The Awakening Aten

by Aidan K. Morrissey

  ‘Is a life so worthless?’ he thought. ‘If I can do it so easily, imagine how easy it would be for a King to do the same, or even a man with the power of Yuya.’

  Djoser had almost forgotten his appointment with destiny and Yuya tomorrow and wondered if the old man would ensure he received the punishment he clearly deserved. He didn’t think he would sleep tonight; maybe plenty of wine would help.

  Djoser was right; he didn’t sleep at all well. He hadn’t been in the mood for a party and made his excuses early.

  ‘You’ll never make a diplomat, Djoser,’ Nofret said, as she bade him goodnight.

  ‘Nor would I want to. In this I clearly am like my father. I don’t envy Perneb, except, of course for his wife,’ he said, knowing Perneb had heard the short conversation.

  *

  The following morning he rose with the sun. Unable to face breakfast, he bathed, dressed and walked out of the house retracing the steps of yesterday across the square and into the Temple court yard. He wished to pay respects one last time to the goddess who had made his burden easier to bear over the last few days. If this was to be his last day of freedom, or life, he wanted to go having thanked her.

  He arrived as the service of worship, which took place in all Temples at dawn, was completing. As he crossed the courtyard, Meryhathor was standing by one of the pillars beside the entrance, talking. Djoser approached, the High Priest cut short his conversation, walked a couple of paces towards the visitor. His face was not a welcoming one.

  ‘May I enter the sanctuary today?’ Djoser asked.

  ‘Out of the question. The sanctuary has been dedicated and only the priests and members of the royal and noble families may enter, by my authority. You may go as far as the entrance, but my priests will ensure you go no further.’

  Thanking the High Priest, Djoser handed him a small pouch filled with all the gold pieces he had brought with him.

  ‘To buy a sacrifice to the goddess,’ he said.

  The High Priest looked at the size of the pouch almost disdainfully, shrugged and put it into his pocket.

  Djoser knelt for a few moments in the inner hall close to the door of the sanctuary. Then flat on his stomach, he stretched his arms out in front of him touching the threshold of the inner sanctum.

  ‘I can’t ask you to take this burden from me, great protector, for I deserve whatever punishment those who will decide my fate, choose. I beseech you to protect my daughters, care for my parents and sisters, particularly Tawy, who will surely suffer if her husband is to be punished like me.’

  The calm he had experienced on his other visits to this Temple returned and, after some time, minutes or hours he couldn’t tell, he forced himself to stand. Leaving the Temple he glanced back towards the sanctuary. Just for a moment, he saw his wife standing in the doorway, the goddess behind her, hands protectively on his wife’s shoulders. He could face his fate now, not without fear, but, he hoped, with dignity.

  He entered the house, walked straight through into the garden, and out towards the landing. Perneb was there watching the boat, which had collected the neighbouring Governor and family, disappear around a bend in the river. He heard Djoser approaching, glimpsed him from the corner of his eye but didn’t react until Djoser was a few paces behind him.

  Without turning he said, ‘When my servants told me they saw you going out of the house at first light, I wondered if you had decided to run away. That would have been a very stupid thing to have done. I know you’re not a stupid man so I believed, whatever it was you were doing, you would come back.’

  ‘You know, Perneb,’ said Djoser, ‘throughout my life I have worked in Temples and tombs, carving and painting religious symbols, but I have never been particularly religious. Of course I believe in the power of the gods and the afterlife but it has never really been something which has influenced my life.’

  ‘Obviously not, given the reason for your coming here to my house,’ said Perneb.

  ‘Perhaps I’m not explaining myself well,’ said Djoser, ignoring or not understanding the rebuke in his host’s voice, ‘but, from the first time I entered the sanctuary of your new Temple, I have felt something, I have never experienced before.’

  ‘Hathor is a very powerful force, Djoser, especially here in Iunet,’ replied Perneb. ‘You should accept whatever grace she gives you – she doesn’t favour everybody.’

