A God Against the Gods (39 page)

Akhenaten
(life, health, prosperity!)

I stand before the ancient wooden doors of the temple of Amon at Karnak, and at my back the huge throng that has flocked to greet my completely unexpected and unprecedented return from the Valley of the Kings stands utterly astounded, utterly fearful, utterly still.

What, I can sense them thinking, is Horse Face up to now? What awful things will “the Criminal,” “the Heretic,” do this time? What dreadful wonders does the husband of his daughters, the lover of his brother, the hater of the gods, have in store for us today?

They did not expect wonders—but they have asked for wonders. And wonders such as they could never imagine are what they are going to get.

Because
I
have had enough.

I stand before this most ancient temple of Amon at Karnak and finally, irrevocably, permanently and forever,
I
have had enough.

It has not been sufficient for them to jeer and make fun of me every day of the past twelve years.

It has not been sufficient for them to despise and reject you, Father Aten, who are perfect in all ways and who has made your son Akhenaten perfect in your image.

It has not been sufficient for them to steal my people from me with sly tricks and devious words and constant opposition to all the things that you, Father Aten, have directed me to do.

It has not been sufficient for them to slander and besmirch my attempts to beget sons for Kemet who could serve the Two Kingdoms and strengthen our House—as you, Father Aten, have directed me to do.

It has not been sufficient for them to defile and degrade my union with Smenkhkara—which you, Father Aten, told us was right and good in your eyes, and which you directed me to do because it would make me happy, and thus make me better able to serve you and my kingdom.

It has not been sufficient for them to scorn you in all your beneficence and glory, and equally to scorn your son Akhenaten, who has attempted always to live only in truth as you have directed him.

It has not been sufficient for Amon—it has not been sufficient for the Chief Wife—it has not been sufficient for the Family—it has not been sufficient for the people—to join in doing all these things.

Now they all must degrade and defile me yet further. Now on this day of my coming at last to total power, they must unite in a final hissing and scorning and dishonoring, so that I am made to feel totally unloved—shamed—hated—deserted—despised … and my mother is made to cry for me.…

I could not stand to see my mother cry for me.…

Thus have they done with their evil hatreds, their evil jealousies, their evil disrespect and irreverence for you, O Father Aten, and for your son Akhenaten, who lives in truth for you, as you direct him, in all things.

Always have I tried to be gentle and patient with them: always have I tried to be good. Always have I tried to act only for the greater glory of you, O Aten, and for the good of the Two Lands and of my House. Always have I tried to serve the people and save them from the dead weight of centuries, and to hurt no one save a few overweening priests—and even them, saving only my stupid uncle Aanen, I have never killed a one of them.

And thus have they all rewarded me. All,
all…!
because even my mother, though she cries for me, has become my enemy now.…

So be it, proud Amon and all you other hurtful gods!

So be it, ungrateful people!

So be it, jealous wife and unloving Family!

Pharaoh lies beneath the ground.…

Pharaoh stands before the temple of Amon.…

Farewell, Pharaoh beneath the ground!

Long live, Pharaoh who has lived long!

Now the world will move as you and
I
command, Father Aten.

Not one deserves my mercy—not one can say me nay.

Now it is
I
who will at last have things as
I
want them, forever and ever, for millions and millions of years.

This have you promised me, Father Aten, and in the sure knowledge of your love and support through all eternity, I now am ready to act.

At my back the Family, the troops, the priests, the people and all things on earth, in heaven and in the water are deathly still. Not a voice is raised in all the great throng that fills Karnak and crowds both banks of the river, utterly astounded, utterly terrified by my totally unexpected, totally unprecedented return from the necropolis.

Somewhere a dog starts to bark and is strangled in mid-yelp as if its master were afraid the sound might instantly bring down my vengeance.

And perhaps he is right, poor hissing fool. Because I could do it, if I would.

For the last time I look at the temple of Amon as it has existed for more than a thousand years, and then my voice rings out strong and clear. Amazingly, in the midst of my all-consuming rage, it fails me not, thanks to you, Father Aten. I hear it carrying distinctly to the farthest reaches of the crowd and even, I think, across the river, so greatly do you strengthen me in what I now must do.

“General Horemheb!” I cry. “Attend me!”

At first it is as though he does not understand. He looks at me almost stupidly and answers, “What? What?—”

“Attend me!” I cry clearly and strongly again, and evidently it finally penetrates, because, though he still looks baffled, he comes hurriedly forward to my side.

“Yes, Son of the Sun,” he says quickly. “Did you want me?”

“I called you!” I exclaim angrily, and then I adopt a quieter tone, for all must be dignity now as I do what you, Father Aten, tell me I at last must do.

“General Horemheb,” I say slowly, and now he seems to have come out of his fog, he watches me with an almost hypnotized intensity, “bring me a company of soldiers with battering rams. At once! At once!”

“Soldiers with—” he echoes, beginning to pretend again that he does not understand—as if that could deter me! I seize his arm, so sharply and fiercely that even Smenkhkara, standing beside me, shrinks back a little at my vehemence.

“Battering rams,” I repeat, trying hard to maintain my dignity as you advise, Father Aten, but finding it hard to do in the face of his deliberate incomprehension. “
Battering rams.
”

Now he focuses on me sharply, now he stares at me as he did in my mother’s room last night, as he did so long ago in Akhet-Aten when I had him kill our uncle Aanen. Once again our eyes lock, but this time I know it will be the last time, for I will never again accept from him or anyone such insolence, never again for even a single moment, ever.

