by Overton, Max
"Ma'at is truth," Waenre said softly. "Even art must follow the law of Ma'at. Without it there is only chaos."
"But what of respect, my lord, and honour? Why do we look up to the great statues of the kings that have gone before? It is because we can see their nobility and strength. I fear that...that the people will hold you in less respect."
"They will come to see that truth is everything. In the clear light of the Aten, all things are made plain."
Ay bowed. "As my lord Waenre wishes."
"There is another thing I wish."
"Name it lord."
"The Aten showers his blessings down on all men but only those that worship him in beauty and truth will be rewarded by him in the afterlife. I would have you do that, Ay, brother to the queen my mother and father of the queen my wife."
Ay bowed again. "As my lord commands. What must I do?"
"Give up your priesthood of Amun and turn to your father the Aten."
Ay thought hard, his face impassive. Amun was king of the gods without a doubt but the king was god-on-earth. If he required him to follow the Aten then that was what he must do. There was no power without the king's favor.
Nefertiti clasped her father's arm. "Join us, father. My husband and I are the principal priests but we will need your firm hand on everyday matters."
"Become a high priest of Aten," Waenre cajoled.
Ay bowed his head. "What can I say? If my king desires it of me, I can do nothing else."
"Then the ceremony tomorrow will be complete. The three of us will officiate over the dedication rites."
"Tomorrow? So soon? Surely the temple is not yet finished?"
The next day, as the great disk of the sun rose in the eastern sky, the young King Amenhotep, dressed in the purest white linen robes, led a long line of priests into the temple. With Ay and Nefertiti to his left and right, he lifted up his hands and his voice in a great song of praise.
"I am your son, O great Aten. I satisfy you, I exalt your name above all the other gods of Kemet. Your strength and power are established in my heart. Hear O Aten, you are the living disk, the great one who lives from eternity to eternity."
As the king sang in the morning sunlight streaming into the new temple, Ay led a chorus of newly consecrated priests into a chanting praise song. The melody itself was recognizable to many as a song to Amun, though the words had been changed to reflect the worshippers' new allegiance.
"The Aten has brought forth his honoured son, Waenre, the Unique One of the Sun, in his own form. Let praises honour the Aten and his only son for the Son of Re supports his beauty."
A long line of young girls entered the temple, also dressed in white linen skirts, their bronzed breasts shining in the golden glow from the Aten disk above the altar. Nefertiti advanced to meet them, and then led them in a swaying dance through the temple precincts, weaving between the painted columns as clear young voices rose into the sky.
Waenre turned to the altar and scattered incense on the sacred fire, sending billows of sweet-scented smoke into the vast open-aired hall. Breathing deeply of the perfumed vapours, Waenre staggered and Ay reached out to steady his king.
"The Aten fills me with his glory," Waenre croaked. "My lungs are like the noonday sun and my eyes water as if I have been staring at the blessed god."
Ay pulled on his king's arm. "Come, my lord, come away into the clearer air."
Waenre shook his head, wheezing. "No. The god speaks to me." He breathed the smoke again, dissolving into a paroxysm of coughing. "O great Aten, I hear you!" He shook off Ay and lifted his arms high in the air, stretching out to the golden disk whose light seemed to pulse in the billowing smoke.
"O Aten, living Aten, the beginning of all life.
You appear most radiantly on the eastern horizon ...
the...the horizon of heaven itself."
Waenre lurched and clutched at the altar, holding himself upright. He sucked in the heady vapors before calling out again, his voice strengthening with every phrase.
"When you arise, O living Aten, from the eastern horizon,
You fill the land with your radiance, your beauty.
O living Aten, you are great and glorious, gracious and glistening,
High over every land. Your healing rays reach to all lands,
All lands that you have made, for you are Re.
O living Aten, you have subdued all lands for your beloved son Waenre,
And though you are far away, your rays are here on earth ..."
Waenre stumbled again and almost fell and this time allowed Ay to lead him away from the altar into the fresher air of the main body of the temple.
