by Nick Drake
All the passengers stood in awe together at the prow of the boat gazing at this impossible paradise in the desert, the place that held all our futures in its grasp. The young architect was able to point out the various sections of the city as well as the northern palace and its related buildings, all set, he said, within a novel system, a regulated grid of thoroughfares and streets so that all the buildings conformed to its consistent pattern. Why there should be a separation of sites he did not know. The workmen’s village was behind the main city, as one would expect. Apparently it is a model of its kind. Conceived, I am sure, not out of enlightenment but the simple fact that healthy and well-fed artisans and workers constitute a properly economical means of achieving the fastest and most competent construction. And run, as the world runs, on lines to suit the overseers and the heads of construction gangs.
At the landing stage a small Medjay retinue waited at attention to meet me. As I descended the gangplank, one stepped forward to offer the formal greeting. He introduced himself as the assistant to Mahu, and said he would be honoured to accompany me to my first meeting with him. Two guards before me, and two behind, we marched from the dock, leaving behind my astonished fellow passengers. The young architect bowed, as if caught out by the possibility that his indiscretions were naive and careless. I acknowledged him, in an attempt to reassure him that we both know this is a world in which Priests shit. The Moon gentleman merely raised a supercilious eyebrow, as if to say: you played us like fools, and now you assume your true identity. Good luck to you. The bureaucrat looked annoyed. And his handsome wife sent me a quick, bright glance, as if to say: perhaps I will see you in a crowded room some day, at an official function. And we will know each other…I bowed respectfully to her.
I was surprised at the absence on the streets of crowds, of bustle, of people with the usual variety of casual business. It seemed to be a place of single purpose. Its industry was the focus of its activities, in the service and celebration of Akhenaten and the royal family. All of which gave to the city a conscious and conspicuous strangeness, as if the confusion and colour of street life in Thebes had been reduced, calculated away almost; a place in which everyone was aware of the status and power of everyone else. It seemed less a city, more like a vast temple and palace complex with additions for the necessities of daily life. A beautiful place of enormous and overwhelming artifice.
But as we walked further into the city it began to seem less organized and complete than it had at first appeared. The newness of it all meant the courtyards’ pylons and sacred buildings dazzled because they were whitewashed but in many places undecorated. The hieroglyphs on the walls were unfinished. Whole sections of the city centre were still under construction. Ugly scaffolding hid what will surely be offices and temple complexes. Thousands of workmen laboured at every level of the constructions. Wide pathways and processionals petered out into desert tracks, or lost themselves in stones and dust. In the suburbs to the north and the south I was puzzled to note fine villas set next to poor shacks. The first tombs and chapels raised on an empty, stony arena at the edge of the cultivation, near the workmen’s village, suggested the city’s necropolis. At the heart of it all lay the central city, with the temple complexes to Aten and the bureaucracies. The extensive nature of these headquarters-indeed they seem as massive and as dominating as the temples themselves-is a signal of the true nature of the city, and I have heard they contain the largest secret papyrus archive assembled anywhere. I am keen to inspect this palace of secrets, and carry with me a letter of introduction. The purpose of collecting so much information can only be power. Perhaps, for all its impressive appearance, this is a city predicated on making its people afraid.
The other overwhelming impression-and one is glad of this for the heat, even for me, is shocking-was of water, everywhere. Normally one steps from the coolness of the river into chaos and dust. Not so here. The very stones of the walkways and the walls seemed fresh and clean, shining almost as if they too were fed on water. Firstly one became aware of the sound of it, constantly running in secret, under your feet, just out of sight. Then of the greenery and freshness of the gardens, and of the new trees planted along the avenues: I saw figs, date palms, persea, carobs and pomegranates. It may be that in this impossible capital it is always the season of fruit.
I boldly plucked a fig as I passed a garden wall; the branch was hanging down before me. Looking as I did so over the wall and into the garden I saw a tiled pool, and a woman who looked up in surprise and annoyance as the branch from which I had stolen my fig brushed back into place. The water was as clear as glass, the pool tiled in complex patterns of blue and gold. Such is the work of wealth. I would have to labour ten years to build such a pleasure palace. She was nearly naked as well, her skin the colour of the gold running through the tiles and the water. Here it seems women have leisure to sit in the shade while their husbands, presumably officers or diplomats, work at the business of creating the new world.
As we moved on, in strange contrast, we passed herds of labourers struggling among the rickety supports that were placed, ramshackle, along the high walls of the buildings. It is a wonder to me that such inadequate scaffolding does not collapse on a daily basis. Great stacks of dry mud-bricks stood everywhere like miniature desert cities for populations of tiny citizens. And I noticed, hidden in some of the shadowy alleys, broken, collapsed figures, looking as though they had not stirred for some time, and might not do so again.
I was marched directly to the offices of the Medjay. New quarters. Marble and limestone cladding on the walls, fresh decorations, efficient, elegantly stylish furniture, crates of documents and who knows what unnecessary junk half-unpacked or still unopened. Is this how our power is to be accommodated now? Such a contrast with our own dark, dated and shabby offices in Thebes, and in all the other stations in the different nomes I have visited. We passed down corridor after corridor, past crowds of men going about their business, most casting brief curious glances at me, until finally we arrived at large and ornately gilded wooden doors inscribed with the insignia of power and surmounted by that new emblem of divine power the Aten sun disc, its many little hands reaching down to the adoring world.
