Read A God Against the Gods Online
Authors: Allen Drury
A God Against the Gods (21 page)
Aye
It nears midnight. Ra is halfway gone on his journey from west to east beneath the earth. It will only be a short while before his barque will come in sight of its resting place and the first faint hint of dawn will awaken this hushed encampment again to life. Already I think I can hear in the distance along the riverbank a faint rustling, the beginnings of movement toward the plain: the multitudes will presently stream blindly toward its center, thinking instinctively that somehow at the center they will find the mystery my nephew has prepared for them.
Whether it will be there or elsewhere on the vast expanse, I do not know, for he has, as usual, preferred to remain secretive and obscure. But in one sense I do not think it will be at the center: Amonhotep IV (life, health, prosperity!) has moved far from the center in the five years of his co-regency. He is taking Kemet in new directions, far from the balance and the center which have for many hundreds of years kept the Two Lands relatively stable, peaceable and free.
On this journey I have gone much of the way with him, and I know my sister, my brother-in-law, my brother and many in Kemet wonder why. Partly, I suppose, it has been a matter of uneasy conscience: I was perhaps the principal encourager of the young Pharaoh and my daughter Nefertiti in their questionings of the gods: or at least I was their principal friendly ear … I did not say no. If the result is to be dangerous to Kemet, then it is I who must help bring it back within bounds. It is I who must offer the principal moderating force, which I believe they will accept from me, as their preceptor, more easily than they will from anyone else.
In this I may be mistaken, but nonetheless it is the path I must pursue. Conscience will permit no other; and Aye, who has been the conscience of the House of Thebes in so many things, cannot fail it now or he should never be able to face himself again.
So when he asked me if I would join him and my daughter in the hierarchy of the Aten, I said I would; not knowing what it would portend, but knowing that so far, at least, his devotion to the new god has not seriously harmed the old. It may, as my tiresome brother Aanen fears: there may yet come a direct assault upon Amon. But so far it has not appeared. So far our nephew seems to be more concerned with moving in his own direction than in challenging Amon. The only thing he has actually done to Amon is to neglect him: and this, of course, infuriates my brother and all his busy priesthood. They love power and during the Eighteenth Dynasty they have acquired far more than their safe share of it. It is very annoying to be ignored by the One who will presently be the sole ruler of the Two Kingdoms. Annoying and, I suspect, frightening in its potential.
But as yet, even so, nothing that Amon can really complain about. My brother-in-law still maintains the forms of daily worship, continues to build his vast temple to Amon at Luxor, honors the god with other favors in other places. He, too, tries to play the tricky game of walking the rolling palm log over the flooding Nile. Having encouraged his son to embrace the Aten, he has steadily backed away and tried to balance it by appeasing Amon. It has not worked very well, but at least it has kept things from coming to crisis; and him, too, I have encouraged, for only by keeping the two opposing forces in equal tension with one another can Kemet be spared the devastation that might ensue were conflict to come and bring to one or the other completely unchallenged power.
It is my hope that my nephew realizes this also, though there are many times when I wonder what goes on in that enigmatic head. He is fond of elliptical phrases, oblique meanings, mysterious hints. “Uncle,” he said on the day he asked me to serve as Assistant High Priest of the Aten, “you will assist in wonders.”
“What wonders are those?” I asked in a voice as close to scorn as I dared, for I wish to discourage these mental adventurings he seems to be on all the time. “Surely there are no wonders left that Kemet has not seen in her two thousand years of history.”
“Kemet has not seen
me
,”
he said, with a certain rising emphasis in his high voice that made me realize he was in full earnest. “I am such a wonder as Kemet still does not know what to make of, and I shall do such wonders as Kemet will not know what to make of, also. You will be with me, Uncle. It is a great honor.”
“Oh, I know that,” I assured him, though I had my own thoughts about it. “It is your purpose, then, to make the Aten equal with Amon, I take it.”
For a moment he simply gave me a bland stare. Then an ironic little smile touched the heavy lips.
“Uncle,” he said, and at his side Nefertiti, too, permitted a small, ironic amusement to cross that lovely face as he replied, “that
would
be a wonder, and it
may
be the one I contemplate. Again, it may not. Who knows? Perhaps we should await events as Amon and the Aten bring them to us, and see.”
“Do you really
know
what you intend to do, Majesty?” I pressed in dead earnest myself, now.
“Oh, I know,” he said, and at his side Nefertiti said earnestly, “Yes, he
knows
,
Father. Be assured of that.”