"Did you hear me, Ay? Did you note my words? I could feel the power of the Aten singing within me. There is more, a lot more. I feel it bursting to get out of my heart. I must send for a scribe and write it down; it will be my hymn to the Aten."
"Later, my lord. Rest now." Ay hesitated, started to say something, thought about it for a moment before trying again. "It is the presence of the god, my lord. Any mere man would be rendered insensible by the Aten's glory. It is only because you are the son of the living Aten and a god yourself that you can survive this experience."
Waenre nodded. "It must be as you say, noble Ay." He frowned. "But then how is it that you survive?"
"Your holy presence sustains me, lord." He looked around, and spotting Nefertiti, beckoned her over. In answer to his daughter's enquiring expression, he leaned close to her and murmured, "Smoke." In a louder voice he said, "It is the ecstasy of the god. The living Aten has made himself known to his son."
"I must commemorate this blessing," Waenre cried. "Statues. I shall have statues made of myself, of my beautiful wife and of my glorious father. No, take statues that are already made, Ay. Have them suitably inscribed. Start with the one of my father outside the temple of Amun."
"It shall be as you say, my lord. What would you have me inscribe?"
Waenre thought. "The God Aten sheds his rays on King Nebmaetre Amenhotep." He nodded. "Yes, then similar inscriptions on my and Nefertiti's statues." He smiled and put an arm around his father-in-law. "You may put the same on one of your statues too."
"You honour me, my lord, but I do not have any statues of myself."
"Then we shall have to rectify that. Have the masons prepare your likeness and inscribe it."
Nefertiti embraced her husband before gesturing toward the priests and singers thronging the vast temple. "Husband, we must finish the dedication."
Waenre stared out at the throng, his eyes unfocused. "The temple is already dedicated. Aten has accepted my gift and spoken to me."
Ay squeezed his daughter's shoulder and stepped past her toward the priests. "I'll deal with this." He hurried forward his arms raised as the last of the singing died away. The dancers stopped and all eyes turned to the king's advisor.
"The Living God Aten has spoken," he declaimed, pitching his voice to carry to the far ends of the temple. "He declares himself well satisfied with this temple and blesses it and all herein with his beneficent rays."
A spontaneous cry of joy burst from the throats of the leading priests, taken up and expanded by the singers and dancers. Ay let the cheering and cries of praise die down before raising his arms again.
"The Living Aten, all praise be to him, wishes to converse with his son, our beloved Neferkheperure Waenre. The king bids you depart from his house of the Living God and partake of the feast that has been prepared in the palace. Rejoice, all of you, for the Aten embraces his son Waenre, and through him, bountiful blessings will flow to his people."
Laughing and chattering, the crowd of priests, worshippers, dancers and singers left the temple, passing out from under the perfumed rays of the sun of the interior to the brightness of the gardens. As the last of them left, Ay turned and walked back to his king and his daughter.
Nefertiti grinned. "Father, you surprised me. You handled that very well for a man who has been a High Priest of Aten for
only a day."
Ay shrugged. "I have been a priest, and a high priest of Amun long enough to know how to handle people. I just had to change the names."
"Yes, names." Waenre looked at father and daughter thoughtfully. "I must think on names some more. My throne names mean "Beautiful are the manifestations of Re" and "The unique one of Re". These names are acceptable, as Re is an aspect of the Aten but the name that is on the lips of people is Amenhotep, or "Amun is at peace". This is not suitable for a son of the Sun."
"You would change the name your father Nebmaetre gave you? It is also the name under which you were consecrated as king." Ay frowned, and lowered his voice though they were alone in the temple. "My lord, think on this I beg you. Do not be precipitate in your actions. In the eyes of everyone in the Two Lands you were consecrated as king in the name of Amun. If you change your name, particularly to one without the god's name, some might question whether you still have the right to rule."