A secretary sat to one side at a desk. Barely acknowledging me, this young officer then entered the Great Office, while I was left to stand. The guards shuffled a little, my guide looked embarrassed, and the seconds ticked by. We all listened to a bird singing in the courtyard. I cleared my throat, which had no discernible effect on anyone. The guards continued to stare at the doors. I began to feel more like a prisoner than an honoured fellow officer. Finally, the door scraped open again-the new wood has expanded in the frame; how absurd this affected display of power, and a door that sticks! — and the secretary bid me enter. I gave him a nod of the head, meant to be ironic, and walked forward into the next stage of the mystery. The doors closed behind me.
6
I found myself in a large, open, well-lit room. A great desk, its polished surface of some gorgeous hardwood unfamiliar to me, dominated. On it were a few objects of fine workmanship: a vase of blue lotus flowers, a statuette of Akhenaten, an alabaster decanter delicately formed in the shape of a bird rising from water, a collection of goblets, and two wooden trays. There was a strange panting sound coming from beneath the desk where a large man sat considering a document he had taken from the first tray. He ignored my presence. Mahu.
He was stocky, powerfully muscled, middle-aged. His seniority and power were evident in the manner and proportions of his body and the distinctively brutal, almost hewn shape of his head, with its strong grey hair cut close to the scalp; as well as in the elegant clothing of that body, which was rich and luxurious in every way. He wore an extraordinary collar. I had time to observe it. Six rows of rings carried a multitude of smaller gold rings strung on cords, held together by a heavy clasp decorated with a winged scarab and sun discs, and inlaid with lapis lazuli. He also wore a sleeved tunic of finest white linen and sandals.
But more interesting than all this theatrical regalia were his eyes. When he finally deigned to look up I saw that they were unusual, not in their topaz colouring, but in the way they shimmered with hunger. As cruel and apparently casual as a lion or a god. I felt he could gaze through to my very bones, to the weaknesses and vulnerabilities and destinies hidden within them. I wondered whether he ate breakfast; whether he had children, a wife, friends; whether his was a life in which such power can be harnessed to tenderness and care; or whether all humanity, all its dreams and ambitions and vanities of the heart, was so clear to him that he had no more feeling for it than a god has for the foolish mortals whom time wipes out in a moment, like a cloth across a speckled and misty mirror.
I returned his stare. He rose from the desk and moved towards me, accompanied by a slathering black dog-the source of the odd panting.
‘I see you are interested in my collar,’ he said. ‘A gift from Akhenaten. It is important to dress as one believes oneself to be, don’t you think?’
‘Your attire is magnificent,’ I acknowledged, hoping my slight irony would hit home. But his fastidious appraisal of my own rather travel-worn clothing seemed to indicate that any irony on my part would be cancelled out by the evident inadequacy, and therefore lack of self-belief, of my own appearance.
We waited a moment, considering what could be said next. I used to talk and talk; now I wait in silence for them to make the first move. But he seemed entirely undaunted by my poor ploy. As if reading my thoughts, he gestured to the couch. I had no choice but to sit while he remained standing. I still have a lot to learn about these games of power.
He stared down at me, and rubbed his chin. The silence was discomforting.
‘So, you are chosen to investigate the mystery.’
‘I have that honour.’
‘What do you suppose you have done to deserve it?’
‘I suppose nothing. Whatever gifts I have are in the service of our Lord.’ I winced as I listened to these feeble platitudes.
‘And your family…?’
‘My father was a scribe in the Office of Construction.’
My lack of elite status hung in the air between us.
‘I am prepared to learn the nature of the mystery,’ I added.
‘Akhenaten himself wishes to apprise you of its known elements. He has granted me the task to introduce you to our new world here, to assist you as may seem appropriate, and above all to keep an eye on you.’
He paused meaningfully. I waited.
‘Also we have assigned two of our best officers, one senior, one more junior but promising, to guide you as required, at all hours of the day and night. To help you to find your way around the place.’
Watchdogs running at my heels. A nuisance, and deliberately so.
‘I’m sorry to say I do not support the choice of you,’ he continued. ‘You may as well know this now. Why bring in an outside man? A man who knows nothing of how things work here? A man whose experience of the real world consists of petty thieves and whores, whose expertise extends to examining the petty and minor clues scattered about in the muck and dirt of the pathetic scenes of the murders of the low-class scum and the criminal? A man who calls this the new science of investigation. However, the matter was not in my hands. This is a new world. It is not Thebes, and it will take you time you do not have to learn its ways. There are many forces at work; I am concerned that, mishandled or misunderstood, they could crush a man like stale bread.’
And those topaz eyes gazed right through me for a long moment.
‘But please remember: I am here to help. Let me offer my hand in professional respect, Medjay to Medjay. I am the man with the keys to this city. I know it stone by stone. I know where the stones are from, and who placed them in their positions, and why.’
