The Amarnan Kings, Book 1: Scarab - Akhenaten

by Overton, Max

  "Why can he not see that?" Maya asked. "Strength is needed against Shubbiluliuma and his allies, not appeasement. Did you see the envoy from Aziru? Standing in the back watching everything with that supercilious smile of his?"

  "I saw him," Ay agreed grimly. "And for now we can do nothing except obey our king. One day though ..." he added beneath his breath. He beckoned to a servant and bid him find one of the physicians and send him to see Iduma of Hazor.

  The two men walked quickly back down the corridor toward the king's quarters, hoping Akhenaten was ready for the rest of the day's activities.

  He was. The king and queen stood outside their suite, five of their six daughters around them, giggling and playing. All wore the most transparent gowns imaginable, revealing every curve of their young bodies. Meryetaten looked every bit a woman, wearing an adult wig, her side lock of youth having been shorn the year before, but the other girls still looked like children. To one side stood the other members of the royal family among them Queen Tiye, looking her age at long last. A vital, vibrant woman devoted to her husband Amenhotep, she had lost her zest for life following his death. She too was coughing and her wan appearance sent a twinge of concern through her brother Ay. With Tiye were the royal children from Waset, the princes Smenkhkare and Tutankhaten, and princess Scarab.

  What a ridiculous name for a royal princess , Ay thought. He looked closer and saw that the girl had grown up in the last few months. Twelve years old now, her body showed the onset of adulthood. Her hips curved appealingly and tiny breasts with rouged nipples showed through the diaphanous linen robe she wore. Other people had evidently noticed the change too. Ay saw that her side lock of youth had been shorn and the young woman wore an elegantly made up wig. Yes, she is turning into a beautiful woman, it is time she had a proper name. I will speak to the king .

  Akhenaten turned from his earnest conversation with Nefertiti as Ay approached. "Where have you been, father? I thought there was some urgency in commencing the rituals."

  Ay bowed. "Indeed, your majesty." He told a servant to run and fetch the Sed cloak from the throne and asked Maya to fetch the regalia before looking around the royal party again. "The princess Meketaten? Where is she?"

  "She is not feeling well, father," Nefertiti said. "She has a headache and a fever. I have told her to rest in the hopes that she will recover to enjoy the rest of the festivities later today."

  "I p'omised I would tell her about it," piped up a small voice behind the queen's robes. "I said I would stay with her but she...she 'sisted I go."

  "That was very thoughtful, Neferneferouaten-tasherit," her mother said, hiding a smile. "Now run along and get your sisters together. It is time for the viewing." The little girl scampered off to her sisters, pulling and pushing them along the corridor to the Window of Appearance.

  The Sed cloak arrived and Ay put it around his king's shoulders, fixing the ivory clasp securely. Maya arrived back with the crook, flail and double crown, handing them to the king who then led the way up the sloping ramp to the bridge over the Avenue of the Aten. Trumpets sounded as they entered the central room and from the window came a great roar of anticipation and approval. Akhenaten stepped up to the window and raised his hands, letting the cheering wash over him. The queen and their daughters joined him to increased cheering, which only died away slightly as the old queen and the royals from Waset joined the party in the broad Window of Appearance.

  Nefertiti gleamed and shone like the sun herself in her dazzling white robes that hinted at her still-firm body. She laughed and shook her head, the glossy black wig flying out, the sun glinting off the many golden pitcher-shaped Nefer beads sewn into the fabric of the headdress.

  Ay stood back and watched the royal family, marveling that his oldest daughter was queen and mother to such beautiful princesses. All girls , he thought, a shadow passing over his heart. No sons of my own and now no direct grandsons either. Smenkhkare will inherit, or Tutankhaten .

  Akhenaten turned from the window, his arm around his wife. "Come, my dear, girls, it is time for the procession. Our chairs await us below." With squeals of excitement, the youngest four girls rushed for the ramp leading down into the king's palace.

  "Such a pity Meketaten could not be here. She would enjoy the spectacle." Nefertiti stroked her husband's arm as they walked together with Meryetaten after the young girls.

