An Evil Spirit Out of the West (Ancient Egyptian Mysteries)

by Paul Doherty

  ‘Sobeck?’

  ‘Ah yes, Sobeck. Imri had been suborned. He was a killer. He murdered Weni for mocking a royal prince.’ Hotep chuckled. ‘I can laugh at the Grotesque, but a fat creature like Weni? Imri was also the one that arranged the poisoned wine and the vipers in the basket. His apparent carelessness allowed that assassin on the quayside to approach. Your Aunt Isithia learned about Sobeck’s dalliance and Imri supplied the evidence. I hoped to implicate all the children of the Kap, but I couldn’t. Tell me, has Sobeck truly survived? I have spies in the city but they are not very good …’

  I simply stared back.

  ‘Ah well.’ Hotep sipped the wine. ‘That’s when the priests of Karnak decided to intervene. Shishnak never forgave the Grotesque for singing that hymn to the Aten. He saw it as an act of defiance. Well, the rest you know. I made a number of mistakes. I didn’t plan for the Magnificent One to become so absorbed in his own daughter or having his wine laced with poppy juice. I have always underestimated Queen Tiye and the children of the Kap, particularly you, Mahu.’

  ‘Why do you hate my master?’

  ‘I don’t hate him at all,’ Hotep replied, ‘only what he stands for. Egypt is unified, mistress of a great empire – and do you know why, Mahu? Because everybody can have their own god. They are allowed to walk their own path. People like myself, a mere commoner, can rise to the height of greatness. The gods of Egypt protect me. Tell me, Mahu, what is going to happen when all of Egypt is told there is only one god and no other? That the god of the Egyptians is also the god of the Mitanni, the Hittites, the Libyans, the vile Asiastics, the Kushites? More importantly, what happens when people don’t accept that?’

  ‘I don’t,’ I retorted.

  ‘No, Mahu, you don’t, but you’re just as dangerous. In your eyes Akhenaten is a god and must be served.’

  ‘You know his secret name?’

  ‘It’s no more secret,’ Hotep laughed, ‘than the price of corn in the marketplace. Think, Mahu, today Amun-Ra, tomorrow Osiris, the next day Isis. Judgement meted out to all the gods of Egypt, dismissed as idols! Pieces of clay and stone to be smashed! What will comfort the people then? What hope do they have of an afterlife in an Egypt with one god, bereft of all her statues and idols? No more temples, no Necropolis. Do you think people will accept that?’ he added softly. ‘Thousands of years of history being wiped out like a stain on the floor? There will be civil war within ten years. What then, about the power of Pharaoh and the might of Egypt? And in the end, Mahu, for what? An invisible god.’ He shook his head. ‘Yet in the end, we’ll arrive back to the beginning. Egypt will have a visible god, the only god, not some mysterious presence or unseen being, but Pharaoh Akhenaten.’

  ‘God’s Father, you should have been a prophet.’

  ‘Spare me your sarcasm, Mahu. Certain things are written for all to see. It’s just a matter of reading and studying them closely.’ He sipped at the wine. ‘You’ve been down to the House of Secrets.’

  ‘You removed certain records.’

  ‘No, Mahu, I burned certain records. Let me leave you with a thought. Your Aunt Isithia – well, she was a remarkable woman.’ He peered closely at me. ‘You arranged her death, the fire which destroyed her house. Oh don’t answer, I know you did. She was a singular woman who served her purpose, the handmaid of the God Amun-Ra’ – he grinned – ‘and a close friend of both myself and the Magnificent One.’ He lowered his head, clearly enjoying himself. ‘Your mother was also remarkable, Mahu. Have you ever wondered why your father was so distant from you? I’ll tell you bluntly. He often deserted her. Aunt Isithia used to bring her to court. She became very close to both myself and the Magnificent One.’

  I sat against the cushions, face flushing, the blood pulsing through my head. ‘What are you saying?’ My mouth was dry, my tongue felt swollen.

  ‘What am I saying, Mahu? I am quoting the old adage, “it’s a wise man who knows his own father”.’ He smiled at me.

  I grasped my dagger, but let my hands fall away.

  ‘You will not be a martyr, God’s Father Hotep, struck down in your garden by Akhenaten’s assassin – that’s how you would like it to read.’ I controlled my fury. ‘What does it matter where we come from, who is our father or our mother or where we are going?’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear, Mahu, the voice of the soothsayer. Tell me.’ He sipped from the wine cup and refilled it from a jug shaped in the form of a goose’s head. He mingled a little powder from a pouch next to the jug. ‘Tell me, Mahu, what will you do if Akhenaten turns against you?’

