by Allen Drury
I stop and look out upon them with an air of challenge and demand that I deliberately exaggerate, so that it becomes at once an issue between you and me on the one hand, O Aten, and the Court and my people on the other.
Very silently and tensely, now, the members of my family regard me, for they are closest to me and it is, of course, their duty to reply for the people. For a second I think perhaps it will be my father who replies, though I know this to be impossible for him, in the face of Amon: he would not be so brave. Instead, after a few seconds of almost unbearable tension, it is my uncle Aye who steps a little forward and bows low. Then he raises himself to his full height and his voice fills the silence:
“We hear your words, O Son of the Sun! We attend you! We witness for you this day that Aten will disclose his wishes only to you, and that all nations will come to this place to give tribute to the Aten, by whom all things live on this earth, forever and ever, for millions and millions of years!”
He steps back and again a long, low sigh of release moves through my family and my people. Again they think: “This is all.” But my next words swiftly disabuse them.
“O Aten, Great Father, Great God,” I cry, “hear and bear witness, with all these other witnesses, to these further things which I decree for you this day:
“I decree that here on your Horizon there shall be built a great city, and I shall not hearken to the Queen Nefer-Neferu-Aten Nefertiti nor to anyone who seeks to persuade me to build it anywhere else. Here it shall be, O Aten, your city Akhet-Aten. Its boundaries to the east, north, south and west shall be marked for you, and thus do I mark the first of them!”
And quickly I reach for the ends of the ropes which Bek and his men have cleverly hidden in the sand. I tug on them, and slowly, helped by many eager hands along the way, whose owners do not know my purpose but spring automatically to assist Pharaoh, they begin to emerge from the earth. To the north and to the south the great throng parts like a sea as the ropes emerge. They appear slowly for hundreds and hundreds of feet, thousands and thousands. Every night for two months Bek and his men have worked secretly on these wonders for me, no man seeing them under cover of Nut, no man passing on Hapi’s swift-flowing waters ever guessing that wonderful things were being readied on the plain.
Presently, four miles to the north and four miles to the south, the prearranged signals come. There flash from mirrors held by Bek’s man to the north and his man to the south, catching Ra’s rays to send the message, the news that the purpose has been accomplished. The cloths have fallen from the North Boundary Stela and the South Boundary Stela. These two limits of the city are now eternal.
“People of Kemet!” I shout as the winking mirrors repeat their message. “Go you when you have heard me speak, go you when all these wonders have been done, to the north and to the south. And do you witness there the stelae which I have caused to be inscribed to mark the Aten’s city. And know you all that soon there will be others to mark the boundaries of this place. And do you know that on them I have related these things:
“That in this great city there will be many temples, many altars and many houses. There will be a Mansion of the Aten, which shall be called ‘the Smaller Temple,’ a house of the Aten, which shall be called, ‘the Great Temple,’ a Sunshade of the Queen where she may go to worship the Aten, and a House of Rejoicing for the Aten. All these shall be here in this central spot which shall be called the Island ‘Aten-Distinguished-in-Jubilees.’ There will be also the apartments of Pharaoh and the apartments of the Chief Wife, and their children, and of all Pharaoh’s wives and all his children. There will be houses for the Good God and the Great Wife, and for my Court and for nobles and for people and helpers of all kinds.
“And I shall not leave this place to seek lands for the Aten beyond its boundaries. Only this shall be his city, and here he shall stay, forever and ever. Here will I be buried—”
All had been watching me with tense attention: this statement brings a sudden renewal of the gasps, the whispers and the murmurings. I think now, O Aten, that they begin to perceive at last the full extent of my wonders.
“—and here shall the Chief Wife, our children, and all who attend me, be they of high or low degree, be buried, so that in the afterlife they may worship the Aten and worship me, who am his Son, through all eternity. Here, too, shall be buried the Mnevis Bull, sacred to the Sun.
