by Nick Drake
‘What can you tell me about Mahu?’
Thutmosis glanced at me. ‘He has great influence in the city and much trust within the royal family. He is called The Dog. His loyalty is famous. And so is his wrath against those who fail it in any way.’
‘So I believe.’
He looked at me carefully. ‘I stick to my art. Politics and the like…a dirty business.’
‘Isn’t it the air you have to breathe here?’
‘True. But I try not to breathe too deeply. Or I cover my nose.’
We rode in silence for a while, splashing through shallow streams that crossed the way, and entered the central city, all so neat in its arrangement, its ordered patterning. He dropped me at the crossroads. I had one more question for him.
‘Would it be possible for a woman who looked very much like the Queen to have a place in the royal household, or in the city? Where would such a girl come from?’
‘I’ve never heard of such a thing, but the only place such a woman could be kept in secret, if she were part of the city, would be the Harem. Perhaps you should look into it.’
‘I’ll do that.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Can’t say, I’m afraid.’
He was about to move off, but a last thought stopped him. ‘This city, this splendid and enlightened new world, this glorious future. It all looks glorious, but it’s built on sand. Everyone’s either determined or forced to believe in it to make it possible. But without her, without Nefertiti, it’s not believable. It’s not real. It won’t work. It’ll all fall down. She’s like the Great River: she’s what makes the city live. Without her we’re back in the desert. Whoever took her knows this.’ Then, with a practised flick of the reins, he rode off, his chariot flashing in the golden light.
I stood at the crossroads, the city like a strange sundial of bold light and powerful darkness as the buildings set their perfect angled shadows to Ra’s ordered hours. The afternoon was changing into evening. The image of Nefertiti’s face was strong now in my imagination. I held the scarab in my palm and looked at it again. The female Ra. I squinted at it, dazzling in the light, and offered a prayer of my own to the strange god of the sun whose swift journeys in his chariot were measuring out the little time I had left.
13
The reception was held by Ramose, Vizier to Akhenaten. Those considered influential and important enough to be invited from across the Empire had travelled for many weeks, by land and water, to make sure of their place and accommodations in the new city. Most had not made the mistake of leaving it too late to set out on their long journeys, fraught, even in our times, with danger and uncertainty. I could well imagine the preparations of the previous months: the slow exchange of letters and invitations, the negotiations about retinues and accommodations, the exquisite problems of hierarchy and status.
No-one who was anyone-and in this city being ‘someone’ seemed to be all that mattered-arrived on foot at the reception. And this, Khety told me, included ourselves, so we arrived in the ramshackle chariot. Its poor quality and condition was even more marked by the shameful contrast with the magnificent vehicles that thronged the packed thoroughfares and crowded ways, all of which made our progress excruciatingly slow; and as we neared the house we became trapped in a foul-mannered and angry logjam of chariots, sedan chairs and travelling thrones. Very important people, officials, servants and slaves shouted insults, commands and demands; everyone shoved for superiority. The noise, the heat, the sheer fury of it all was astonishing. The porters, verbally abused by their passengers, wrestled to free the poles of their carriages from those of competing chairs while also desperately trying not to risk a scratch on the immaculately buffed surfaces of their expensive vehicles. Horses whinnied as they struggled in their ebony traps; under their elaborate trappings they sweated, and their eyes swivelled, alarmed. Several wore the white-feathered plumes of high office, and some of the big men they were carrying stared malevolently out from their elevated chairs over the crowd. I had no idea who was who, and in the crazy jostling of the travelling lamps, faces and profiles appeared and vanished again before I could get a good look. It was like being at sea in an angry storm of fashion and vanity.
It seemed the other half of the city had also turned out to gaze at the silly, extravagant spectacle: men, women and children gawked like fools across the Royal Road from where they stood packed tightly in a great swelling crowd held back behind a single security rope, calling out prayers and requests, pointing out important figures, eating sugar cakes and swigging from beer jugs as if this was a show-which, clearly, it was. The elite in all their fashions, parading for their audience.
Finally our chariot drew up at, or rather was shoved up to, the raised platform. Khety shrugged. ‘Shall we?’ So we stepped out onto the carpeted reception area, lit by great hammered bowls of flaming oil. I was glad I had brought with me a spare pair of smart sandals and at least one decent change of clothes, but even the general level of refinery was extraordinary.
‘I feel conspicuously unfashionable, Khety.’
‘You look fine, sir.’
‘I want to meet the key players. Make sure you introduce me. Especially Ramose.’
A worried look passed over his face. ‘I can’t introduce you to him. It wouldn’t be appropriate.’
I would walk up to him myself then.
We passed through the stampede of the guard gate, our names having been checked, and emerged into a great colonnaded reception hall, open to the moon and the stars, crowded not only with thousands of people but also with great statues of Akhenaten and Nefertiti making offerings. Their icons looked down seemingly benevolently upon this society gathered in their honour. The noise was incredible. Musicians were mangling some sophisticated setting and competing with the roar of people trying to make themselves heard. Servants passed with sly hostility through the tangled thickets of elbows and shoulders and faces, offering complicated drinks and tiny refined dishes on trays. Khety snapped his fingers, but none of the servants took much notice, pretending not to have heard. Then a servant girl lilted past, her dress as insubstantial as smoke, and I grabbed two drinks in exchange for a brief smile. I handed one to Khety.
