by Allen Drury
“Go!” I shouted, rising from my throne; and while Aanen does not often look terrified of me, for I am basically an easygoing man who does not often try to terrify people, this time he did.
Even so, after he had backed humbly and silently to the door, his head suddenly shot up, his eyes glared, and he snarled, “That monstrous boy has bested you, Neb-Ma’at-Ra! Who is it who truly rejoices when he comes to ‘The-House-of-Rejoicing’?”
Then he turned and stalked hurriedly away, fleeing the sound of my enraged shouts that followed him down the long corridor past the startled soldiers, who watched in amazement a sight that is almost never seen in Kemet: the open anger of the Good God.
But he was right, of course; and although none of us ever mentioned the matter again, it marked the beginning of the decline of my power and the increasing dominance of the young Pharaoh. Now it is all Amonhotep IV (life, health, prosperity!) and the Aten. Amon believes himself to be, and is, hard pressed, though as yet it does not extend to any actual physical attacks upon him or his power. And perhaps I should not concern myself if it does: perhaps I should simply enjoy in luxury whatever years remain to me. It would be easier that way, and I am not in sufficient health to fight the battles with my son that would be necessary to reverse his policies. Nor am I sure I want to. The Aten is a happy god, unlike dark Amon. Perhaps it may be for the best.…
Though still, of course, I worry. He is young, he is impulsive, he is determined, he is adamant. He is not flexible. He does not bend as a good ruler sometimes must.
Tomorrow he will reveal to us, he says, new wonders that will be good for our House, for Kemet and for everyone. Tiye has started snoring now and I believe I may dare cease my own pretense and think about this quietly for a time until Nut lets me sleep—if she does. She is aided by my son in keeping me awake: and my son is a powerful force.
I do not know quite what his mother and I have given Kemet. I marvel at it every day and only pray—to both Amon and Aten and, I assure you, with equal fervor—that it will not be the ruination of the land and of our House.
***
Aanen
Why must my foolish brother-in-law always attempt to place me in the position of being the villain? He is losing his grip on Kemet, on the Empire, on his son, on his throne—and he prefers to turn on me when I dare to tell him the somber truth of it, which is that Nefer-Kheperu-Ra is running away with the country. Running away with the country and running away with the very ma’at and order of things, which the gods will not forgive. Certainly Amon will not forgive it if I have anything to say about it. And in spite of doddering old Maya, that joke of a High Priest foisted on us by the Co-Regent, I do.
My nephew is beyond belief. I will admit that he has not yet attacked us openly, he has not yet invaded our granaries, our temples and our stores: but he will, he will. I have sensed it coming for many years, ever since Pharaoh began to direct the thoughts of his misshapen son to the Aten. He unloosed a force he did not reckon with, that day; and now he cannot control it. Tomorrow something awful is going to happen: I feel it. Tomorrow Amon is going to have to fight: I know it.
Do not ask me how or why.
Amon tells me, and I believe.
We camp on the edge of this empty plain under the enormous desert stars, all of us waiting on one headstrong, willful, unpredictable youth of twenty obsessed and possessed by his dream of the Aten. There are some among my priests who say: “Do not worry. Amon is supreme and all-powerful. Nothing can injure Amon. He will live forever and ever, for millions and millions of years. No youth, even a Pharaoh, can destroy Amon. Amon lives forever.”
But they do not know my nephew, and they do not know the hesitant way his parents and the Court react when they are warned of the perils of his course. They do not know Neb-Ma’at-Ra, who is fat, self-indulgent, ill and weak. They do not know my sister Tiye, who thinks she rules the Two Lands in her husband’s shadow but has never, since his illness, been able to rule her strange, impatient son. They do not know our slippery brother Aye, who will do anything, even lend his name to the Aten, if it will prevent an explosion and preserve a compromise. They do not know the Queen Mother, whose body is now but a frail fragment of herself but whose will in some things is still as strong as Tiye’s and who fears yet coddles her grandson. They do not know our niece Nefertiti, who has been trained from childhood to adore him, and whose faith, while it is shaken from time to time, remains basically serene in the conviction that all things her husband does are right and correct. They do not know Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, and Kaires, who I know must also have misgivings, but who so far have decided them in favor of the Co-Regent And they do not know how I am mocked and despised and made fun of when I persist in reminding of the dangers that are implicit in the policies of Amonhotep IV (life, health, prosperity!).
