Akhenaten (12 page)

Nakht was from an old, noble family. He was in his forties, a man of average height and a fair complexion flushed with a tint of rose. He was strikingly composed, more so than any other person I have met. He was the minister of Akhenaten's chamber. He did not occupy a position in the new era, but he was summoned occasionally for his expertise. I met him in his home province, Dekma, in the middle Delta. He welcomed me, alluding to the old affiliation between our families. Then he told me the story, leaving out some of the things I already knew.

I confess that I am not a happy man. I failed to assume the responsibilities of my position. Thus I not only forfeited any chance of ascending the throne, but I also saw the empire collapse before my very eyes. I retired from
political and public life, but I shall always have regrets. I often ask myself, “What kind of being was my king, Akhenaten?” Or should I say “the heretic” now?

I was one of his friends from boyhood, like Haremhab and Bek. I could speak at great length about his unusually feminine features, his feeble body, and his generally strange appearance. But despite all that, he was able to make us love him and admire his intelligence and precocious maturity.

Certainly Akhenaten had his flaws. I was the first to discover a grave defect in his character—he was not in the least concerned with the operative matters of government. Indeed they bored him greatly. He looked on ironically as his father went about the daily routine on which the traditions of the throne were based—waking up at the same hour, bathing, eating, praying, conferring with the men of his cabinet, then visiting the temple. “What enslavement,” Akhenaten said. He trifled with tradition like a spoilt child amusing himself by breaking expensive items. But when it came to mystical questions of life and death and the mysterious powers of the universe, he was very ambitious. He became more determined in pursuing these ambitions after his brother Tuthmosis died. He suffered the loss of his companion, and decided to strike mercilessly against any suffering. His exuberant imagination paved the way for him, but ultimately led him to disaster. Perhaps we all had our fanciful visions, but we knew that it was merely imagination. Akhenaten, however, wanted to make his fantasies a reality. As a result, he was accused of madness
and idiocy. No. He was not mad and he was not a fool— though he was not normal either.

At a very young age he became a burden to his father and the priests of Amun. For us he was an enigma. To question the precedence of Amun, worship Aten, then invent a god that was the sole source of creation in the universe, was beyond what we could fathom. I did not doubt his sincerity, but I was also certain that he was mistaken. He never lied, but he did not hear the voice of a god. It was his own heart that spoke. It might have been more acceptable if the one who claimed the prophecy had been a priest, but to be the crown prince of the throne of Egypt is a different matter. He began to tell people about his prophecy, about the god of love, peace, and joy. During his father's reign, Akhenaten was powerless, but he was determined to do away with all the traditional gods and their temples as soon as he was able. When he became king, the dream was superimposed on reality. The balance of life was disrupted and tragedy threatened. When he ascended the throne, he invited us to join his new religion. I was of the opinion we should decline.

“Perhaps if he found himself alone he would renounce his cause,” I said to Haremhab.

“I am afraid he would find other people, with neither morals nor experience, and they would haul the country to its destruction.”

“But couldn't the same thing happen at our hands?”

Haremhab smiled sarcastically. “He is far too weak to disregard our opinion.” Then he shrugged his shoulders
and muttered, “He has nothing but words; we have power.”

And so I declared my faith in his religion. He appointed me minister of chamber and my fears subsided. I met him every day in Thebes or in Akhetaten to deliberate matters of government, finance, security, and water resources. He would remain silent while the queen and I conferred. Nefertiti's aptitude for politics was beyond imagination; she was a powerful presence on the throne of Egypt. As for the king, he spoke only of his god and his message and gave instructions that served his religion. When Akhenaten decided to abolish the traditional religions, I warned him of the consequences.

“Your faith is still weak, Nakht,” he said reproachfully.