  ‘Why should he?’

  ‘It could happen.’ Hotep stirred the wine with his finger. ‘He’ll have his head now, Mahu. There will be no one to stop him, not for the present but,’ Hotep’s eyes creased into a smile, ‘I have done what I can for the future.’ He picked up the wine cup, toasted me and drank deeply. ‘Please go outside for a while, then return. You’ll find I am gone. The Great House can publish how I died peacefully in my sleep. Go on, Mahu, get out!’

  I rose.

  ‘Mahu! I am sorry – I mean about your mother, yet I have told you the truth. I made two mistakes about you. I should never have left you in the hands of that hideous woman Isithia. I wouldn’t have put her in charge of a dog.’ He grinned. ‘But, there again, you know all about that.’

  ‘And the second mistake?’

  ‘I truly underestimated you, Mahu, and so has Akhenaten!’ He raised his cup in one final toast. ‘I’ll be waiting for you in the Halls of the Underworld!’

  Kemet Meer – Egypt is happy.

  Chapter 16

  All glory to the power of the Aten.

  All glory to he who existed before time and sustains all time!

  A thousand upon thousand jubilees to his glorious reign.

  All power to the Aten, the One, the Indivisible.

  Such songs rang through Thebes: all along its avenues, narrow twisting streets and across the broad, seething river into the Necropolis. The paean echoed around the tombs of the dead and up beyond the great brooding peak where the Goddess Meretseger had her home. The song of the Aten was everywhere. On shopfronts, on stalls, carved on the pylons and temples, displayed on their banners and pennants. Akhenaten had come into his own. He had broken with convention and, dressed in all the glorious war regalia of Pharaoh, processed solemnly through the city. Nefertiti, in the chariot beside him, received the plaudits of the crowd. There was none of the usual pomp, the clashing of cymbals, the rattling of sistra, the clouds of incense or the songs of the Divine choirs. No priest went before him. Only Akhenaten in all his magnificent glory, Master of Thebes, Ruler of Egypt, against whom no one dared raise a hand. The news of Hotep’s death and the disappearance of Shishnak were warning enough. Akhenaten, together with Ay, ensured that every vacancy, every position of power in both the Great House and the temples were held by their friends and allies.

  Akhenaten wished to prove how he feared nothing. He insisted that the imperial bodyguard not accompany him on his royal progress, the roaring crowds being held back by a dangerously thin line of foot soldiers from the Seth and Anubis regiments.

  ‘I put my trust in the Aten,’ Akhenaten had boasted.

  We had all bowed and nosed the ground before him, though my confidence in the Aten was not so great. I had the side streets packed with mercenaries, and master bowmen from the Syrian company on the tops of houses and palaces, as well as barges of marines along the river between Karnak and Luxor just in case the power of the Aten might fail.

  On day thirteen in the fourth month of the Growing Season, year five of his Co-regency, Akhenaten held a sumptuous meal in the great Banqueting Chamber at Malkata. He had been absent for about three weeks, leaving us to scurry about to ensure all was well whilst he processed solemnly upriver to the place of the Aten. On his return he made the decision to turn Egypt on its head, to make a new beginning. First we feasted in those glorious chambers. The silver and ebony inlaid tables groaned with
the gold cups, plates and bowls displaying small irises and water lilies. An imposing procession of servants from every part of the empire, male and female, garbed in pure white linen, served red cabbage, sesame seeds, aniseed and cumin in order to create a great thirst to be quenched by the coolest beer, Hittite wines and the best from Pharaoh’s vineyards in Egypt and Canaan. After this came roast geese, haunches of calf and gazelle steaks adorned with ham frills, all roasted over wood with bowls of blood gravy and dishes of every type of vegetable. We ate and drank our fill, whilst the Orchestra of the Sun played sweet music and the divine choir chanted hymns to the Aten.

  Once the servants withdrew, the gilded doors were locked and secured, the oil lamps freshened, and more wine served. Ay called the revellers to order. We were all present – Nefertiti, Tiye, Horemheb and Rameses, Pentju, Huy, Meryre, Maya and the newcomer, Tutu, who had won the full support of Ay. Tutu had been promoted to the rank of Chamberlain and First Servant of Neferkheprure-Waenre, Akhenaten’s new throne-name translated literally as ‘The transformation of Ra is perfect, the unique one of Ra’. Nefertiti also had a new name, being called Nefernefruaten meaning ‘Beautiful are the beauties of Aten’.

