalled my own bravery in the Temple of Amun. I had not been publicly rewarded yet her smile, her loving gestures, had been satisfaction enough. She glanced round as Hotep raised other business. I caught her impish smile even as Queen Tiye leaned over and whispered to her son.
‘You have offered grave insult to Shishnak. Retaliation must follow.’
The Royal Circle moved from one item of business to another. The despatch of heralds and messengers, the strengthening of troops beyond the Third Cataract, the incursion of desert raiders against merchants, the despatch of chariots along the Horus Road to protect the diamond mines of Sinai. Routine business. My mind drifted to Sobeck, Aunt Isithia, other matters, only to be drawn back to Nefertiti’s hair. As the murmured conversation continued, I composed a poem:
Glorious as the Rising Morning Star,
Sopet at the beginning of the New Year!
Jubilee upon Jubilee!
Shining light, fair of skin.
Lovely the glance from her eye!
Sweet the speech of her lips!
Gracefully she treads the earth!
My heart is captured by her movements.
All men say her embrace is beatitude,
Honey-sweet her kiss.
Her beloved must be first amongst men.
My reverie was broken by Shishnak’s grating voice. He was talking about Tushratta, the King of Mitanni, and a scribe was distributing tablets of hardened polished clay – letters from the Mitanni court in the birdlike Akkadian script. Shishnak talked swiftly, about the importance of Egypt’s alliance with the Mitanni, how those who lived between the Upper Tigris and the Euphrates were a vital element in this alliance.
‘Princess Tadukhiya,’ Shishnak stared round the Royal Circle, ‘of Narahin is a most comely young woman. Fellow councillors, you may recall how she was sent into Egypt to marry the Crown Prince Tuthmosis, who has now gone into the Glorious West.’ Shishnak gestured at Akhenaten. ‘The Mitanni still expect us to honour our treaty’s obligations: their Princess must marry the Son of Egypt, its Pharaoh.’ Shishnak had loosed his bolt at the obvious love between Akhenaten and Nefertiti. The silence was palpable but the shift in Nefertiti’s shoulders, the way Akhenaten’s head came back, spoke eloquently of their anger.
‘I have a wife.’ Akhenaten’s voice was harsh. He gestured
to Nefertiti. ‘I have a wife,’ he repeated. ‘The heiress, Fair of Form, Lady of Graciousness, Worthy of Love, Beloved of the Aten, Mistress of Upper and Lower Egypt, Great Wife of the King.’ His voice rose to a shout of defiance. ‘She Whom He loves, Lady of the Two Lands, May she live for ever and ever!’
‘Quite so. Quite so,’ Hotep replied, bowing to Nefertiti. ‘But now, my lord, you are joint ruler of the Two Lands. We have allies to please, treaties to keep, obligations to meet …’
Later at the Palace of the Aten, I was part of the heated exchanges between Akenhaten, Nefertiti and Ay about the marriage proposal made by Hotep and Shishnak. Oh, they had accepted Akhenaten’s speech, they had offered no insult. They had pointed out how the Divine One’s harem was full of princesses from every corner of the empire and beyond. So, for the sake of Egypt, Akhenaten would have to follow his father’s example. At last Queen Tiye had intervened and, in a worldweary voice, declared that her son must reflect on the advice offered and make his reply. The meeting of the Royal Circle ended. Akhenaten and Nefertiti had not even let Meryre finish gabbling the prayers before they rose, gave the most perfunctory of bows, and swept out of the Council Chamber. Nefertiti had controlled her anger, not so much at the marriage alliance but at Shishnak’s impudence. Now, in the shadows of the hall of audience, she gave vent to her fury.
‘I will take Shishnak’s head,’ she swore, ‘pluck out those venomous eyes and pickle them in salt. I’ll take those lips and sew them together with twine.’ Hands resting on her swollen abdomen, she stared solemnly at me then burst out laughing. ‘Ah well,’ she sighed, ‘it will have to be done.’
Akhenaten nodded.
‘It will have to be done,’ Ay confirmed, ‘and the sooner the better. My lord, they hope you will refuse. They will invoke your father’s will’ – he caught Akhenaten’s glance – ‘I mean the Magnificent One.’
‘Where is she now,’ Akhenaten asked, ‘this Mitanni princess?’
‘In the white-walled city,’ Ay replied, ‘in a mansion outside Memphis.’
‘She is to be brought South,’ Akhenaten replied. Leaning over, he caressed his wife’s swollen stomach, kissing her on the shoulder, neck and face.
‘Every soul has its song,’ he whispered, ‘and you are mine. Only you, Heiress of Egypt, Woman of the Sacred Line and the Holy Blood, will bear my child. Only the issue of our bodies and souls will wear the crowns of Egypt. You are my Princess and my altar.’
Ay grasped my hand and gestured with his head to leave. We rose, bowed and left Akhenaten and Nefertiti lost in each other.
The decision had been made. Both myself and Ay were left to supervise the practical details. Akhenaten’s decision to marry the Mitanni Princess was proclaimed later that day. Ay was distracted, being more concerned with implementing more changes in the great palace. Nakhtimin, with his bland eyes and secretive face, was promoted to Standard Bearer of the Royal Household with direct command over the imperial bodyguard. Another kinsman of Queen Tiye, Anen, was given high office in the priesthood of Amun. Those who could not be trusted were also dealt with. Certain Generals were despatched North to the Delta, chief scribes were found fresh employment in other cities along the Nile or sent on so-called urgent business to the provinces. Leading citizens of Thebes, not to mention the Keepers of the Secrets, were constantly entertained and regaled at the Palace of the Aten. Akhenaten and Nefertiti didn’t seem to care about such details. They were more concerned with their own whispered conversations, visiting the House of Paintings or supervising the construction of a small altar to the Aten. Real power rested with Ay. He met with notables, supervised the construction of more buildings, linking Akhenaten’s palace to my old House of Instruction where the children of the Kap had been raised. Warehouses, storerooms, and granaries were built to house Akhenaten’s newfound wealth and status: the Per Hagu, the House of Foodstuffs, the Per Nuble, the House of Gold, the Per Ehu, the House of Oxen, the Per Asheu, the House of Fruits and, above all, the Per Ahuu, the House of War, with its armouries stocked full of spears, shields, swords and daggers. Ay gave responsibility for the House of War to me as he did the construction of more barracks and the selection of mercenaries to swell Akhenaten’s personal military retinue.