  Perneb put his arm around Djoser’s shoulder and guided him through the portal and towards the house.

  ‘I think Yuya will be waiting for us in his quarters. I have taken the opportunity to speak with him about the purpose of your visit, so he is prepared.’

  Djoser didn’t say anything, he turned his head and looked worryingly into Perneb’s eyes. He could see no tell-tale signs, nor any emotion in the deep brown orbs.

  ‘He is a fair man, who loves your father as much as I, Djoser. I’m sure he will do what is best.’

  They continued, in silence, into the house, Djoser guided by his host’s arm. Strangely, Djoser didn’t feel the need to run, his calmness surprised him. He thought of Hathor, of the vision of his wife and he knew they were both with him at this moment.

  The guards standing outside Yuya’s quarters stood aside as Perneb and Djoser approached. Standing beside them was an elderly man, Yuya’s steward.

  ‘You are expected and may go straight in,’ he said.

  They entered. Inside the room, Yuya was dressed and seated on a cushion, a low table beside him filled with breads and fruit, meat and wine. He looked up as the two men entered. He smiled with what Djoser interpreted as sadness in his eyes.

  ‘As I get older, I find my appetite is getting less and less,’ he said.

  Djoser didn’t believe this was the reason for the sadness in his eyes. Djoser had been brought up on stories of this great man. His honesty in all things and all times, his quick brain and ready wit, but above all his ability to make hard decisions quickly and fairly, irrespective of the consequences. Djoser knew his judge was the finest arbiter in the Two Lands and probably way beyond. He also knew, even though he was a long term dear friend of his father, Djoser wouldn’t be protected.

  ‘Please sit and eat if you wish,’ Yuya said, pointing to cushions on the opposite side of the table to him. Perneb sat and picked some grapes from the table.

  ‘We have business to discuss Djoser,’ Yuya said, looking directly at him. ‘When I’m in Waset I have some very important matters to discuss with the King concerning tomb robbers.’

  Djoser just looked down at the ground.

  ‘I received a message from the King on my journey here concerning a plot which has been discovered to raid the tomb of his illustrious forefather Thutmose III.’

  Djoser looked up at him in surprise. He was confused, his thoughts raced.

  ‘On the journey here? That would have been days ago. It must have been as I journeyed here. It’s not possible; maybe Yuya is trying to ease the pain.’

  ‘Now,’ continued Yuya, ‘from a conversation I had with Perneb yesterday, it seems we have actual proof at first hand that these rumours are correct.’

  Djoser looked from Yuya to Perneb and back again, gauging nothing in their faces. He didn’t know if he should speak or remain silent. He felt Hathor’s calmness but it was beginning to be interspersed with fear. The power emanating from these two men was palpable.

  After what seemed an age, Yuya spoke again.

  ‘Djoser, you may not have even realised this yourself, but for the past five years I have been employing you as a spy to keep me informed of the skulduggery amongst the less savoury elements in the tomb building world and the desecration of them. Now is the time for you to give me your full report. However, before you do, please take this.’

  Yuya picked up a purse about twice the size of the one Djoser had given to the High Priest this morning and handed it across the table t
o Djoser. The younger man looked puzzled. Yuya smiled, this time without the sadness in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry Djoser; this is just five years back pay. I couldn’t possibly let you have worked so long for nothing.’

  Djoser could not believe what he had just heard. He was still unable to speak. Yuya looked at him, Djoser looked back, tears started to run down the younger man’s cheeks.

  Perneb reached across, touched his guest’s arm and said. ‘I told you it would be alright, Djoser. Now your report please.’

  Djoser began to speak, at first a little falteringly, but gradually with more confidence and clarity and told Yuya the whole story, hiding nothing and missing out no detail. Yuya occasionally asked a question. For the next three hours Djoser talked like he had never talked before.

  chapter twenty-two

  In Waset, preparations for the Festival were now almost finalised. Since the arrival of Yuya, five days previously, Haqwaset was busy trying to decide upon the best way to apprehend and deal with the tomb robbers.