“From this day”—and my voice chokes once more with emotion, and suddenly they are utterly silent, utterly tense—beginning to be terrified, at last, I think, of what may be coming next. So I emphasize it, in the hateful, croaking voice which I despise but cannot help:
“From this day forward shall I make my principal residence here with the Aten. From this day forward I remove from our cities of Thebes and of Memphis all authority, power and status as the capitals of Kemet, and all such authority, power and status do I give to Akhet-Aten as the capital of Kemet. And from this day the name of Thebes shall be changed from No-Amon, ‘City of Amon,’ to No-Aten, ‘City of the Aten’—”
But here I am interrupted by an animal wail of such anguish and anger that it is barely recognizable as human. I see my uncle Aanen start forward, forgetful of Pharaoh’s station, forgetful of his own station, forgetful of time, place, everything, forgetful of the Aten—and forgetful of me.
It is then that I hear you speak, O Aten, and tell me what to do. It is then that my murdered brother Tuthmose joins you, crying, “Yes! Yes!” It is then that I raise my voice and shout an order to Kaires. And it is then, after a fearful moment in which our eyes lock as his meet mine in challenge, defiance and dismay, and mine meet his with a towering anger and a furious determination, that he surrenders his will to me and moves with a sure and terrible swiftness to do what my god and I command.
***
Amonhotep III
(life, health, prosperity!)
No. No. No! But it is happening! Oh, by the gods, it is happening! How awful, how awful! Oh no, no, no!
***
Tiye
My son, my son! Oh! My son!
***
Aye
Ah, you must not—must not—ah, Son of the Sun, what madness are you—
***
Mutemwiya
Child, child! Oh, awful, awful! The horrors you will bring upon this House! Oh, Majesty, Majesty, please—
***
Nefertiti
Kill him! KILL HIM!
***
Aanen
—Ahhh …
***
Amonhotep,
Son of Hapu
It is very still. The campfires are out. No sound comes from the crowded riverbank, the silent river, the once more empty plain. Khons rides above in his silver boat, carrying the souls of the dead through the night sky. It as though the mad dream had never happened, but indeed it has. Khons carries one more passenger tonight, and the world of Kemet is no more the same.
I could not believe my eyes. I could not believe my eyes. Around me the Family and the Court stood thunderstruck, across the vast crowded expanse a moan of horror swept from end to end. Aanen died as he had lived, still screaming imprecations against his nephew. But this time there will be no amends made to Amon, no apologies to the world. Nefer-Kheperu-Ra rules supreme in this hour and no man, not even his father, his fellow god, dares raises his voice to challenge him.
I am growing old in the service of this House. Already I am fifty-four, and I have seen too much already. What more shall I see? What more do I want to see? Nothing again such as I have seen today, believe me. Yet I think I may, before the rule of this Good God, and his god, is done.
Somewhere down the years we have lost Nefer-Kheperu-Ra: “Akhenaten.” (I wonder how long it will be before that name comes naturally to the tongue? Probably not too long: men adapt to the vagaries of gods, and this one is determined that they will adapt to his.) Whether the murder of his uncle was the wild decision of the moment or a deliberately planned act of policy we will never
know, for he will never tell us. But in two awful minutes it has taken Kemet far, very far, in the direction he wants it to go. It has implanted great fear in the land. Whether in time he can translate that fear into love and the basis of a lasting rule, we shall have to see. In time the people, shocked, may change and come willingly his way. But the shock is presently so great that this may never be.
He professes peace: he takes the sword—Kaires’ sword. And that one, poor shattered friend, must somehow find within himself the strength to put it all aside, perform his duties, and go on. He will do so, I think, for Kaires has strength—great strength, which this Pharaoh can appreciate when he bends it to his own purposes. May he appreciate it also should it turn against him, for that, too, may come to pass. If it does, will he bend in turn, and adapt and be wise? If not, I fear for him, for Kaires’ strength is very great.