We walked together to the terrace and stood before the crowd that had gathered in the concourse. He had the power of magic in the souls of his people. He announced his decision with a frightening determination. Cries of adulation filled the air. I felt as though I was nonexistent and that the feeble creature beside me possessed a mysterious power never encountered before. Despite Nefertiti's shrewdness, she submitted herself to her husband and enthused about his message as if it was her own. I was rather surprised by her position. This woman is either his spiritual partner, I thought, or the most insidious being humanity has ever known. I believe that what had secured such success for him from the beginning was that no one dared to contradict him but me. Haremhab did not utter a word in opposition until the crisis was at its height. As for Ay, he feigned devout
ness and dedication to the new god. If I blame anyone, I would accuse Ay of deception and ill-intent. He contrived a scheme to take the throne of Egypt. As the appointed teacher of the crown prince, Ay knew Akhenaten's weaknesses. He was the one who converted him to Aten and imbued him with the idea of the One God. Akhenaten's marriage to Nefertiti was devised by Ay as a part of his scheme, despite his awareness that the prince was an impotent man. Thus he became the king's father-in-law and his counselor, known in Egypt as the Sage. He induced him to abolish the traditional gods and to appropriate their temples, in order to sow the seeds of dissension between him and the priests. He hoped that the strife would either force Akhenaten to abdicate the throne or culminate in his assassination. Ay was well aware of the considerations that made him a candidate for the throne. He was father-in-law of the king and sage of Egypt. Because of his old age, his reign would be short-lived. He therefore posed no significant threat to those who coveted the throne for themselves. Perhaps he even planned to marry his own daughter to substantiate the succession, and so that she could continue as queen of Egypt. You must understand that my opinion is not based on my personal impressions alone. I had private and reliable sources that provided me with indisputable evidence. Yet his scheme failed. There were two factors that stopped him from succeeding. First there was the people's loyalty to the pharaoh. And then, at the critical moment, the priests appointed Tutankhamun king. But I believe Ay still ruminates on his old dream.

I could not tell anyone what I thought, but I continued to offer my advice to the king.

“My King,” I said, “your God is undoubtedly the only true God. But you must permit the people to worship their own gods. Build a temple for the Only Creator in every province and he will have the last victory. Spare the country all this needless turmoil.”

But it would have been easier to move a pyramid than to move Akhenaten from his position.

“Your faith is still weak, Nakht,” was all he said.

“To defend one's faith is a right that does not counter love and peace,” I insisted.

“Even the most wicked people will yield to the power of love, for love is stronger than the sword.”

When the storm clouds gathered, I called a closed meeting with the high priest of Amun and Commander Mae.

“We must act now before we lose what is left of our honor.” They eyed me with curiosity and I continued, “Let the priests stop stirring up trouble. Then Mae will lead his forces to save the empire.”

“Move without orders from the pharaoh?” Mae asked.

“Yes,” I replied calmly.

Of the three of us, the priest was the strongest. He asked, “And then what?”

“When Mae is victorious, the king will be forced to declare freedom of worship.”

“I must disagree,” the high priest said. “That's not a good plan. The leaders of the troops might rebel against Mae if he ordered them to move without a royal
decree.” Then he frowned and his face reddened. “Your loyalty is to your king, Nakht, not us. You must have learned about our success in the provinces and decided to hinder our progress with your inane proposition.”

Angered by the priest's stab, I left them. I was certain now that everyone merely wanted to serve their own purposes. Egypt was in the hands of villains. They were all responsible for the destruction of the country, whether they were with the king or against him. Perhaps Akhenaten was the least to blame. They used him for their benefit. When he was no longer of any use, they wanted to depose him and claim the throne. Because of his trusting nature he believed their lies. Then a power that no one anticipated rose up from within him and swept them swiftly along for a time, until it crashed against the hard rock of reality. Then each one headed for the life raft, leaving their visionary victim to sink alone, wondering why his God had forsaken him. They tore the masks off their faces, most of all Nefertiti and her father Ay. Each of them took a different path, but none was dealt their retribution. Except the poor heretic, and to some extent Nefertiti, when the priests did not accept her false penitence. As for Egypt, it lay sore with wounds, bleeding under the weight of our blunders.

The minister was silent for a long time. Then he mumbled in deep sadness, “This is a story of innocence, of deception, and infinite grief.”

Bento was Akhenaten's personal physician. Indeed, when I met him, he still occupied the position of personal physician of the pharaoh in Tutankhamun's palace. Bento was sixty years old, with a noble bearing and marks of Nubian descent. When I visited him in his beautiful palace at the center of Thebes, I found him to be a man of serene nature and soft voice, yet extremely energetic. His clothes were exquisitely tasteful. Gathering his memories, Bento began.