We were sipping these much too fast when an impressively rotund, competent-looking person with a large curious head, like a parrot pretending to be an eagle, emerged from the sea of figures, approached and offered a formal greeting. Khety stood back deferentially.
‘I am Parennefer.’ He smiled.
I smiled back. ‘Rahotep.’
‘Welcome to the Great City of Akhetaten. I know who you are. I am Overseer of all the Works in the House of Akhenaten. And I am delighted to meet you. I was informed of your presence here tonight, and I want to offer my assistance.’
‘I didn’t realize anyone knew I was here.’
‘Everyone knows,’ he said casually.
I introduced Khety as my Medjay associate and assistant. Parennefer nodded briefly, and Khety bowed his head.
‘Let us find a quieter spot to talk,’ he suggested with a little gesture.
‘How about as far away from the musicians as possible?’
‘You do not like music?’
‘I like music very much.’
Parennefer admired my little joke with the superficial enthusiasm of a host at a party. We settled on leather benches. More drinks and little dishes were brought instantly and set down with flowers on a serving table. I reminded myself to drink slowly.
‘So, what impression has our city made upon you so far?’ he asked.
This called for diplomacy. If he was Overseer of the Works then he was responsible for the design of the buildings and the plan of the city. I did my best.
‘It’s quite a place. The architecture seems to me to respond beautifully to the possibilities of the light, and the space.’
He was carefully delighted. He clapped his many-ringed hands. ‘God of the sun, a Medjay officer who appreciates buildings. You flatter
me. It is the first time ever, I believe, that an architect has had the honour to design on such a scale, with a blank papyrus and a full treasury to draw upon. We have had to work quickly, of course. Akhenaten has a vision, and we toil to realize it.’
‘Time is running short, I suppose, to have everything ready for the Festival?’
Suddenly his feathers looked ruffled. ‘Not at all. Everything will be perfect.’ And then he smiled deliberately, as if smiling would make it so.
I did not say: it seems to me you need another year to finish building the vision.
‘I was at the Queen’s Palace this morning. It seems she also has a vision. The construction seemed very unusual. I’ve never seen a house like it. Did you work on the design?’
‘Yes! Oh, it was a marvellous commission, although the truth is she knows exactly what she wants, so it’s a case of working out how to make possible the ideas she has. She’s very radical, you know. She wanted it all to flow, and the roofs to float. She said to me, “Parennefer, we shall defy the laws of nature.” Those were her words…very characteristic.’
The woman, it seemed, was perfect indeed.
‘I have heard many fine speeches in praise of her qualities.’
‘Everything you have heard is true. She is as beautiful as a poem. No, a song, for it has more expression and moves me more easily to tears. Her intelligence flows in every direction like bright water. She is not political in the way we tend to mean it these days. She understands power, but she is not in love with it. Although it is certainly in love with her. She rides her own chariot, you know. She’s a very contemporary kind of person.’
My expression must have betrayed my reservations, for a cloud passed over his face. ‘This is not sentimental praise. She really is remarkable.’
He watched my face. I tried to keep it still. We both waited. But it was my turn to speak.
‘You understand why I am here?’
Parennefer tilted his head slightly. ‘I think unfortunately everyone knows why you are here. There are few secrets within the city. Nefertiti has not appeared in public for several days. Occasions of worship, receptions for foreign dignitaries, the preparations and gatherings for the Festival-she has appeared at none of these. Her absence tonight is a cause for concern. These’-he gestured towards the crowd in the hall-‘are clever people. They pick up on everything. They notice even the slightest variations in ritual and etiquette; they can read the signs. They have little else to talk about, for this is a world unto itself. It is easy to believe that nothing and nowhere else exists. There is an enchantment to it, as if we live inside a beautiful mirror, gazing in at ourselves. But sometimes reality intrudes, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it?’ I asked. ‘It seems to have been kept at a helpful distance so far.’
‘We cannot afford instability at this time, just as we are about to confirm the new order of things. The Festival must be perfect.’ He opened his hands with a shrug, a kind of ‘innocent’ gesture that also managed somehow to be ironic.
‘Can you introduce me to a couple of people? I need to meet the men around the Queen. Ramose in particular.’
He nodded.
We followed Parennefer into the roar of the crowd. He approached a tall, elegant, impeccably dressed man who was holding forth at the centre of a circle of male acolytes and female admirers. As we stood awaiting his attention, their curious, cool gazes passed over me, and they fell silent. Jewellery and ornaments glittered in the light of the lamps. These people were wearing enough treasure to finance a small kingdom; the cost of each outfit would have fed a working family for a year.