  Ay began the proceedings. For the first time we heard Akhenaten’s vision of the Godhead, himself as well as his future intentions. I can still recall Ay’s powerful voice rolling through the chamber. First he began with a hymn.

  ‘Beautiful, you appear from the horizon of heaven,

  Oh, living Aten who causes all life!

  You have risen from your eastern horizon

  And every land is bathed in your beauty!

  You are fair, dazzling high over every land.

  Your rays have reached to the limits of the earth.

  You are Ra, you have reached the limits

  and subdued them for your beloved son.

  Although you are far away, your rays caress the earth

  and so you are seen.’

  On and on he went. One line, I remember, pricked my ears.

  ‘You are in our hearts but no one knows you except

  your son Neferkheprure-Waenre …’

  Most of this hymn was drawn from chants devised by other temples. Ay paused, wetted his throat and continued, his voice no longer so sing-song. He was now acting as the King’s mouth, proclaiming the King’s words.

  ‘Look, I am informing you regarding the forms of other gods: their temples are known to me, their writings learned by heart. I am aware of the primeval bodies. I have watched them as they ceased to exist, one after the other, except for the god who begot himself by himself, the Glorious Aten.’

  I glanced along the table. Most of the guests had drunk too deeply to be taking note, but Horemheb, sat next to me, had a fierce scowl on his face.

  ‘As for Thebes,’ Ay continued, ‘and the things that have been done here,’ his voice rose to a chant, ‘they are worse than the things we heard in year four of our reign, worse than the things that we heard in year three of our reign, worse than the things we heard in year two of our reign …’

  On and on he went. This was the only reference Akhenaten made to the conspiracy and treason he’d confronted.

  ‘However, on this day, Akhenaten,’ Ay proclaimed, ‘His Majesty obvious in a great chariot of electrum, appeared in glory just like Aten does when he rises in the horizon and fills the land with love and pleasantness. He set off on a good road towards the place of the Aten. He found himself a great monument there. He has ridden a circuit and the land will rejoice and all hearts will exult. He will make an estate of the Aten for his Father, erect a memorial to his name and to the great Royal Wife Nefernefruaten – Nefertiti. It will belong to Aten’s name for ever and ever. Now it is the Aten who has advised him concerning this. No official ever advised him. Nor did any person in this land. It was the Aten his Father who advised him so it could be built here. So, in the place of the Aten, he shall make a house to the Aten his Father. He shall also make a sun shade for the great Royal Wife. He shall make himself a residence. There shall be made a tomb for him in the Eastern Mountains. Let his burial be after the millions of jubilees which Aten his Father has bequeathed to him. He shall never leave that place. He shall not go to the North or the South, the East or the West, but in that place he shall make something beautiful for the Aten his Father. Something beautiful in the North, something beautiful in the South …’

  By now the Royal Circle was alert but very silent, listening intently to this proclamation. Beneath the courtly courtesies, the pious exclamations, the tributes to the Aten, the reality emerged. Akhenaten was to shake the dust of Thebes from his feet. He would desert the gods of Egypt and build a new city, a great shrine for the Aten.

  I closed my eyes and thought of that sandy cove stretching to the mountains. Akhenaten was determined on this. During Ay’s declamation, he sat, a faint smile on his face, dressed in a kilt of gold silver cloth and a shirt of the same material: a brilliantly coloured sash with gorgeous tabs circled his waist, over his shoulders lay a jewel-encrusted cape. Diamonds gleamed in his earlobes and on his fingers, legs and ankles. A pectoral displaying a golden Sun Disc surrounded by precious stones lay flat on his chest. A feathered crown on his head made him look taller. He cradled in his lap a jewel-encrusted ankh along with the gold-filigreed flail and rod. Akhenaten’s face was subtly painted, lips red with carmine, eyelids dusted a light green. Dark kohl rings circled the eyes. He looked majestic, the fine jewels transforming his misshapen body and ugly face into a vision of power and glory. Beside him sat Nefertiti, her red hair tumbling down, a plumed crown on her head, her face exquisitely painted. She was clothed in robes of gold and silver, shimmering with jewels, yet the beauty of her face and the brilliance of her blue eyes cut through all this and made my heart ache. These were not the cruel mockers who had attended Shishnak’s trial. They had transformed themselves into immortal beings surrounded by light. Even the air around them was heavy with perfumed glory. I became lost in a reverie as Akhenaten’s proclamation offered a new beginning. Our enemies were no more. No hand would be raised against us, no pit dug to trap us. No crook across our path to bring us down.