  Anyone caught at the site would be easy to deal with. It would be the one giving the orders who would be more difficult to capture. He would never take the risk of going near the site himself. Haqwaset had known, since he received the intelligence, who the ringleaders were and this had been confirmed by the information Yuya had brought. It hadn’t taken a lot of persuading for Haqwaset to agree to the tomb painter being exempt from punishment. He perceived that his father-in-law’s story about Djoser being a spy was merely that, a story. He accepted the old man’s judgement. The real ringleader was Nahkt and he would pay; but how?

  When the party had arrived from Iunet, Kirgipa was not her usual bright self and it took Tiye, sitting in the garden alone with her, to get the full story. Yuya had promised Kirgipa he would let her tell the story of Barratarna in her own time and in her own way and he never broke his word.

  ‘Has something happened on the journey here to upset Kirgipa or is she unwell?’ Haqwaset asked.

  ‘The young Queen is in excellent health and there is no need for you to worry, but there’s something she needs to explain, in her own way, when she is ready,’ Yuya replied.

  Haqwaset’s curiosity had been aroused and he had a multitude of thoughts, all of them completely wrong.

  ‘It is nothing which will change the world, Haqwaset. Stop worrying. No, she is not expecting a child fathered by one of the Palace guards or anyone else. No, she is not pining to return to Naharina. No, there is no revolution amongst the women in the Royal harem. No, she hasn’t received a message from her brothers, Tushratta or Artashumara, asking for a mountain of gold.’

  Haqwaset looked ready to ask another question but Yuya, smiling, raised his hand and slightly changed the subject by picking up on his last sentence.

  ‘Talking of Tushratta and Artashumara, I think you need to keep an eye on them and the situation in Naharina, particularly what will happen after King Shuttarna dies.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Although Artashumara is heir to his father’s crown, there are rumours he is aligning himself more and more towards the neighbouring lands and away from Kemet. There is a rising resentment in the area, partially based on jealousy of your wealth. My relatives in the region tell me, they don’t think there is any immediate problem. It’s only a few fanatics, but they are getting more and more appreciation from the young. One of the prices we must pay to maintain our status is eternal vigilance. The problem may not take hold for a generation but the planning to prevent it needs to be taken now and followed through.’

  ‘I’m pleased you brought up the subject of Naharina,’ replied Haqwaset, ‘there have been some developments concerning that country which I need to discuss with you.’

  ‘You’re sending a hundred chariots, five hundred soldiers and a hundred archers to stave off a coup,’ said Yuya, feigning a yawn of boredom.

  Haqwaset looked surprised. ‘How did you…’ he started.

  ‘I may be old, Haqwaset, but still very little happens in the Two Lands without me knowing about it.’

  ‘I swear you have more spies than the High Priest of Amun,’ the King responded.

  *

  Djoser was at home. His arrival was greeted by his three daughters who scolded him for being away so long.

  ‘We were worried about you, father.’

  When he left them for his journey to Iunet, he had only said he would be away for a few days but hadn’t given them any indication of exactly how long. He didn’t have the courage to tell them he had thought never to return.

  ‘I met with some very important people and it wouldn’t have been polite to have left before they had finished giving me their orders.’

  He then embraced each one of them, tears of joy and relief in his eyes. These were the most important people in his life. They would soon have to leave him and be married. His only wish was for them to be secure in their lives. They were his motivation for having risked everything to gain riches.

  Then he heard his wife’s voice telling him, ‘No Djoser, that’s just an excuse, there is no justification for having done what you did’.

  Ever since, half blinded by the sun, he saw his wife in the form of Takhat, and visited the Temple of Hathor, his wife in the sanctuary doorway, he often heard her voice. The guilt he felt by her passing and all the ‘if onlys’ which had gone through his mind were fading, he now felt closer to her. She spoke to him, giving comment and advice, exactly as she had when she was alive.