  "Yes," agreed Akhenaten. "There will be a chair vacant." He thought for a moment and turned to the other members of the family. "You can join us," he said, pointing at Scarab. "You are of an age with Meketaten and a beautiful young woman." His eyes roamed appraisingly. Then he frowned. "What is your name, girl? It seems to me you had some outlandish name."

  Scarab bowed elegantly. "You gave me my name, your majesty. When I was a little child you named me Scarab."

  "Did I indeed? Well, you cannot be called that any longer, you are a woman, not a child." He turned to Tiye. "Mother, why does this lovely woman not have a proper name?"

  Queen Tiye coughed raspingly before replying. "She was born after your father's affliction. He did not give her the name we had chosen, so she could not be named formally."

  "What name had you chosen?"

  "Beketamen, Handmaiden of Amun."

  "That is not a suitable name. Let her be called Beketaten, Handmaiden of the Aten."

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  Chapter Twenty-Two

  And so I became known as Beketaten. Some even said later I was a daughter of Akhenaten, having been named by him, a custom normally carried out by the father. As I was undoubtedly the daughter of Queen Tiye, the calumny was magnified by the assertion that he begot me on his own mother. While father-daughter and mother-son marriage did occur in my family it was always for dynastic reasons. Akhenaten would have gained nothing by marrying his mother. He was already royal; she was not, being the daughter of Yuya, a commoner. Besides, he promised himself exclusively to his childhood sweetheart Nefertiti and at the time of the Heb-Sed festival he still remembered his vows. For all his faults and short-sightedness, his fanaticism and blindness, Akhenaten was my brother, closer by blood than even my beloved Smenkhkare.

  In my twelfth year I was no longer the carefree child tagging along behind my adored older brother, investigating the mysteries and complexities of Waset. Four months earlier my breasts began to swell and I woke terrified one morning to find my bed spotted with blood. The nurses compounded my terror by filling my head full of fearful and unlikely images of my future, for despite the openness of sexual relations among Kemetus, I was still largely ignorant of what passed between a man and a woman. I knew that what lay between the legs of a woman was of great interest to men but I imagined no man would want a woman who bled from that place. My mother belatedly remembered her duty and took me aside, drying my tears and explaining matters to me. She initiated me into the day-to-day mysteries of womanhood, the daily rites of bathing, makeup, dressing and perfuming, shaving the armpits and pudenda, new ways to walk and comport myself, and how to talk to men.

  My side lock of youth was shorn and taken away and my mother had two wigs made for me, one of long straight black hair for everyday wear, the other more fashionably of a series of tightly pressed black ringlets descending in vertical rows. Both had gold and silver wire woven through the locks and looked very fetching I am told. I might mention here that my natural hair colour is brown with strong reddish tints, a colour that is uncommon in Kemet but was perhaps passed down to me through my mother's family. Many of the Khabiru have reddish hair. I later grew my hair out and I found as I got older that it became a deeper, richer red-gold.

  So I found myself in my brother's city of Akhet-Aten, my new name sounding strange to my ears and the unexpected adulation of the crowds filling me with excitement as the panoplied thrones were borne aloft on the shoulders of strong young soldiers. The king and queen led the way, looking severe and regal. Meryetaten followed as the eldest daughter and to my embarrassment I found m
yself carried along just behind her. I told myself it was only because I was taking Meketaten's place in the procession, not because of any special honour being given to me. The young princesses followed behind, screaming with excitement, waving and yelling at the crowds.

  All my life I have been nobody, a person without a name before being named for an insect. Only my brother Smenkhkare believed in me enough to open my eyes to Kemet and my place in it. Now, in the space of an hour, I had become a royal princess with a glorious future opening up for me in my brother Akhenaten's court. Is it any wonder that first procession sped by me almost unseen in the turmoil of my thoughts? I could not say where we went, nor if we saw anything special. All I know is that I found myself at last in the throne room, standing with my nieces, the princesses of Akhet-Aten, watching as the still considerable wealth and power of Kemet prostrated itself at the feet of the king.