“And you support him in it, you are sure it is for the good of Kemet, and of this House?” I asked, giving her the steady look that once, long ago before she became so completely devoted to her cousin, used to produce the truth. And of course it produced the truth now, as she sees it.
“I am convinced that it is for the good of Kemet and of this House,” she said solemnly, and I perceived that she meant it absolutely.
“But neither of you will tell the Assistant High Priest of the Aten what it is,” I said in a musing tone and deliberately looked out the window, apparently studying the hurrying river busy with boats. “How very strange …”
“High Priest, High Priestess, Assistant High Priest,” my nephew said airily. “All must await the wisdom of the Aten, which I shall presently reveal.”
“I thought you said Amon and the Aten would reveal it together,” I said quickly, and as quickly he replied:
“
I
shall reveal it when the Aten tells me, for I am the Aten’s son and only I can understand him. Amon,” he added, and again the ironic little smile touched both their faces, “will receive the revelation too—when the Aten gives it to
me.
Amon may then join in revealing it to the people, if he chooses—in fact,” he added slowly, “I think I shall command your brother to attend me when I reveal it. That will be the height of the jest.”
“What jest, Majesty?” I demanded sharply, too alarmed by his tone and the general drift of the conversation to be diplomatic. “You speak of ‘jests’ as though this were a game you are playing with Kemet and the gods. Pharaoh does not play games with Kemet and the gods. Pharaoh takes his trust seriously in all things.”
“So I have observed,” he said with a sudden devastating dryness, “in my father.”
And Nefertiti laughed aloud (as she rarely does nowadays), an almost girlish, completely amused and completely disrespectful sound that instantly magnified my concern a hundredfold.
“Daughter,” I said sharply, “be more respectful of the Good God!”
“But he is so
funny
,”
she said and then he joined her in laughter, their private laughter which seems to spring from some secret known only to them—and presumably, I suppose, to the Aten, for now
he
seems to be their principal confidant in everything.
“I do not wish to discuss it further, Majesty,” I said stiffly. “I beg leave to go now.” And I started to bow low and back out of his presence. But he stopped me by raising a hand like long talons on a long, thin arm.
“You are too serious, Uncle,” he said. “No one can serve the Aten in such a mood. He is a happy god. Smile, Uncle. Smile!”
“I hope you know what you are doing, Son of the Sun,” I said gravely; and suddenly grave himself, he replied slowly:
“I do, Uncle. And it will be best for all. I, who am living in truth, promise it!”
He makes much of this living in truth, I thought as I left them then; but what is the truth in which he lives? Is it the ancient truth of Kemet, or is it some new truth he has devised for himself? Is it a truth by which the land can live, or is it a truth that will bring death?
Now we are here at this nameless bend in the river, waiting for Ra to return so that the young Pharaoh may perform whatever ceremonies he has in mind. My sister and brother-in-law are here, Aanen is here, we are all here. Some have come willingly, like myself, some reluctantly, like Aanen, some with many misgivings, like Pharaoh and the Great Wife; but all have come. The thoughts of all Kemet are concentrated here at the river bend, because my nephew has sent out many messengers to announce that he plans a great event for the Two Kingdoms. And many wonder, I am sure, why Aye will be at his side.
Well, it is as I say: I helped to bring him here, I helped to prepare whatever it is that is coming—inadvertently, not deliberately, but nonetheless I played my part. It may mean great good for Kemet, in which case I shall rejoice with all; but if, as to his elders seems more likely, it is something of danger or even disaster which impends, then it is Aye whose conscience says he must stand by and help to set it right. My nephew trusts me, I think, more than he does his parents, perhaps more than anyone; and Nefertiti is still my daughter. They will, perhaps, listen to me if I must speak in defense of Kemet. I must be with them when the hour comes, for their sake and for the Two Lands.
He has instructed me to join them in procession beginning two hours after dawn. The ceremony is to be at noon when Ra stands directly overhead. Presumably the hours between will be filled with driving across the plain to greet the people. Then will come the revelation, and his purpose will be known.
I should like to sleep, but I do not think I will. A moment ago I lifted the tent flap and stared out across the huge, mysterious plain which stretches away to the east. The boat of Khons had almost disappeared. Its silvery light was dimmed. The full movement of the multitudes had not yet begun. Empty, mysterious, haunting and dark, the ageless sands stretched far away.
What does he see out there, my stranger, unhappy, touching nephew? What “wonders” will he conjure up from those eternal dunes and gullies, so utterly barren of life? Who speaks to him, out there in that eternal silence?