  Djoser didn’t tell his daughters that their lives were about to change. He didn’t tell them, that once the forthcoming celebrations were over and the inundation waters had begun to recede, they would be leaving their village. They would be moving from the house where they were born, where their mother had raised them and taught them skills, vital to their future. The home was filled with memories of her. It would be a wrench for them; however, it would be for the best. He could never know if forthcoming events would have repercussions for him, or them.

  He had dealings with some very dangerous people. People with extended families who were not beyond taking revenge on him and his daughters if it was ever suspected he was involved in betraying them. Even if this were not the case, the offer from Yuya, for him and his daughters to live and work with him on his estates in the north, was too good to be missed.

  Yuya had promised to continue the training of Baketamon, Djoser’s eldest daughter, in the healing powers of herbs. She could work with Yuya’s personal physicians. Djoser’s other daughters would be found work suited to their talents. They wouldn’t be servants or slaves, but rather, would take their status from the new position of their father, who was to become the Chief Scribe and architect to Yuya. The current incumbent was old and wished to spend the rest of his days at the Temple of Djehuti, in Khmun, where he had been born and wished to die.

  The standing of his daughters would now be such that their marriage prospects would be greatly improved. Military officers or lesser nobles would never think to marry a girl from a small village in Waset, but the daughter of the Chief Scribe, to one of the most important houses in Kemet, threw a completely new light on their future expectations and Djoser’s aspirations for them.

  After sharing a meal with his daughters, Djoser headed to his parent’s house. He felt fortunate to find them both at home. His father spent most of his time at the tomb complex. The great tomb of the King was nearing completion. Kha was always complaining of his health and therefore could not make the journey across the dry, hot, dusty pass every day even by donkey or cart. He had installed a bed inside the tomb entrance; it was there he slept for much of the week.

  Today, he was at home, sitting outside the house, watching his wife and daughter, both called Merit, baking bread in the oven to the side of the entrance. The elder Merit who had been on her knees by the oven smiled as her son approached. She stood up, grimacing momentarily
as she did so. She outstretched her arms and Djoser went to her, embracing her gently. She was frail and thin. Djoser felt her rib cage through the thin, full-length gown she was wearing. He hadn’t noticed that before.

  ‘It’s about time you came to see us,’ she said, ‘where are my granddaughters?’

  ‘They’ll be along later, mother,’ he replied. ‘How are you? You seem to have lost weight since I was last here.’

  ‘Oh don’t fuss Djoser,’ she said, ‘you’re getting as bad as your young sister. I’m fine; you won’t be getting rid of me anytime soon.’

  Djoser glanced towards his sister, who was turning the thin bread to ensure an even bake. She shook her head almost imperceptibly before saying to her brother, ‘Typical of you to come just as there is fresh bread to eat. Perfect timing as always.’

  Djoser winked at her and turned to Kha.

  ‘Having a day off father?’ he said jovially.

  ‘Humph,’ was all the reply he received.

  ‘He’s waiting for the craftsmen, who have been working on his coffin, to come,’ his mother said. ‘It’s almost finished, but he is not happy.’

  ‘I wish people would do what they are asked to do and what they are getting paid for,’ said Kha.

  Kha was a perfectionist. No work ever done by anyone, other than Kha himself, would be quite good enough. Even Djoser, whose work was now considered amongst the best in Waset, would never get more than ‘It’ll do’ from his father, however, even an ‘It’ll do’ coming from Kha filled the younger man with pride.

  ‘The sooner the coffin’s finished, the better,’ Djoser’s mother continued, ‘then they can start on mine.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous woman,’ Kha said, ‘there is plenty of time for that. You’ll outlive us all, even young Merit there.’

  ‘We can but hope father,’ his daughter said.