Return to Thebes (25 page)

Pharaoh and Ankhesenamon move on to the first pylon. Behind them the rest of us fall in line. I hate to give up my comfortable chair but now my presence is expected, so I must comply. I wince like Ramesses from aching muscles as I take my place. We move on into the temple, where Hatsuret presides in his usual imperious fashion over the rites of Amon which are designed to sanctify this day.

These completed—Pharaoh and Ankhesenamon going through the rituals with impassive faces that reveal nothing to their closely watching elders—we return to the platform set up in the open field beside the temple. I am able to sit down again, this time with the Family, and a welcome relief it is. I am seated beside Sitamon, who greets me with kindly concern and presently murmurs, “Come to me tomorrow at Malkata. I have an idea for you,” which leaves me puzzled but intrigued. She is a generous soul, Sitamon, bearing well, after an initial period of bitterness, her disappointment that Horemheb apparently will never marry her. I think she is better off, myself, and I suspect she has concluded the same.

When we are all arranged, the crowd having finally quieted its restless pushing and shoving and the occasional renewed bursts of cheering with which it has relieved its boredom while we have been inside, an attentive silence settles over all. Tutankhamon rises and moves forward to center stage. The silence, if possible, grows deeper.

His arms are crossed beneath the robe he wears against the cold: he is holding crook and flail. The two sets are so nearly of a size that one has to look closely sometimes to tell which he is carrying. The crowd cannot see, but we can: today it is the Aten, and with a wry little smile visible only to us seated behind him, he turns and hands them to Hatsuret, standing at the side. Hatsuret looks for a second as though he would like to crack them over his knee, but of course he has no choice but to accept them. He passes them hurriedly on to a younger priest behind him: so hurriedly that Pharaoh again smiles the slightest of smiles as he turns back to face the crowd.

“My people of Kemet!” he cries, and his voice rings clear and strong over the blustery gusts that sweep off the river. “I greet you on this day when I come fully to my heritage. I thank you for your kind attendance on these ceremonies, and I want you to know that on your loves I rest my rule as King and Living Horus.”

It is a graceful opening, received with great applause and gratification. He has made himself one of them in these warm initial remarks, and he binds them even closer with his next.

“In honor of this day and so that all here may suitably celebrate with Her Majesty and me our happiness in your loyal loves I am ordering that the granaries be opened so that each among you may receive a goodly share of food this day. And I am further ordering that from the Treasury the Grand Vizier Aye”—there is a stirring among the Family, for now we know what he intends for Aye, a title and office supreme and unusual, if not entirely unknown, in our history—“shall distribute to each and every one who comes to him between now and the time when Ra-Atum sinks to rest behind the Western Peak one weight of gold apiece with which to celebrate this day, or feed his family, or do with what he will.”

Now the response is joyous indeed: he has appealed to their loyalty, their stomachs and their greed. So far it is a very skillful performance. Now he moves on to deeper things.

“My people of Kemet,” he says, and he lowers his voice deliberately so that they must now be absolutely still and strain with all their attention if they are to hear his words, “it is now five years almost to the day since the Chief Wife and I left our capital of Akhet-Aten to return to our capitals of Thebes and Memphis. In that time, as you know, much has been done to rebuild the temples of Amon and the other gods, to restore civil order to the land, to strengthen our defenses against our enemies of the Nine Bows who threaten our borders, particularly King Supp-i-lu-li-u-mas of the Hittites, who wars against us. Much has been done to restore to the Two Lands peace where peace, for a time, did not exist.

“Much, however”—and a certain sternness enters his voice which makes the silence, if possible, more profound—“remains to be done. Amon has been restored, the Aten has been reduced. A balance has been sought. Yet the Two Lands do not yet know the full and universal peace Her Majesty and I would like to see. For this reason we would propose new plans and policies for the kingdom.”

Now the apprehension we have been feeling in the Court as we neared this day springs back full-blown in all our hearts. What “new plans,” what “new purposes”? Others announced new plans and purposes from this same spot: disaster was the child of their intentions. Pray it may not be so with Tutankhamon! Aye, Horemheb, Hatsuret, Nakht-Min, Ramesses, Mutnedjmet, Sitamon, myself—no common subject listens more intently than we.