His proud, angular face stood in odd juxtaposition to the soft and subtle art of his clothes. So here was the man closest to Akhenaten. Here was the man who controlled everything in his royal names: foreign affairs, agriculture, justice, tax collection, building projects, the Priesthood, the army…Ramose was at the centre of all aspects of the management and policy of the Great Estate. Therefore he too must be deeply implicated in the Great Changes. He acknowledged me with the slightest inclination of his vain head, then casually named the people standing in the circle: his senior ministers, chief lawyers and accountants and their careful, artificial career wives with their tight wigs and caged smiles. Then he took me to one side and began a little inquisition.
‘So, you are the seeker of mysteries?’
‘I have that honour.’
‘The Queen must be found and returned. Alive.’
‘I have just arrived. It is early in my investigation.’
‘Maybe so, but I imagine you know you don’t have much time. We hear there is already a body?’
‘It is not her.’
‘So I hear. That is excellent news. Nevertheless, you are presented with an enigma. And she still has not been found. I mean, still you have not found her.’
He looked at me coldly. What could I say?
‘You are reporting to our admirable chief of police?’
‘I am reporting to Akhenaten himself.’
‘Well, I am sure he is keeping a close eye on your progress, if that is not too positive a word.’
I could not resist. ‘Of course, if the royal security had been good enough she would never have been taken. The Queen’s Palace is hardly protected at night. Two guards and a couple of maids?’
He was angry now. ‘The royal security is second to none. You have no right to question it. Just do your job and return her in time for the Festival.’ And with that he turned away and rejoined his group of cronies.
Parennefer gathered up my elbow and steered me away. ‘How did that go?’
‘A charming man.’
‘He’s extremely important, and what’s more, he is of the right view of things.’
‘In what way?’
‘He is deeply concerned for the stability of the new order, both domestically and in our foreign territories. He has much at stake in his public commitment to the Great Changes.’
‘Then he must not be able to sleep at night.’
Parennefer was interrupted by an elegant man with an intelligent, open face who tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
‘Ah, the noble Nakht. Meet our seeker of mysteries, Rahotep.’
We nodded respectfully to each other.
‘Nakht has a wonderful garden here. It contains nineteen varieties of trees and shrubs.’
‘Well, I have made a start,’ the man said modestly. ‘Green leaves, shade, a little pool of water, some vines, a few caged birds-and then I feel the world is not after all such a disaster. For a few moments, at least.’
I liked his tone as much as his face.
‘I agree with you about the state of the world,’ I said. ‘But most people would say we are living in the best of times.’
‘Then they’re simply not thinking for themselves. In my opinion the great garden of this country is under threat from forces that are not being taken seriously, especially at the highest levels. There are powers within the court who are very focused on the making of this city and therefore the making of their own personal fortunes, and not at all concerned with the array of problems that face us in our time: a disaffected and confused population, an antagonized and disinherited ex-Priesthood, and then the little matter of the serious foreign troubles we are building up for ourselves along our borders to the north, and in our satellites and allied kingdoms. We have serious responsibilities there, and we neglect them at our peril. I’ve seen desperate letters from loyal vassals and garrison commanders describing assassinations of local leaders and vicious raids, and the crumbling of our authority. These leaders send us calls for urgent aid, support and renewed forces, but are they answered? No. We leave them to rot. Not only are innocent people suffering, not only is trade threatened, but the dominance of the King in these regions is being questioned and even tested. Our policy is one of non-intervention. But it is my belief that these little wars and skirmishes will not go away of their own accord. And a Festival is fine, if you want to
hold a party, but it won’t mean much in a year’s time when the royal granaries are empty, the workers are unpaid and hungry, and the barbarians are knocking on the garden gate.’
We paused to absorb his words.
‘Barbarians at the garden gate indeed.’
I recognized the cold sarcastic voice at once. Mahu joined us.
Nakht acknowledged him with the barest nod. ‘Where’s your dog, Mahu? At home, waiting up for you?’
‘He doesn’t like parties. He’s happier in his own company.’
They were like mutually adversarial species: the elegant leopard of the noble intelligentsia and the lion of the lower ranks sharing the same habitat only by virtue of an agreement that could be terminated at any moment.
Parennefer, anxious to avoid confrontation, took the opportunity to announce his departure, effectively abandoning me to the charms of a man he must have known was not favourably disposed towards me. I would remember that.
‘I expect we will meet again,’ he said. ‘It’s a small world.’
‘But I wouldn’t want to have to paint it,’ I said.
That was something my ex-partner Pentu used to say. I don’t know why it came into my mind at that moment. Nakht laughed, but Parennefer just looked puzzled, shrugged, and then sailed off into the sea of conversation.
‘It is encouraging to know we have a smart man on our side in these strange times,’ Nakht said, turning to me. ‘I hope we will meet again. Call on me for anything you need. Your assistant knows where to find me.’ And then he too left us.
I was sorry to see him go. I felt I could trust him. And he could be a good friend on the inside.
Mahu stared balefully after Nakht’s figure, then turned to me. ‘You have a little fan.’
I shrugged. ‘He seems a good man.’
‘He is a noble. It is easy for them to be good. There is no effort in it. They inherit it, along with the power and the fortune.’
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
‘You didn’t come to see me with your news,’ he said.