Today, Akhenaten is known only as “the heretic.” But despite all that was said about him, my heart still fills with love at the mention of his name. What a life he created for himself! Did Akhenaten really live among us? Did he really devote his life to love? Why, then, all the malice and hatred that was left behind? Whenever I
think of him I remember how, when he was a young boy, he aroused the concern of all those who knew him. The Great Queen Tiye would often ask me, “Why is Akhenaten so frail, Bento?”

I remember my confusion in trying to answer. Akhenaten had no particular ailment. But he was thin and feeble, and, unlike his brother Tuthmosis, he was prey to every malady that came his way. He did not like sport, nor was he keen on maintaining a good diet. I often prayed to Thoth, the god of science, asking him to advise me on Akhenaten. Yet all my attempts were to no avail. Thoth's amulets had no effect on him, and herbs blessed by Isis did nothing to help his sickly body. I became extremely worried when, during the khamsin winds, he fell ill and his brother soon contracted the same disease. They were both confined to one room when the queen said to me, “Look, Bento, their faces are so yellow, and their stomachs feel like stone. Neither of them has relieved himself in days.”

I examined them carefully. “They have a temperature and their stomachs are bloated. Give them a drink that will ease their bowels. Then mix some sweet, fermented malt water with flour and leave it to infuse overnight. Let that be their only food for four days.”

Before four days had passed the strong Tuthmosis died and the feeble brother was spared. Akhenaten wandered about the palace, grieving, looking for his brother.

“You left my brother to die,” he protested when he saw me. Then he looked at his father and continued, “When I become pharaoh, I will kill death.”

“Could Tuthmosis come back for just one day?” he asked me once.

“Pray to the gods who spared your soul, Akhenaten, for there is no return from death, and we shall all die in time,” I replied.

“Why?” he insisted.

“Akhenaten,” I said softly, “let us hear that song you sang with your brother.”

For a long time sadness was his only companion, so much so that I thought he outdid even his mother in mourning his brother. As I was treating him once, he asked, “Why all this effort if we are going to die anyhow?” I smiled and continued my work. He said, “You smile as though you were immortal.”

I replied, to avoid his pestering, “Ask your tutor Ay.”

“Ay doesn't know any more than you,” he said scornfully.

The maturity of his mind, in one so young and delicate, made a deep impression on me. I followed his spiritual adventures keenly, and was filled with admiration. He had astounding qualities that one could not fathom;
he had the power to defy any force that challenged him. Despite his physical weakness, he had exceptional perseverance. He barely slept. Instead, he prayed constantly like a priest, and read like a sage. He never wearied of asking questions or debating. What, I wondered, would destiny hold in store for him if one day he sat on the throne of his forefathers? His father, King Amenhotep III, was so concerned that he once said, “The boy is worthy of anything but the throne.”

One day I noticed him glaring angrily at his father. “You understand matters beyond your age,” I said, “but you still do not realize your father's greatness.”

He replied irritably, “I cannot bear the way he gobbles his food.”

He was repulsed by those who were driven by carnal desires. I used to believe a healthy body was essential for a healthy soul, but he proved that the opposite was also true. I learned from him that the soul may lend a weak body power beyond its physical capabilities.

“You pay so much attention to the body, as if it were everything, when in fact the real strength lies in the soul,” he said. “The body is a poor frame, sordid and amoral. It can fail and collapse with only an insect's sting. But the soul is immortal.” Then he cried out, as if he had completely forgotten my existence, “I do not know what I want, but I know that I am full of desire. Oh how dreary is the long night!”

He would sit silently in the darkness awaiting the sunrise, and when the light came he would be glowing with happiness. Until one day he heard the voice of the One God with the first rays of sunlight. I realized then that
Akhenaten was no gentle spring breeze, but a winter storm. Thebes knew no peace thereafter.

The king and queen summoned me. “What is the meaning of that voice he heard, Bento?” Tiye asked.

I was bewildered. “Perhaps the sage Ay is more suited to answer your question, my Queen.”

“The queen asked you in your capacity as a doctor,” the king said severely.

“I know no mind as sound as his, Your Majesty,” I replied sincerely.

“Is he mocking us then?”

“He is the most earnest man I know.”