I maintained a level gaze throughout this soliloquy. And since it seemed we were making speeches to each other, after a respectful pause I stood up and began my reply.
‘I agree with your assessment of the situation. And I gratefully accept your offer of professional support. But since Akhenaten himself has chosen me, I hope I can earn the unqualified support of all his servants. I believe he would wish it to be so. And if I fail, there will be no question of my fate.’
He inclined his head very slightly, and held my gaze for a little too long. ‘We understand each other perfectly.’ He then turned back to his desk, briefly scanned the papyrus document, looked up at me with an enigmatic expression somewhere between a smile and a warning, and almost negligently let the document drift back down into the empty tray on his desk. ‘Your interview is destined for sunset,’ he said, before sitting down and turning his attention to the window.
I walked out of the room with the feeling he was watching me through the back of that cruel skull, and closed the door behind me. I had to give it a little shove to close it fully, and the squeak and bang alerted the guards, the nasty little secretary and the assistant. The latter came forward and said, ‘I will show you your accommodation. And then bring you to your appointment.’ So he already knew all about it. I felt like an animal being prepared for the offering table.
Sunset, indeed. The hour of death.
7
I can do nothing but wait, and waiting is torture to me. I would rather eat sand. I have been given an office, with a couch and a desk, in a construction behind the main temples and the Medjay barracks. It looks on to an empty pool, with a fountain that does not work. It is surrounded by a terrace, and beyond that there is a view of a rock-strewn, red-earth plot. Someone has hurriedly tried to make the terrace look less derelict by placing some uncertain plants and little acacia bushes in pots. And a bench, as if I might have the leisure to sit in the shade and think of pleasure and poetry. But otherwise the building seems uninhabited. Above the head of the couch is a niche containing an icon of Akhenaten himself, the Great King into whose presence I am shortly to be ushered. Well, I will then be able to gauge the differences between the strange fellow in this niche, with his long neck, sagging belly and large sloping eyes, somewhere between a mule and a mother-in-law, and the reality of the divine incarnation.
I drank water from the jug. It was unusually sweet and clear. Then I tested the couch for softness and was surprised by how comfortable it seemed, especially after the spine-bending experience of the ship’s hammock. Too comfortable as it turned out. I awoke, suddenly, to banging. It was late, and someone was knocking on the door. I remembered nothing. My journal lay on the floor, its sheets somewhat creased, the flow of words stopped in mid-thought. The image of Akhenaten still stared down at me, as if I was already failing on the job. But I felt strangely rested. Had I been so tired to sleep like that? I checked the room. Nothing seemed changed. I examined the journal: no sheets torn out, no markings. Yet-something felt different. As if there were a trace of some other presence in the memory of the air. Had there been some potion in the water? I remembered then its unusual sweetness.
The knocking was repeated. I called out ‘Enter!’ in an authoritative way that I hoped disguised my afternoon sleepiness. The officer of the guard who had conducted me to the interview, and then to this office, appeared at the threshold. A man perhaps five years younger than me, with careful eyes and a well-learned expression of caution accommodated within a pleasant, alert and undistinguished face. He was followed by a younger man, more handsome, neat and smooth, with the eyes of a charmer and that deliberately slow leisure of movement common to our profession.
‘What is your name?’ I addressed the more senior of the pair.
‘Khety, sir.’
‘A wise name for a wise man?’
‘My parents hoped so, sir.’
‘We gain power from our names, don’t you believe?’
‘It is generally believed to be so, yes, sir.’
He held himself carefully. Unconfidently confident.
‘How long have you been here, Khety?’
‘Since the beginning, sir. With Mahu h
imself.’
‘You mean since the city was built?’
‘All my life. My father worked for him before me.’
This was common practice, of course. The generations of a low-or even middle-ranking family would have a great deal to gain by such an alliance, as well as a great deal to lose if they were in any way to fall from favour. But it told me quite candidly, and as I might easily have guessed, that I must deal carefully with this officer. Bring him in to my researches while knowing that every detail and every step will be reported to Mahu. All perfectly normal.
‘And you?’
‘Tjenry, sir.’
His tone lacked a touch of respect, but I liked his style, his hint of bravura.
‘I look forward to the benefit of your experience and knowledge during the investigation of the mystery.’
‘It’s an honour, sir.’ He allowed a touch of a smile to curve his lips.
‘Good. I need you to assist me, to show me the ways and the secrets of this great city.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You have come to conduct me to my interview?’
‘It is time.’
‘Then let us go.’
And indeed, the sun was setting, the shadows lengthening, trees and buildings now illuminated sideways; not the blinding incandescence of afternoon, but an evening world of gold, quicksilver and blue shades, accompanied by conferences of birds. We walked together up the wide thoroughfare and on to the neatly swept Royal Road as it ascended gradually towards the central precinct parallel to the river and the setting sun. Individuals were walking in the same direction accompanied by their obedient shadows, with an air of singular purpose, as if they must never be seen to be doing anything less than work vital to the survival of the state.