  After his hymn to the Aten, Ay turned to more practical details, listing the treasure of the Temple of Amun which would be used to finance Akhenaten’s vision. I half-listened, staring at Nefertiti. I realised that, whatever she did, whatever she said, she was my vision, my Aten. She looked so exquisitely beautiful, those crystal blue eyes staring at me, savouring a quiet joke as if we were both fellow conspirators. Beside her Tiye, dressed in jewel-encrusted silver, enjoyed this moment of triumph. The rest were drunk not only on wine but on visions of further power and glory as they gathered on the threshold of a new era. As for me, Mahu the Baboon of the South? I would have given it all up to be lying in an orchard, Nefertiti beside me serving wine. A sharp dig in my ribs shattered my dream. Horemheb was glaring at me.

  ‘For what we were,’ he whispered beneath the discussion going on around us, ‘for what we are now. Mahu, listen to me. He’s mad! He’s insane!’

  The comment was so sharp, such a contrast, that I burst out laughing. Ay stared across. Akhenaten’s smile faded whilst Nefertiti frowned.

  ‘I am sorry,’ I apologised, ‘but listing the treasures of Karnak I thought of Shishnak in his wig.’

  A murmur of laughter greeted my words. I got to my feet.

  ‘Your Majesty, I must withdraw.’

  I left the brilliantly painted Chamber of the Glorious Falcon and almost ran down the corridor, tiled in cobalt-blue, its walls painted a golden yellow with blood-red diamonds at top and bottom. I hastened past guards and servants and out into the moon-bathed courtyard. There I went over to the fountain and sat on its edge and let the laughter come. The more I tried to stop, the worse it became. Horemheb and Rameses followed. They, too, had excused themselves. I watched the water spilling out of the eagle’s mouth, making the lotus blossom rise and sink. I tried to compose myself but still I laughed. Horemheb
and Rameses tried to speak. They stood, dressed in polished leather kilts, necks and chests adorned with golden necklaces and silver beads, staffs of office in their hands. The very sight of them sent me into further peals of laughter whilst they stood and glowered as if I was some impertinent recruit. The more they did so, the worse it became. Tears coursed down my cheeks, my sides ached, but I could not stop.

  ‘What is so funny?’ Rameses demanded.

  The laughter bubbled up again. I could not speak. Behind Horemheb and Rameses a shadow moved in the colonnades. Djarka was there, his bow already strung. I raised my hand and shook my head. He retreated deeper into the darkness as Horemheb and Rameses turned.

  ‘Mahu!’ Horemheb grasped me by the very front of my robe and pulled me towards him. ‘Mahu!’

  ‘I am sorry.’ I wiped the tears on the back of my hand. ‘I was just sitting there lost in the dreams of glory, listening to the revelations of a god. And what do you say, Horemheb?’ I hissed. ‘He’s mad! He’s insane!’ I pushed him away. ‘You could lose your head for such a remark.’

  Horemheb stepped back.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I whispered. ‘I have never laughed so much for such a long time. It was such a contrast, so comical.’

  Rameses measured his steps as he walked towards me and stopped, his face only a few inches from mine.

  ‘We know it is, Mahu. It’s madness, sitting there, eating cabbage and onions, chewing soft meat and gulping sweet wines whilst listening to the ranting and ravings of a god-obsessed fanatic.’

  ‘You could both lose your heads,’ I replied.

  ‘We are only telling the truth,’ Horemheb protested. He gestured back towards the palace. ‘People suspect but they don’t really know. Can you imagine, Mahu, what is going to happen when this is proclaimed beyond the Third Cataract or across Sinai? The Pharaoh of Egypt is about to break from the past, lost in a dream of building a new city, a new capital. Are the old gods to be destroyed, the temples closed? Will the Necropolis truly become the City of the Dead? Don’t you realise, Mahu, Akhenaten intends to begin again. Can you imagine the cost of it all? If our treasure is diverted to building cities out in the desert, if our energies are devoted to the worship of the one god, who will pay for the troops? The chariots? The horses? Who will send gold, silver and precious stones to our allies?’