For, look you, I do not speak without warrant and I do not speak without example. It is true his temples to the Aten elsewhere in Kemet do not represent any great threat to Amon, because for one thing very few of the people pay attention to them and, for another, they do not take away from Amon any great number of priests. Even in Memphis and Karnak, while the temples are huge, he has not assigned to them many priests. Even these we could live with.
Even, I suppose, could we live with the virtual crowning of the Aten in Jubilee, even with the show of Pharaoh’s pomp with which my nephew has surrounded his god, even with the way in which my nephew increasingly makes himself the sole intermediary between the people and the Aten. The problem is more subtle than that; and I submit that I am not foolish, or stupid, or overly concerned, or too insistent, when I worry about it.
The matter is basically psychological—so far. The young Pharaoh is gathering things unto himself, slowly but surely, in preparation for—what? This I do not know, but all logic points to some form of direct challenge to Amon, sooner or later. The others prefer not to see this, for if they saw it and admitted it they might be forced to intervene. And they do not wish to intervene, because if they did they would face a battle with my nephew. And secretly, though they are too cowardly to admit it to anyone, particularly to themselves, they do not wish such a battle. Secretly they are afraid of him, and they are no longer sure they could win.
Therefore I am not wrong to be concerned for Amon. Nor am I exceeding my authority or my rights in attempting to protect him. Amon has helped the Eighteenth Dynasty to govern Kemet for three hundred years, and there have been many times when Amon has saved the House of Thebes from disaster. Amon has blessed its Pharaohs, supported its conquests, collected its tribute, confirmed its hold on the people, strengthened it in all things. Amon has been its partner in every way for generations. Amon has a right to his power and influence, because he has earned them. And now Amon is to be pushed about, diminished, made mock of and given second place by a malformed, headstrong boy?
Not while Aanen lives!
Pray Amon I may live long enough to muster the forces of Amon if what I fear comes true! Pray Amon I may live long enough to see my arrogant nephew humbled and restored to the true faith of Amon where he belongs! The others may be cowards, but I am not. I fear only Amon, not my nephew. And Amon will strengthen me in all things, too, for I am righteous in his eyes, and with his blessing for works well done I will live forever and ever, for millions and millions of years.
Nonetheless, I am uneasy tonight as the cook fires one by one go out and silence settles finally over the great encampment and the empty plain that stretches away behind us eastward toward the hills. It is a strange place. I do not believe there have ever been any temples or habitation here. It is quite typical of the Co-Regent that he should bring us to this place, quite typical that he should keep his reasons a mystery. We rarely speak these days, but last time we did, he said only, “Uncle, I am visiting another place. I wish you to accompany me.” And gave me such a long and disconcerting stare from those narrow, hooded eyes that I suddenly felt a positive shiver go up and down my spine.
“Yes, Maje
sty,” I said, for it was all I could say: and here I am.
But I am not here to take idly whatever he has dreamed up in that odd, misshapen head. He does not frighten me.
Amon! Give me strength to meet his challenges, for I am your servant in all things, and you I will not fail!
***
Aye
It nears midnight. Ra is halfway gone on his journey from west to east beneath the earth. It will only be a short while before his barque will come in sight of its resting place and the first faint hint of dawn will awaken this hushed encampment again to life. Already I think I can hear in the distance along the riverbank a faint rustling, the beginnings of movement toward the plain: the multitudes will presently stream blindly toward its center, thinking instinctively that somehow at the center they will find the mystery my nephew has prepared for them.
Whether it will be there or elsewhere on the vast expanse, I do not know, for he has, as usual, preferred to remain secretive and obscure. But in one sense I do not think it will be at the center: Amonhotep IV (life, health, prosperity!) has moved far from the center in the five years of his co-regency. He is taking Kemet in new directions, far from the balance and the center which have for many hundreds of years kept the Two Lands relatively stable, peaceable and free.