He hears a Voice we do not hear, sees a Vision we cannot see. And he believes. This I know. He sincerely and completely believes.
I look out upon that empty plain and I say to Whomever or Whatever it is that has brought him here: “Be good to him. Be good to us. He believes he is doing what is right, he believes he is living in truth. Help him, and help us.”
No answer comes. I shiver and drop the tent flap, turn back to my pallet and cushions on the ground.
I should like to sleep.
But I do not think I will.
***
Nefertiti
An
hour ago he slipped away, his unmistakable form disguised in a loose-flowing, simple white linen gown such as minor officials sometimes wear. I think he would have gone naked, as we all do sometimes in Kemet, in the Palace and even in the streets, in the dreadful heat of summer, were it not that his body is too familiar, now, to any who might surprise him. I do not think any will, out on the plain where soon he will perform his wonders. It is a brave man who would venture upon that desolate expanse at this time of night; and no man, not even the young Pharaoh, would go alone.
He did not take me with him. For the first time since our marriage that I can remember, we are apart. Only Kaires attends him, and this, as he explained to me, solely for protection if they should be surprised. Yet of course he is his own protection: no man would dare touch Pharaoh. I think he fears—what? I do not know. I do not think he knows. But he does not want me exposed to it, if it should be there. He wanted a man beside him, and Kaires, brave and solid—and still, as we call him sentimentally, our “big brother”—was the logical choice.
So after the Court was asleep, they slipped away. Kaires had arranged earlier that two horses be tethered perhaps a half mile out upon the plain. I do not know his excuse, but he is now Chief Scribe and Commander of the Horse of Amonhotep IV (life, health, prosperity!), and no one questions. Sometime shortly before 3 A.M., when all the camp was silent and sleeping at last, there came the tiniest scratching on the golden tent where its folds loop low above our heads. Instantly my husband turned to me, kissed me, rose from our golden bed and began to struggle to pull the linen garment over his head. His arms became caught, he thrashed about awkwardly: I do not believe he had ever worn such a thing in his life. I got up immediately and helped him; together, after some further tugging and pulling, we managed. He looked at me and we almost laughed aloud for a moment at the spectacle he made: the god enfolded in the commoner’s garb. Then amusement fled, a somber, almost frightening expression came into his eyes.
“Wish me well, beloved wife,” he whispered.
“In all things, beloved husband,” I whispered back.
Again we kissed, a strange desperation in it now; he lifted the tent fold from its peg beside our bed, ducked awkwardly under and disappeared. I heard one quick sibilant whisper of greeting; then all was still again; and now they are somewhere on the desolate plain.
Desolate now: but at noon when Ra stands straight above it will be desolate no longer. Then all our dreaming and planning will come true. And desolation will be gone from the plain, from Kemet, and from the hearts of men, forever and ever, for millions and millions of years.
This do I believe. This does he believe. Together we will make it come to pass.
Then all who oppose and question us now will realize that from the beginning we have been concerned only with their welfare and happiness. And all doubts will vanish and they will see that the Pharaoh Amonhotep IV (life, health, prosperity!) is the greatest god who ever lived.
So do I see him, I, Nefertiti, who have been his Chief Wife for five years, his friend, companion and principal supporter for twenty. And I do not say this to detract from such other great gods as Menes, My-cer-i-nus, Amose I, Tuthmose III, Hatshepsut or any of them (life, health, prosperity to them all!). It is simply that my husband is greater than them all. His name will lead all others. This do I believe.
I am aware that there is much whispering in the Court about our marriage, as there is much opposition in the country to our policies. My cousin Sitamon is convinced, I am sure, that the Co-Regent probably has fits of temper in which he beats me. Pharaoh and the Great Wife wonder how I maintain my serenity in the face of what is, I must admit, a very stubborn nature. My father, Kaires, Gilukhipa, Queen Mutemwiya, Amonhotep, Son of Hapu—I know they all have questions and conjectures. But I give them nothing. They will never have from my expression, my words or my actions any answers to their questions, any food for their conjectures.
For I, too, am stubborn, if they know it not; and I, too, have pride. And my life is dedicated to my husband’s, which should not surprise them, for it was their idea.
Knowing him so well, and having lived through his illness with him as intimately as I did, I was aware after it passed that it had left him with great tensions inside that now and again must find release. But never has he struck me, never has he raised his voice in anger against me—never. His angers and impatience have always been directed against others. They should be thankful to me, not critical or gossiping, because far more often than they know it has been I who have soothed his anger, diverted his impatience, directed the tension toward harmless things upon which it could expend itself without doing hurt to anyone or anything. It is I who have made it possible for him to maintain his public calm many times when without me he would have given way to fury.