My master only became interested in these new buildings once they had been completed and were ready for decoration. Then he’d become feverishly involved, insisting the halls be flooded with light, that the carved columns of wood were to be painted in different colours, the doors festooned in gold and silver and the lintels decorated with flashing lapis lazuli and malachite. He personally supervised the paintings on the walls and the layout of the new gardens. He’d go out as the ground was broken up and shout instructions at the workers, where to plant, how to sow grass, how to cast seed, plant bushes and shrubs so as to catch both the sun and the rain.
Days passed one into the other. Ay received reports from Thebes and the rest of the palace: he discussed these with me before moving into council with Akhenaten and Nefertiti. One morning Snefru, now Captain of my personal guard, interrupted a meeting to say we had a visitor. I hardly recognised the old man leaning against the courtyard wall with his snow-white hair, wrinkled face and watery eyes.
‘Master Mahu.’ I certainly recognised the voice.
‘Why, it’s Api! What brings you here?’
‘Your Aunt Isithia has died.’
‘How unfortunate!’
‘I thought I should come to inform you. She fell one night …’ Api’s mouth opened and closed. ‘She fell. She was on the roof terrace,’ he gabbled on, ‘and we heard a scream. She must have slipped.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘she must have slipped.’
‘But she hadn’t drunk much. She must have leaned over.’
I recalled the roof with its couches and its tables, the trelliswork fence. Isithia cradling her wine cup. Sobeck’s dark shadow creeping up the outside staircase. He always could move like a cat.
‘Death swoops like a falcon,’ I murmured.
Api was staring at me. ‘It’s a pity you never saw her before …’
‘It’s a pity I ever met her,’ I snarled.
Api recoiled. He fell to his knees, shuffling back, the toes of his sandals scraping the paving stones. ‘I meant to give no …’
‘None taken. Who inherits the old bitch’s house and goods?’
‘The priests of Amun: the house, the chattels, the land. They all go to the House of Silver at Karnak.’
‘And you?’ I asked.
‘Nothing! After years of service, nothing!’
I walked round him. Servants crossed the courtyard staring curiously at us.
‘And neither do I have anything to give you.’
‘Master, I thought you could help. You are soon to be Chief of Police in Thebes.’
‘What?’ I clutched the man by the front of his robe and dragged him to his feet. He was nothing more than a bag of bones. ‘What did you say? How do you know?’
‘Your aunt was talking about it just before she died. She was laughing. “Fancy Mahu,” she declared, “Baboon of the South becoming Chief of Police.” Master, I have nothing!’ he wailed again. I recalled Api trailing round after Aunt Isithia, no better than a dog.
‘I was never cruel to you,’ he moaned.
‘Did she kill my mother?’
Api stared at the ground.
‘Did she kill my mother?’ I insisted, loosening my grip.
‘In a way, yes. When your father was absent, it was one cruelty heaped upon another. After you were born,’ he hurried on, ‘your mother had a fever.’
‘Aunt Isithia’s potions!’ I stared up at the sky. I could have howled like a dog. ‘Because of that bitch I am what I am. Where’s her corpse?’
‘In the Necropolis, the House of Death belonging to the Guild of Falcons. The priests of Amun sent it there.’
‘I am sure they did. They’ll take her money and put her corpse into the nearest hole in the ground. She’s not t
o be buried with my parents. As for you …’
Api fell to his knees, hands outstretched. As Snefru came through the doorway, cudgel raised, I waved him back. I returned to my own quarters and brought back five small ingots, an ounou of silver and three precious stones. I pushed these into Api’s hands.
‘Goodbye, Api. You are a fortunate man.’
He drew his brows together.
‘I thought of killing you as well,’ I whispered.
His jaw dropped in horror and awe.
‘What did I say?’ I smiled. ‘I have forgotten already – so have you, haven’t you Api?’
I watched him go stumbling across the courtyard and immediately sent a message to Sobeck that I wished to meet him. In the days following I received no reply whilst I was soon taken up with the arrangements for the arrival of Princess Tadukhiya at the Palace of the Aten. She arrived on the appropriate day with a small retinue of giggling maids, carts full of treasure and a group of Hittite slaves. Akhenaten met her in the courtyard. The Princess herself sat hidden behind a veiled canopy. Akhenaten exchanged pleasantries with the notables who had escorted his new wife then dismissed them. Nefertiti, standing in cloth of gold, shimmering with gorgeous diamonds and precious stones, stood like a statue under the shade of a parasol held by Ay. Akhenaten inspected the gifts then turned to the Hittites, strange-looking men with the front part of their heads completely shaved, parrot-like faces and bizarre tattoos in dark blues and reds across their chests and arms. Akhenaten was fascinated by them even though they looked a sorry lot. He ordered them to sing a song of their own country and, whilst they did so, joined his wife under the parasol, tapping his foot on the ground, head slightly turned. The song was the most mournful dirge, more like the cackling of birds than the song of a choir. Nefertiti giggled. Akhenaten, however, acted as if something petty had distracted him. Once the song had ended, he asked them what they did in their own country. They replied that they were musicians captured in a raid.