On this journey I have gone much of the way with him, and I know my sister, my brother-in-law, my brother and many in Kemet wonder why. Partly, I suppose, it has been a matter of uneasy conscience: I was perhaps the principal encourager of the young Pharaoh and my daughter Nefertiti in their questionings of the gods: or at least I was their principal friendly ear … I did not say no. If the result is to be dangerous to Kemet, then it is I who must help bring it back within bounds. It is I who must offer the principal moderating force, which I believe they will accept from me, as their preceptor, more easily than they will from anyone else.
In this I may be mistaken, but nonetheless it is the path I must pursue. Conscience will permit no other; and Aye, who has been the conscience of the House of Thebes in so many things, cannot fail it now or he should never be able to face himself again.
So when he asked me if I would join him and my daughter in the hierarchy of the Aten, I said I would; not knowing what it would portend, but knowing that so far, at least, his devotion to the new god has not seriously harmed the old. It may, as my tiresome brother Aanen fears: there may yet come a direct assault upon Amon. But so far it has not appeared. So far our nephew seems to be more concerned with moving in his own direction than in challenging Amon. The only thing he has actually done to Amon is to neglect him: and this, of course, infuriates my brother and all his busy priesthood. They love power and during the Eighteenth Dynasty they have acquired far more than their safe share of it. It is very annoying to be ignored by the One who will presently be the sole ruler of the Two Kingdoms. Annoying and, I suspect, frightening in its potential.
But as yet, even so, nothing that Amon can really complain about. My brother-in-law still maintains the forms of daily worship, continues to build his vast temple to Amon at Luxor, honors the god with other favors in other places. He, too, tries to play the tricky game of walking the rolling palm log over the flooding Nile. Having encouraged his son to embrace the Aten, he has steadily backed away and tried to balance it by appeasing Amon. It has not worked very well, but at least it has kept things from coming to crisis; and him, too, I have encouraged, for only by keeping the two opposing forces in equal tension with one another can Kemet be spared the devastation that might ensue were conflict to come and bring to one or the other completely unchallenged power.
It is my hope that my nephew realizes this also, though there are many times when I wonder what goes on in that enigmatic head. He is fond of elliptical phrases, oblique meanings, mysterious hints. “Uncle,” he said on the day he asked me to serve as Assistant High Priest of the Aten, “you will assist in wonders.”
“What wonders are those?” I asked in a voice as close to scorn as I dared, for I wish to discourage these mental adventurings he seems to be on all the time. “Surely there are no wonders left that Kemet has not seen in her two thousand years of history.”
“Kemet has not seen me,” he said, with a certain rising emphasis in his high voice that made me realize he was in full earnest. “I am such a wonder as Kemet still does not know what to make of, and I shall do such wonders as Kemet will not know what to make of, also. You will be with me, Uncle. It is a great honor.”
“Oh, I know that,” I assured him, though I had my own thoughts about it. “It is your purpose, then, to make the Aten equal with Amon, I take it.”
For a moment he simply gave me a bland stare. Then an ironic little smile touched the heavy lips.
“Uncle,” he said, and at his side Nefertiti, too, permitted a small, ironic amusement to cross that lovely face as he replied, “that would be a wonder, and it may be the one I contemplate. Again, it may not. Who knows? Perhaps we should await events as Amon and the Aten bring them to us, and see.”
“Do you really know what you intend to do, Majesty?” I pressed in dead earnest myself, now.
“Oh, I know,” he said, and at his side Nefertiti said earnestly, “Yes, he knows, Father. Be assured of that.”
“And you support him in it, you are sure it is for the good of Kemet, and of this House?” I asked, giving her the steady look that once, long ago before she became so completely devoted to her cousin, used to produce the truth. And of course it produced the truth now, as she sees it.
“I am convinced that it is for the good of Kemet and of this House,” she said solemnly, and I perceived that she meant it absolutely.