  One by one the governors of the sepati of Kemet came forward, a scribe announcing their name, the sepat they governed and the nominal wealth of their province. They prostrated themselves on the hard marble floor in front of the throne, swearing their loyalty to Akhenaten and the throne of Kemet in a loud voice before retiring to the back of the room.

  The governors of the vassal cities followed, Simyra, Tunip, Biruta, Kadesh, Tyre, Akko, Megiddo, Hazor and Gezer. For many, the governor himself could not attend as he was directing the defense of his city against Kemet's enemies; some of whom were there in the throne room along with their representatives.

  I saw them that day for the first time, men in great woolen robes, their faces clothed in hair, black beards textured in ringlets, their eyes full of hate though their words were honeyed. One by one they advanced and bowed before the throne of Kemet, offering greetings and words of friendship even as their armies wrought destruction in our vassal lands. Zimrida of Sidon was there, as was Muratil the Hittite and Prince Itakama of Syria, all looking greedily about them as if dividing up the riches of Kemet already.

  Akhenaten greeted them all civilly though you could tell from his droop-eyed expression that he was bored, having no real interest in politics or the proper governance of a great kingdom. His mind wandered, no doubt to his beloved sun god, and it was at such times that Nefertiti stepped in. Another commoner like my mother Tiye, Nefertiti was loved by a king and raised to become full queen. She sat on a great throne just slightly lower than that of her husband and despite her lack of formal training, carried out her duties with sense and energy. She found the proper phrases to greet each person, affording them dignity and respect without relinquishing an iota of the respect due to her. My brother Akhenaten was king because he was raised to it; my sister-in-law and cousin Nefertiti was queen as if she was born to it.

  Nefertiti at this time was just past the height of her beauty. Twenty-seven years of age and having had six children, though she suckled none of them, having wet-nurses to carry out that tiresome duty; the years had taken their toll. Makeup was now called upon to cover rather than accentuate and her gowns, while still filmy and sheer were gathered in folds to downplay the swell of a belly or to hide the sag of once glorious breasts. Her husband, in his male disregard for such things, still insisted she show herself and had statues and paintings commissioned that laid her ageing body bare for all to see.

  Such artwork was peculiar to my brother's reign and to the city of Akhet-Aten. Most Kemetu art is tomb work and shows men and gods in stylized formal poses, shoulders wide and facing the viewer even if the person is doing something to one side. I have often thought the pictures unrealistic and stiff. Evidently my brother did too, for he gathered artists around him who would inject realism into their work. In fact, he insisted upon it, even to the extent of portraying himself as a misshapen man-woman.

  Much has been said about my brother and his body, mostly by his enemies. It is true that his skull and face were long, and his hips wide like a woman's, his thighs swollen, but in most ways he was as other men. If he is represented in paintings and statuary with breasts and a great belly it is no doubt due more to good food and lack of exercise than to a womanly disposition. He was recognized as being virile, having fathered six daughters at that time. It is with the gods whether a man fathers male or female children and perhaps it is the revenge of the gods that Akhenaten only had daughters. Certainly the events that precipitated his downfall can be laid at that door.

  This realism in art blew through Kemet like a cooling breeze off the river after a day of sweltering heat, yet it lasted for only a dozen years. The old gods needed to return, yet with them has come the old conservatism. I have tried to foster the new art and have had examples painted on the walls of my tomb by an old man, Djetmose, a pupil of Bak the son of Men who was foremost artist and sculptor in my brother's city. I came across him many years later in a distant land, exiled for his heretical beliefs. By one of those tricks the gods like to play on us, he had once been as sculptor in Akhet-Aten and had achieved a brief measure of fame when he created a bust of Queen Nefertiti that was so realistic, so beautiful it was the talk of the city. I do not know what became of this bust. No doubt it was destroyed with so many other wonderful works of art that suffered by association with my brother's reign.

  The audience in the throne room came to an end and we all moved on foot out into the street to greet the people again. No longer in formal procession, the royal family mingled with court officials and governors, though the police still kept the crowds at a distance. This was more what I was used to, wandering the streets rather than being carried aloft. I found myself next to Smenkhkare just before we got to the Great Temple.