I wonder, now, if Akhenaten is wise. It has been customary in the Family and in the land to refer to him as a youth of great intelligence. So, basically, he is. But with it, maturity, judgment, soundness? Increasingly in recent years I have not been so sure. I am not sure at all, now. The Aten has claimed him, and he may already be so far lost in dream that he can never return again to the ways of men—or even of gods, as Kemet has known them.
One thing is certain: he can never return again to the ways of Amon, for Amon will never forgive what has been done this day. He may not, as he says, directly attack Amon again, but in this one act he has done enough to guarantee that someday, when the chance comes right, Amon will attack him. It may be long in coming, but it will come, for Amon does not forget. From this day Akhenaten must be on guard. As one who still manages to find in my heart a continuing affection for him, I hope for his sake this may always be so. For now there is war, though he may choose to pretend it does not exist, and may wish to fight no further battles in it.
He has his “wonders,” and he has his city. At dawn when Ra, whom we of the Court must now call Aten, first begins to spread his light in the east, the work begins. Bek—his helper Tuthmose—myself, who will be in charge of much of the work—have given the orders, we have mustered the men. Six hours from now we venture out upon the plain, and starting from the great altar at the center (the sands in front of it long since drawn carefully over to conceal the blood), we will build outward in all directions until such time as the city is completed. He wants it in two years or less: if we are lucky we may have it for him in three. All is ready. We will proceed. Akhet-Aten will become reality and occupy the plain.
With it will come many problems, and already my half brother Ramose, still Vizier of Upper Kemet and still worrying endlessly in his conscientious fashion, has begun to fret about them. He, too, has responsibilities: housing and feeding the many thousands of workmen who will build this place, bringing here from Thebes the craftsmen and artisans who will work at our direction to beautify and embellish the city, establishing the quarters where the priests of the Aten—for here, surely, there will be many—will live. Stores, supplies, granaries—foodshops, workshops, wineshops—all the small necessary accompaniments of daily life—Ramose and his scribes with their never ending records will have much to do to keep track of them all. It is no small project to change the capital of a country from its old, established place to another as yet unbuilt. It is, in fact, revolution.
Thus have we wrought with Nefer-Kheperu-Ra “Akhenaten,” we who have always prided ourselves that we were teaching him to be a good Pharaoh worthy of the House of Thebes and a Good God worthy of the land he was born to rule. It is not what we intended, but though we thought we knew him, of course we did not. No one does, save perhaps Nefertiti—or, I suppose, I should say “Nefer-Neferu-Aten.” And I doubt that she does, though she must convince herself of it to be able to stay by his side.
And still I cannot find it in my heart to abandon him, any more than she can. Not only because he has asked me to stay with him here in the new capital, but because I find myself bound to him by strong ties of concern, affection and, yes, love.
In spite of what he has done this day, he is very vulnerable, our Akhenaten. To those of us who have been close to him in the past twenty years he is not the fearsome Pharaoh Kemet now believes him, although of course he could, if he wished, have our heads in a moment, too, just as he had Aanen’s. He is a god, and no power on earth could stop him should he turn against us. But although it now appears more dangerous to be subject to his will, actually, for myself, and I think for the others, it is not. There is a certain element of playing with fire, of lying down with lions, but we feel, perhaps mistakenly, that he likes us too well for us to be afraid. He did not like Aanen, and with good cause: none of us did. Aanen invited disaster and he got it. Akhenaten does not feel that way about us. And even if he did, we would still pity him and, perhaps with a curiously willing compliance, accept whatever fate he might decree for us.
“We would still pity him.” That, I think, is the key to it. He has been through so much in his twenty years. He began his life so beautifully, he was such a handsome, well-favored lad, everything was moving so smoothly and perfectly for him toward a great and happy reign—and then came the dreadful illness, and with it disfigurement, grotesquerie, disaster, pain—an outward and inner hurt from which he has never recovered, and from which, I think, he never will recover. It is not surprising, perhaps, that he should have turned away from the gods who did this to him and turned to a new god he could not consider responsible. It is not surprising that he should wish for all his people the comfort and apparent peace of mind that worship of the bright and open Aten seems to have given to him.