“But neither of you will tell the Assistant High Priest of the Aten what it is,” I said in a musing tone and deliberately looked out the window, apparently studying the hurrying river busy with boats. “How very strange …”
“High Priest, High Priestess, Assistant High Priest,” my nephew said airily. “All must await the wisdom of the Aten, which I shall presently reveal.”
“I thought you said Amon and the Aten would reveal it together,” I said quickly, and as quickly he replied:
“I shall reveal it when the Aten tells me, for I am the Aten’s son and only I can understand him. Amon,” he added, and again the ironic little smile touched both their faces, “will receive the revelation too—when the Aten gives it to me. Amon may then join in revealing it to the people, if he chooses—in fact,” he added slowly, “I think I shall command your brother to attend me when I reveal it. That will be the height of the jest.”
“What jest, Majesty?” I demanded sharply, too alarmed by his tone and the general drift of the conversation to be diplomatic. “You speak of ‘jests’ as though this were a game you are playing with Kemet and the gods. Pharaoh does not play games with Kemet and the gods. Pharaoh takes his trust seriously in all things.”
“So I have observed,” he said with a sudden devastating dryness, “in my father.”
And Nefertiti laughed aloud (as she rarely does nowadays), an almost girlish, completely amused and completely disrespectful sound that instantly magnified my concern a hundredfold.
“Daughter,” I said sharply, “be more respectful of the Good God!”
“But he is so funny,” she said and then he joined her in laughter, their private laughter which seems to spring from some secret known only to them—and presumably, I suppose, to the Aten, for now he seems to be their principal confidant in everything.
“I do not wish to discuss it further, Majesty,” I said stiffly. “I beg leave to go now.” And I started to bow low and back out of his presence. But he stopped me by raising a hand like long talons on a long, thin arm.
“You are too serious, Uncle,” he said. “No one can serve the Aten in such a mood. He is a happy god. Smile, Uncle. Smile!”
“I hope you know what you are doing, Son of the Sun,” I said gravely; and suddenly grave himself, he replied slowly:
“I do, Uncle. And it will be
best for all. I, who am living in truth, promise it!”
He makes much of this living in truth, I thought as I left them then; but what is the truth in which he lives? Is it the ancient truth of Kemet, or is it some new truth he has devised for himself? Is it a truth by which the land can live, or is it a truth that will bring death?
Now we are here at this nameless bend in the river, waiting for Ra to return so that the young Pharaoh may perform whatever ceremonies he has in mind. My sister and brother-in-law are here, Aanen is here, we are all here. Some have come willingly, like myself, some reluctantly, like Aanen, some with many misgivings, like Pharaoh and the Great Wife; but all have come. The thoughts of all Kemet are concentrated here at the river bend, because my nephew has sent out many messengers to announce that he plans a great event for the Two Kingdoms. And many wonder, I am sure, why Aye will be at his side.
Well, it is as I say: I helped to bring him here, I helped to prepare whatever it is that is coming—inadvertently, not deliberately, but nonetheless I played my part. It may mean great good for Kemet, in which case I shall rejoice with all; but if, as to his elders seems more likely, it is something of danger or even disaster which impends, then it is Aye whose conscience says he must stand by and help to set it right. My nephew trusts me, I think, more than he does his parents, perhaps more than anyone; and Nefertiti is still my daughter. They will, perhaps, listen to me if I must speak in defense of Kemet. I must be with them when the hour comes, for their sake and for the Two Lands.
He has instructed me to join them in procession beginning two hours after dawn. The ceremony is to be at noon when Ra stands directly overhead. Presumably the hours between will be filled with driving across the plain to greet the people. Then will come the revelation, and his purpose will be known.
I should like to sleep, but I do not think I will. A moment ago I lifted the tent flap and stared out across the huge, mysterious plain which stretches away to the east. The boat of Khons had almost disappeared. Its silvery light was dimmed. The full movement of the multitudes had not yet begun. Empty, mysterious, haunting and dark, the ageless sands stretched far away.