"Aten gives me the right to rule," Waenre said. "These are but the jealous mouthings of the priests of Amun. It is only right that as I owe my very life and being to the living Aten I should bear his name."
"Husband, if you take a praise name of our great Aten, then I shall too." Nefertiti smiled and placed her slim arm around the king's shoulders.
Waenre turned and kissed his wife, stroking her back. "Beloved," he said, between kisses. "We shall devise a name...of beauty...that will honour the Aten...and sing your beauty to all."
"Come then, my husband." Nefertiti took Waenre by the hand and led him past Ay. "Come to the palace and let us show our love together. Then we can find names for ourselves that praise our god."
Ay watched the young king and queen leave the temple precinct, his face set in a worried frown. "I cannot stand by and do nothing if inaction brings disaster on Kemet," he muttered. "I must plead with Nebmaetre, if the gods grant him speech, or else his queen, my sister Tiye." He contemplated the empty temple for several minutes before a slow smile creased his face. "And yet, if he is set on this act, then a strong man, a determined man in the right place, could achieve much."
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Chapter Six
Cicadas thrummed in the olive groves of Lebanon. The heat of the summer's day rippled the dusty air, creating mirages over the coastal plains. On the bare hillsides above the groves, where within living memory the great cedars had grown, goats grazed on the rank grass, tended by small boys. Dust, kicked up by the sharp hooves, tasted acrid and sour in the throat. The herd moved slowly, cropping the grass and weeds, prevented from straying too far by the vigilance of their herders. Always ready with a shout and a stone hurled unerringly from a leather sling, the boys herded their charges across the hillsides, seeking the shade of a stand of scrubby poplar trees in the shelter of one of the many stony-bedded streams dissecting the landscape.
As the day moved toward noon, the goats sought out the deepest shade and settled down, jaws moving incessantly and yellow eyes contemplating their domain. Three of the four young boys sat beneath a large boulder overlooking the herd while the fourth climbed atop the great rock, shading his eyes as he scanned the hillside. It was not unknown for leopards to come down from the mountains, even in the summertime.
The sun moved and the boy clambered down, one of the others taking his place. A thin wisp of smoke rose from beneath the boulder where the bloodied corpse of a rabbit lay across a bed of coals. The stink of burning hair was gradually replaced by the aroma of cooking meat. The boy atop the rock glanced down hungrily, his mouth salivating in anticipation. As he did so he missed the movement on the trail that led to the north.
He called down to his friends below, his cry of inquiry masking the rattle of a dislodged stone. Straightening, he turned for a last look round before descending for his meal. His eyes widened at the sight of a troop of Amorite soldiers running along the path toward him, the sun glinting off spearheads. With a yell of alarm, he jumped into the long grass, rolled and picked himself up, bolting for the meager cover of the streambed.
The other boys, startled by his wordless cry of alarm, issued from around the boulder, fitting stones into their slings. They ran right into the armed men and went down at once, their limbs pinioned and tied within seconds.
A burly man, dark complexioned and unshaven, pushed to the front and scanned the hillside, his eyes searching for movement, flicking as a goat shifted then away again. He grunted and pointed.
"There, by the tall rock, a few cubits downstream."
An archer raised his bow. "I see him, Jebu."
The boy ran, jinking and dodging through the long grass, hurdling the smaller rocks. The arrow took him high in the back, tumbling him over and into a small ravine. The archer trotted over to retrieve his arrow, emerging a few minutes later, wiping the bloodied arrowhead on his tunic.
Jebu ordered his men to rest. The small fire was enlarged and two goats were sacrificed to the men's hunger, the rest of the flock scattering. While the meat cooked, Jebu led his two junior officers up to the crest of the ridge. Crawling up to the rim, they peered over.
In the valley below, beside a small river, lay a fortified encampment. A low ditch and rough palisade of sharpened stakes surrounded a dozen ragged tents. A road ran through the encampment, while a flimsy-looking gate of brush and branches made pretence of blocking each entrance. Two men lounged by each entrance, leaning on their spears. Within the camp, men sat around attending to the day to day activities of soldiers, mainly eating, sleeping or indulging in games of dice.