  "So, little Handmaiden of the Aten, you have found yourself a new name and a new family." He grinned and, putting his arm about me, gave me a quick hug.

  I smiled back and reached up to give him a kiss on his cheek. At fifteen, my brother Smenkhkare was a handsome youth, muscled and bronzed, with a fine mind and a ready wit. I loved him totally and longed for the day when he would be king and I would be his queen. "I still prefer the name Scarab."

  He leaned closer, using the noise from the cheering crowds to cover his words. "Put away Scarab the girl for now. Take up your life as Beketaten the princess of Akhet-Aten. A king...and a queen...must learn about the palace as well as about the common people."

  "Will you stay here and teach me?"

  He shook his head, leading me through into the great open spaces of the Temple. "I cannot. I must return to Waset when Tiye goes back. You are to stay here at court and become as one of Akhenaten's daughters."

  "I don't want to stay. I want to go back with you."

  Smenkhkare drew away from me and looked at me seriously. "We cannot always have what we want, sister. Stay here and learn. Grow up. I shall have need of you one day."

  Before I could ask him what he meant when he said he would need me, my brother was gone, slipping through the crowds. I stared after him with tears in my eyes until I became aware of a man in the crowd, a farmer from his sun-blackened skin and leathery hands, who stared back at me, a leer on his face. I turned away hurriedly, feeling my face and breasts flush with embarrassment, and gave my attention to the ceremonies.

  The king was in full flight, singing his songs of praise to his god, oblivious to the onlookers and the restlessness of the crowd. Expecting the rituals of the god Min, there was voiced puzzlement from the crowd concerning the hymns of praise. Eventually the songs died away and the king withdrew from the altar. Immediately, servants of the temple ran out with armloads of sleeping mats and spread them all over the floor in front of the altar. A buzz of interest arose, the crowd pushing forward against the police cordon as they strove to see what was happening.

  Ay called for quiet and as the noisy crowd started to subside, started to speak. "Good citizens of Akhet-Aten, worthy people of the Two Lands and noble visitors. Traditionally, the Heb-Sed festival is a time not only when the strength and fitness of our king is shown for all to see, but also a time of renewal, for Kemet, for our king
and for our people, when every man and woman present at the festivities may celebrate their own festival of renewal by offering up a sacrifice of their body. In the past it was offered up to Min, but now, in the knowledge that comes from the light of the Aten, any who choose to do so may, with the king's blessing, partake of the Min fruits here in the Temple of Aten."

  The mutterings and comments from the crowd had been rising in volume as he spoke but the roar which greeted his last words sent a shiver through my body. I did not recognize it at the time but the sound of the mob was one of raw lust.

  "The king will not stay to observe these rites but will retire to the palace with his family."

  Ay's words were almost drowned by the cheering as the crowd surged forward toward the altar. With difficulty, the police cleared a path for the royal family and the nobles, their sticks rising and falling. The foreign observers came with us, their faces a mixture of disgust, disdain and prurient interest, the mix, I suppose, a result of their different cultures and experience. I looked back as I half-ran through the portals of the temple, the police and soldiers trotting alongside. All I could see was a heaving mass of humanity, many already naked, women as well as men, caught up in a maddened lust that would shame the beasts of the field. And all this beneath the open sky rather than in a private chamber.

  I have seen the love expressed between a man and a woman many times in Waset when I traveled the city with my brother but never the act of copulation. What I glimpsed as I left the temple was that act, but I did not see love and it saddened and frightened me, for I saw truly, for the first time, the violence and darkness that lies in the center of men.

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  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "It is all lies, your majesty." Zimrida of Sidon shifted in his chair and stared across the room at his accuser, Maltiri, ambassador for Abimilki of Tyre. "By all the gods, I wish only to bring some peace and stability to the area. There are bandits everywhere ..." He turned to Akhenaten who sat in his raised throne regarding the proceedings with obvious boredom. "Your majesty, surely you have heard of the bandit raids?"