“First, however,” Pharaoh continues calmly, “I would tell you of the new officials of my court. The Councilor, Divine Father-in-law and Regent Aye, our most dear and trusted adviser, will hereafter be what I have already told you, the Grand Vizier. To him will report, assisting him and obeying his orders in all things connected with the internal affairs of the kingdom, our cousin and faithful friend the General Nakht-Min, who will continue in his present post as Vizier of Upper Kemet.” There is a wave of applause. They are pleased to have popular Nakht-Min remain with them. “Also working with the Grand Vizier and subject to his orders”—we all tense anew, for now comes the dangerous one—“will be our cousin and faithful servant, the General Horemheb, who in addition to his title of Vizier of Lower Kemet will bear the title ‘King’s Defender of Lower Kemet.’ To him, working with the Grand Vizier Aye, do we entrust the defense of our borders against Suppiluliumas and the Hittites and against all others who dare to challenge the power of Pharaoh, wherever they may be.”

Again applause, more perfunctory yet curiously relieved. They are glad to have Horemheb far away to the north, and busy. So, obviously, is Pharaoh.

Furtively we glance at Horemheb, demoted thus abruptly from his treasured post and powers of King’s Deputy and, in effect, banished, at least for a time, to the Delta. He loves the Delta, loves Memphis, loves the role of warrior-defender of the Two Lands: but obviously not on these terms. His face for several seconds is a study as he first flushes, then pales, then flushes again. But there is nothing he can do and he knows it. Our pliable youth of eighteen is pliable no longer. He is assuming his powers with the firmness that is his right. Horemheb would be well advised, I think, to accept, obey and reserve his ambitions for another day.

Until, that is, Neb-Kheperu-Ra does what we who love him have feared. Suddenly now, without warning, he responds to the urgings of his blood (or perhaps of his wife, who knows)—tries to be too clever—behaves like his brother—goes, we are almost immediately aware, too far.

“Through these good and trusted servants,” he announces, while all again fall silent, “I shall presently announce to you in detail the new plans and purposes Her Majesty and I propose for the Two Lands. They will seek to bring about a more perfect balance between Amon and Aten, and all the gods; to put an end to lingering factions within the land who favor one or the other; to permit, above all, freedom to all our people to worship whatever gods they please, openly and unafraid, placing not one above the other nor lowering them likewise. We have wished for this since the day we came to the throne; it has happened only partially. From now on the Chief Wife and I are determined that it shall be the true and universal state of our dear Two Lands.

“To symbolize this unity we desire for all the gods and all our people, I am ordering this day the start of my mortuary temple. It is to be built on the west bank of the Nile on that rocky spur which, slightly north of the mortuary temple of the Good God Hatshepsut (life, health, prosperity!) curves toward the river. There do I decree to the Grand Vizier, and to my faithful sculptor Tuthmose and to all my loyal artisans and workmen, these things:

“Halfway up the ridge, there shall be hewn a circular level platform which it will take three hundred men with linked hands outstretched to encompass.

“Around the edge of this platform there shall be raised a hypostyle hall of columns entwined with lotus and papyrus symbolizing the unity of the Two Lands.

“There shall be over these columns no roof, nor anywhere above the circle within them any roof; and they shall be open to the rays of Ra forever and ever.”

Sitamon and I exchange a disturbed sidelong glance. There is a restless stirring down the line of chairs. Something familiar and frightening is creeping toward us in the windy day.

“In the center of the circle there shall be a single stone shaft, circular in shape, the height of a man and the breadth of a man. It shall bear upon it no sign or symbol of any god or anyone, save at its base, in small, the cartouche of myself, the Pharaoh who built it; but on the altar itself there shall be no sign or symbol of any god.

“Thus will it be a place for all the gods, where all people may come and worship freely as they wish.”