"I count twenty, Jebu, including the four at the gates."
"There are twelve tents, Aram," Jebu growled. "Kemetu sleep four to a tent. Allow one for the commander, another for the priest and that still leaves twenty unaccounted for. I would like to know where they are."
"Asleep in their tents maybe? Or else on patrol."
Jebu hawked and spat down the slope. "Either way, we must winkle them out of there. Any ideas?"
"We could wait until dark and go straight in," Aram ventured. "Take them by surprise."
"You have a high opinion of our rabble. Unless they can see what they are doing they'll be killing each other. The Kemetu are more disciplined."
The other officer shook his head slightly, running the fingers of one hand through the stubble of hair on his head. He gestured toward the camp. "They don't look very disciplined to me, Jebu. See, there is an officer, yet they don't even stand when he addresses them."
Jebu squinted into the bright glare. He watched the officer, a glint of gold around his neck, haranguing his men, seemingly without much effect. "Very good, Simyras." He grinned, showing crooked and yellowed teeth.
"Perhaps a trap then?" Aram suggested. "If they are not disciplined, could we lure them out?"
"Perhaps. What would bring them out?"
"A fire," Simyras said. "The hills are dry enough."
"That would just alert them to our presence. Besides, why would they venture out if the hills burn? They are in the valley and safe enough."
"Send a few men down there. They run away when the Kemetu come out and lead them to the rest of us." Aram grinned. "I would enjoy that killing."
Jebu made a farting noise with his lips. "They would have to be idiots to fall for that trick."
"They might come out if they heard from someone else there were only a few of us." Simyras turned and looked at his leader. "One of the goat herders maybe?"
Jebu thought it over, then nodded. "It might work, provided we can trust the boy ourselves. What's to stop him telling them it's a trap?"
"I'm sure a little gentle persuasion will work." Simyras grinned and touched the dagger hilt in his belt.
Jebu led his two officers back down to the camp by the big boulder. The goats were now partly cooked and the men fell upon the meat, carving hunks off with their daggers. As they ate, Jebu questioned the boys and was delighted to find that two were brothers.
"I'm going to give you a c
hance to live, boy." Jebu addressed the older brother. "You will do exactly as I say or I will personally slit your brother's throat--and your friend's," he added.
The boy nodded, flicking a tear-stained glance at his weeping brother.
"All right, Aram, cut him loose." Jebu waited until the boy got shakily to his feet. "In the next valley is a Kemetu outpost. You have no love of Kemetu so you should not care what happens to them?" He looked enquiringly at the boy and, receiving no hint of disagreement, continued. "You'll run down there as if the gods of the underworld were after you and you'll tell them that bandits captured your brother and friend, killed another and are now busy eating the flock. You got that?"
The boy nodded.
"You were separated from your friends and we never saw you. There are six of us and we are eating but we have not even set a guard. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Good. You will lead them up here and will give them no warning."
"What if they don't want to come?"
"Then if you want your brother to live, you will persuade them."
Jebu watched as Aram led the boy up to the ridge crest and turned him loose. The boy disappeared over the rim at a run. He designated six men to sit around the fire and continue eating, and then carefully laid out the ambush, setting archers to cover the path leading down to the valley. "No-one must escape," he told them. He clambered up to the ridge where Aram kept an eye on the Kemetu outpost.
"Still only twenty men visible," muttered Aram. "The others must be out on patrol."
"Then pray to the gods they do not return too early." Jebu scanned the hillside and the valley. "Where is the boy?"
Aram pointed. "He went down along the streambed as if seeking cover. If the guards see him they will believe he is hiding from someone."
Jebu watched as the boy broke cover and headed out over the bare ground toward the encampment. The guards spotted him and rose to meet him, issuing a challenge. After a few minutes, one of the guards accompanied the boy into the camp. They disappeared into the commander's tent.