No, I shall not abandon Akhenaten. I look back upon him across the distance of thirty-four years between our ages, and I think: he needs me. He is still, inside, the lonely, frightened boy who sat at my knee to learn the art of the scribe and bombarded me with questions about Kemet and the gods. In some way apart from ceremony, he is not Pharaoh to me: he is almost one of my sons.
He confronts us, and the Two Lands, with a great challenge: we must keep his revolution within bounds. We cannot do it by abandoning him. We must stay close, and soften and gentle where we can.
I stand here in the silent night staring out across the haunted plain where in six hours’ time a great city will begin to rise, and I am not so sure that he is wrong in his worship of the Aten. Amon is old and dark, threatening and fearsome. Perhaps it is time for a gust of fresh air to blow through Kemet. Perhaps it is time for a new light to shine upon the world.
I shall not abandon Akhenaten, though there may be some who will. I shall accept his revolution, observe it, try to understand it—and direct it where and if I have the opportunity, into safe channels. The death of Aanen was a shocking spectacle, but it was caused by the fierce and much-provoked anger of the moment. It does not change him inside. And though, like all, I never expect to know all that is inside, what I do know leads me to decide in his favor.
I pray for him and for Kemet that all will go well for him. Aye is beside him; I am; Kaires, I think, will be, once he has recovered from this day’s deed. Nefertiti (I shall probably never be able to use the new construction of her name: that is too bizarre) will be beside him; his daughters; even, I think, though with many misgivings, Pharaoh and the Great Wife. And perhaps, in time, his people, too, though for the moment they tremble with fear of him from one end of Kemet to the other.
We must go with him. There is no choice.
Now all is still: at dawn his city rises.
His “wonders” are just beginning.
We must welcome them willingly if we would not lose him altogether and drive him irretrievably down pathways most awful for the Two Kingdoms and for him.
***
Ramesses
He sits beside me in the tent and shivers. Waves of shivers pass across his body. Sweat drips from his forehead. His hands are clenched, his eyes staring. From time to time he mumbles something incoherent, and now and again, with an almost animal groan, he d
rives the fist of one hand against the fist of the other. Terrible grimaces come and go. He rocks with anguish. I try to comfort him but I do not know what to do. I do not know what to say. Never have I seen my friend Kaires in such a state.
***
Kaires
Ah, I wish that I were dead, dead like Aanen! I deserve it, I deserve it! I am in some other world, not this. Gray mists swirl though my head. Red haze—red, red, red, like blood!—covers my eyes. I see it—I see it! His face, contorted, hangs before me in the air. I raise my sword!—I strike!—his skull splits asunder!—he collapses on the sand! Red haze—red haze. I wish that I were dead. Dead like Aanen! I deserve it. Ah, I deserve it!
Poor Ramesses does not know what to make of me. Is this his old friend, veteran of so many years in the army together? Is this he who has fought in Kush and against the Hittites on the borders of Hatti, who has killed men before at his Pharaoh’s bidding and in his Pharaoh’s cause?
Yes, it is he.
But never before such a Pharaoh.
Never before such a cause …
It repeats itself incessantly in my mind, I cannot stop it. Not just the death but what went before. Not just my sword slashing the sweltering air until it collides with brains and flesh and a mass of resistance suddenly sagging and lifeless, but the eyes of Akhenaten—our terrible look, binding us together in blood and brotherhood, trust and mistrust, love and hatred, forever and ever, for millions and millions of years … until one of us breaks permanently the will of the other, as he broke mine this day, and as someday I will break his.
What is he, this strange boy? He is twenty, I am thirty-five. For fifteen years I have been “big brother” to him and his wife. I have played with them as babies, been their companion in childhood’s adventures, served them loyally since they became Co-Regent and Chief Wife. And in gratitude for all this, it is me he turns to when it comes time to murder his uncle—and mine. What is he? Who is he? Who will ever know?