“So you have no explanation for it.”

“That is the truth, Your Majesty.”

“Do you think his mind is sound?” he asked with a scowl.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Could it be the voice of some evil force?”

“Decipher his words, for only they bear the answer to your question.”

He cried angrily, “The answer is in the storms that will hit us when the priests learn of his absurdity.”

When Akhenaten married Nefertiti, everyone hoped that in marriage his religious ardor would be restrained, and that he would begin to have a more realistic vision. But the wife, too, became a priestess. Together, they walked the path of the One and Only. No power on earth could stop them. Amenhotep III died and Akhenaten, bearing the message of the One Creator, succeeded him. We knew that in his reign something of grave significance was bound to happen; we were frightened to predict what
it might be. Like the others, I was given the choice of either adopting his faith or living my life however I wished away from his palace. I did not hesitate and declared my faith in his God. The thought of being away from him was unbearable. Besides, I did love his God and secretly considered him the master of all gods. But I also kept my old faith in the other deities, especially Thoth, the god of science, whose talismans I used to treat people's maladies. Then there was the new city, Akhetaten, the marvelous city of the One God. We moved to it all together, an assembly of joyful people singing blissfully. The king was entranced, his face beaming with ecstasy.

“Here we are, O Mighty God, humble and transient in your pure city. O Great One, we enter your home, which has never known any god but you.”

At first we were so happy that we wished we were created immortal to live forever in that paradise. Every morning I compared what I heard in the temple of the One God to the liturgy of the old gods and the rituals of the Book of the Dead. I became certain beyond doubt that a stream of divine light was filling us with pure happiness. The first winds of trouble came with the death of the beloved princess Meketaten.

“Bento, save her. She is the love of my life,” Akhenaten pleaded.

When the beautiful princess passed away, the king and queen wept a flood of tears. He blamed his God until Meri-Ra said, “Do not anger God with your tears.”

Upon hearing the high priest, Akhenaten's wailing grew louder. No one knew if it was out of grief or guilt. Perhaps both.

“It is the sorcery of the priests of Amun,” Nefertiti cried. She repeated the same words every time she bore a daughter and the chance of a male heir was lost once more. Akhenaten shared her pain.

“Bento,” he asked, “can you help us bear a son?”

“I try my best, Your Majesty.”

“Do you believe in the sorcery of the priests?”

“We certainly should not underestimate it,” I replied reluctantly.

He meditated for a moment. “God will persevere, and his joy will fill the universe. But we, his humble creation, shall never be rid of our little sorrows,” he said mournfully. Because of his faith he was always able to elevate himself from grief to the summit of the holy truth where the brilliant light of God inundated his soul.

When the tension grew inside Egypt and on its borders, the high priest of Amun sent me a secret messenger.

“Can I trust you with saving the country from the dreadful fate that looms over it?” he asked, after reminding me of my vow in the temple of Amun.

I realized instantly that the high priest wanted me to use my role as the king's physician to kill him. I replied, “My profession does not condone treachery.”

I met with Maho, the chief of police, and asked him to step up security, particularly among the cooks in the palace.

Bento was silent for a while, seeking some rest from these wearisome memories. I remembered some of the conflicting reports I had heard about Akhenaten's sexu
ality, but doubted that Bento would allude to it. Since I was very curious, I had to ask. “Akhenaten's body and features had the attributes of both male and female,” he said. “But, as a man, he was capable of loving and procreating.” Then my lips trembled with a pressing question. After a moment of hesitation I mustered up all my courage and asked, “Have you heard what they say about his relationship with his mother?” Bento scowled and said, “Of course I have, just like you. But I always dismissed it as malicious fabrication.” He stopped for a moment, looking increasingly troubled, then continued, “The fact is that Akhenaten was a very special being, far too good for any of us to understand. He was a visionary, promising a paradise irreconcilable with human nature. He confronted people with their mediocrity and provoked their deepest fears. So they pounced on him with animal anger and desperation.”

Encouraged by his openness, I continued, “What do you think of Nefertiti?”

“A great queen who has earned her greatness.”

“And how do you explain her desertion of Akhenaten?”

“I have only one explanation. She could not endure the blows that poured down on them; she felt helpless and took flight.” Then he continued.