Now Horemheb and Aye are looking at one another with growing alarm and comprehension; and over the others a frozen stillness comes. In front of us the crowd listens attentively but without noticeable change. They follow a step at a time, as he intends them to, and do not put it all together. The people are innocents who go where Pharaoh leads them. They do not look ahead, as we who have trod this tragic path before find we are suddenly looking ahead.

Serenely Pharaoh continues, while at his side Ankhesenamon looks up at him with approving adoration in her eyes. Have they really no concept of what they do?

“Down from the point of this holy circle which is nearest the Nile,” Tutankhamon says, his voice ringing clear above the sharpening wind, “there shall radiate twelve broad stairways descending to the plain. In the center at the foot of each there shall stand the figure of a god, beginning with Amon and the Aten at the two innermost stairways, followed on either side successively by Ptah, Horus, Thoth, Hathor, Isis, Sekhmet, Buto, Nekhebet, Ma’at and Ra-Herakhty.

“Thereby shall all be equally honored, and so may each who worships choose the stairway that suits him as he starts his climb to the holy circle of my mortuary temple above, there to find peace, love and comfort for his own heart.”

The circular platform—the circular row of columns—the unadorned altar—the twelve radiating arms …
the Aten.

But so mesmerized are the people as they listen, so pleased are they by the honors to be given all the gods, so unable are their simple minds to visualize these symbols as though from above and to see them in one coherent whole as Pharaoh has cleverly described them step by step, that we can tell they do not perceive this. Instead they exclaim with wonder and pleasure and burst into prolonged and happy shouts; while Tut and Ankhesenamon, never indicating by so much as the flicker of an eyelash that they do indeed know exactly what they are doing, smile serenely out upon them.

“Thus,” says Tutankhamon firmly when the applause and excitement have finally subsided, “do I decree, and thus do I charge you, Grand Vizier, and all my loyal servants of the Court, to see that it is well and speedily done.…

“Good people,” he concludes, “dear children of our dear Two Lands: may all the gods keep you and comfort you, and may they give us many long years to rule over you that we may answer with our love the love you bear for us.

“And now let there be rejoicing until the last man has fallen to sleep!”

And he waves to them and then he and Ankhesenamon glance at us with pleasant, apparently innocent smiles, as the shouts and jubilation well up again and they begin to walk toward the golden litters in which they will be borne high through Thebes in the slow triumphal procession that will not end until many hours from now when they cross the river and return to Malkata.

Clamorously the people press forward toward Aye, who rises, wraps his robe about him and, with inscrutable face, gestures with his staff toward the Treasury and the granaries standing side by side on the road to Luxor. A roar goes up, dutifully they fall in behind: he goes to keep Pharaoh’s promise. Horemheb, his face set in sternly formal mold that reveals nothing of what he must be thinking, strides somberly toward the landing stage, looking neither to right nor left; the people open way for him in fear-tinged respect and close again silently behind him as he passes. He apparently intends to return at once to the Palace, there to take counsel of who knows what thoughts. Nakht-Min, looking troubled but managing to maintain his usual amiable outward aspect, chats for a moment with Ramesses, who also looks disturbed but as though he is not quite sure why he should be. Nakht-Min then offers his arm to Mutnedjmet and they too move toward the barges. Ipy and Senna skip squeaking along beside, receiving their usual amused catcalls from the crowd, replying with shrill and sometimes ribald rejoinders.

Sitamon and I are left to bring up the rear. For a moment we simply stand silently looking at one another, while around us our escorting guards wait patiently, and beyond the crowd surges away after Aye and the Good God’s promised bounties.

“Well,” she says finally in a voice low so that only I can hear. “We face the legacy of Akhenaten rather sooner than I had thought.”

“We must help Pharaoh before it is too late,” I say, my teeth chattering both from the cold rattling my old bones and fear of what the future may hold.

“So we must,” she agrees firmly, “and in this you and I must be allies, Amonhotep. Come back with me now to Malkata and we will talk.”

Gratefully I accept her invitation and we are escorted to the remaining royal barge that waits for us at the landing; not knowing that by then, of course, it is already too late.

***