I look in my mirror when my faithful Anser-Wossett, still my principal lady in waiting though I know she does not approve of the Aten, brings it to me in the morning. I no longer see the girl I used to see: the youthful plumpness of face has thinned away, the cheekbones are finer and more pronounced, the mouth is mature and thoughtful, the eyes gaze forth upon the world with a steady, understanding and compassionate glance. The girl is gone: a beautiful woman has truly come, at last.
Life has made me ever more striking than I was: and life, as it does, has exacted its own price therefor.
I find, now, that I rarely laugh any more. I find that I am given more to moods, that I am apt to fall into thoughtful silences, that I move less quickly and erratically, at a slower and more stately pace. I find that I no longer have to work at being Queen of the Two Lands: I
am
Queen of the Two Lands—and I am even more. For the Aten has placed in my hands responsibility for my husband’s life and stability, as it has placed in his hands responsibility for the life and stability of the Two Lands; and in such a circumstance Kemet is most fortunate that I have matured as rapidly as I have.
At first it was almost play, with us. We would build temples to the Aten, we would shock Amon and particularly our tiresome uncle Aanen, we would break with the old traditions of lifeless art that have always surrounded Pharaoh and his family, we would launch a new naturalism, we would go naked about the Palace and even in the streets, we would show ourselves to the people exactly as we are, we would live in truth. But living in truth is not an easy thing, and for it we have had to pay in gossip, criticism and concern.
And for each of our tributes to the Aten we have had to pay in growing animosity from Amon. And within the Family we have had to meet and overcome a usually suppressed but steadily growing resistance that has not quite dared challenge us openly but has nonetheless been a silent—and sometimes not so silent—reproach.
All this has dragged upon us: it has clouded the joy with which we have embraced the Aten and embarked upon our course of living in truth. Things that should have been happy have not been happy. Exciting new adventures begun in joy and hopefulness have turned into contests of will and stubborn tenacity. It has, I am afraid, made us harsher; and this, too, life has drawn upon my face, in lines too subtle, perhaps, for most to see, but unmistakable to the one who has studied it in closest detail every day for the better part of her twenty years.
We have come now, we feel, to something of a crisis. Fifteen temples have been built to the Aten. Our three daughters, Meryt-aten, Meket-aten and Ankh-e-sen-pa-aten have been named for him. The fourth child I am presently carrying (we pray constantly to him that it will be the son we desperately hope for) will be named for him. For him we have entirely abandoned the rituals of Amon.
Nonetheless, we have done no real harm to Amon with our attentions to the Aten. We have not suborned his priests or robbed his granaries or sacked his temples. And although we live in truth, we have not required it of anyone else, though my husband might easily have done so by simple edict and all of Kemet would have been forced to obey.
We have harmed no one, we have simply gone our own way: hoping that those of our people who wished to do as we do would find themselves, after many centuries of being bound by tradition and fear, free at last to live as they please and to worship the Aten, who is light and gentle and happy, not dark and heavy and threatening like Amon.
It has not come about.
But still we have had to take the criticism for it, and fight battles nonetheless real for being mostly in the hearts of our family and our people.
And so we have decided on the course that my husband will announce at noon when Ra stands overhead.
For me, this is the only logical and practical thing to do. For my husband, it is something more—something which even I, perhaps, cannot understand entirely. I support it because I am logical, because I see its inevitability—and because I love him and believe in him.
He has deeper reasons, I think, which he has tried to explain to me but which I do not really grasp. He moves, I think, on a higher, more mystical level, though I follow him as best I can. Sometimes even I do not know what goes on behind that closed, defensive face. But I love, I believe and I follow.
Now he is far off somewhere on the plain with Kaires—sound, steady, solid Kaires, who understands no dreams or mystical things, only practical realities.
I wonder if my husband is even now explaining to him, as he has to me, what he has in mind and how he thinks? If so, I know Kaires, and he will never understand, though my husband talk for hours.
Or are they standing in silence while my husband dreams of what tomorrow will bring and Kaires waits, patiently—as he is always patient (and careful)—until his master decides to come home?
Rather more likely the latter, I think: honest Kaires, who has always loved and supported us so well!
Together my husband and I have made great plans and dreamed great dreams. Some of them we have already made come true. Now the greatest of them all is about to unfold.
I am happy for him, though he travels, sometimes, into regions where even I, who have worshiped him from a child, cannot completely understand or truly follow.
***