Furiously I glare at him: with troubled, wide-staring eyes, he looks back.

No sound comes from anywhere as we pursue our contest to the end.

At last, just as I am about to explode in terrible anger—but you keep me from it, bless you, Father Aten, I remain icy calm—his eyes finally drop, and as if to put a good face on it and pretend that he is still in command, he whirls sharply about and cries:

“Two detachments of soldiers with battering rams! To my side at once!”

And abruptly, like little puppets—
my
little puppets, now, forever and ever—two detachments of twenty soldiers each hastily separate from the rest, run to the barracks that guards the temple and return as fast as they can with the battering rams.

“Now!” I cry, and nowhere in the world anywhere is there any sound but my voice, so still and terrified is everyone. “Batter down the doors of evil Amon!”

There is a great gasp from the crowd and the soldiers pause uncertainly, terrified of the god and terrified of me, not knowing which to be more afraid of. They will learn.

“Batter them down!” I shout, my voice now choked with emotion but sounding clearly enough, I gather, for another irrepressible gasp of disbelief comes from the throng and seems to fill the world for a second before I turn around and wither it instantly to silence with my fierce, implacable gaze. (In that moment I look into the eyes of my mother, Nefertiti, my uncle Aye, my children, but I know not them and they know not me. We no longer exist for one another. They are only a pathetic little huddle of people, as terrified and indistinguishable to me as all the rest.)

“General Horemheb—” I shout, permitting my voice to rise ominously as you, Father Aten, now instruct me to do.

And Horemheb yields to me completely at last.

“You have heard the King!” he shouts. “Batter down the doors of the temple of Amon!”

The soldiers draw back, shift the heavy iron-tipped timbers for a firmer grip, tense themselves to hurtle forward—when suddenly from the side hasten two white-robed figures. One moves shakily with a wooden stick, the other assists at his elbow. It is Maya and Hatsuret, of course, and before the soldiers can move, they have spread-eagled themselves across the two great doors, hands linked.

A groan goes up from the crowd, but for you and me, Father Aten, it is the opportunity of a lifetime. I shall get them both, the ancient fool and the younger one who now sparks Amon.

“Strike!” I shout, the word bursting clearly from my emotion-choked throat, so great is my determination. “Strike NOW!”

And as if mesmerized and terrified beyond thinking, as indeed they are, the two companies of soldiers hurtle forward.

There is a great crunching and grinding, a terrible agonized shriek from the crowd—and the ancient doors collapse in a welter of splinters and dust and blood.

Then all is quiet again as I cry loudly so that all may hear:

“Brother! Cousin! Accompany me and witness the end that will come to all who defy Pharaoh!”

We advance slowly through the dazed soldiers, who have let the battering rams drop to the ground now that they have done their work and are staring in blank-faced horror at what remains. It is Smenkhkara who is the first to see what has happened.

“But where,” he asks stupidly, “is Hatsuret?”

He is right. Only one flesh-stripped pair of legs, one set of shattered arms, one bloody ripped white robe, one crushed and spilling skull, can be seen among the splintered shards. Hatsuret, that clever one, has left old Maya to die and has slipped aside just in time. He is lost now among the sheltering crowds. But he will not escape my vengeance.

“Be it known,” I shout, swinging about as fast as I can to face the terrified mass, “that from this day forward there rests upon the head of the traitorous priest Hatsuret a bounty of a thousand in gold. Whosoever brings him to me dead or alive will receive still further rewards and the assurance of a peaceful and happy life for himself and his family, so long as they all shall live!”

I wait for a moment, but of course there is no immediate response: Amon still has too many friends. Hatsuret is well hidden and sure to remain so, for a while. But I will have him yet.

“General Horemheb,” I command, still facing the crowd, “take with you sufficient soldiers to accomplish the task and go you in to the altar and bring to me the Sacred Barque and the statue of the god Amon-Ra!”

Once again the crowd utters a deep, shuddering gasp, once again our eyes lock in furious combat, until suddenly once again his rigid gaze collapses and I see that he is finally broken completely to my will. For this I shall worship you forever, Father Aten, for now I know that I need worry no longer—as secretly I often have—about the loyalty of my cousin Horemheb. He is my liege, and yours, forever.

In a dazed voice he gives the order. In a dazed fashion he and the soldiers stumble into the dark recesses of the temple—always dark, always secret, always hidden and evil, that is you, O Amon! But no longer, my vicious friend! No longer!

A heavy, waiting silence settles over all. Once again my glance crosses those of my family, but it is as if we are dead to one another: we do not really see one another at all.

Presently behind me comes the sound of stumbling footsteps. In front rises a strange, agonized murmur. These are the mourners for Amon, who do not know what I intend, but fear, quite accurately, that it will be something awful for their evil god. They are deathly afraid of me now—at last Horse Face has their respect, Father Aten, and we know how amusing and satisfying that is, do we not?—and they dare do nothing more than offer this agonized, animal groan.

Horemheb and the soldiers come around slowly and stand at attention before me. Uplifted above the soldiers’ heads is the Sacred Barque, that frail, ancient little wooden boat, perhaps no more than five feet in length, which is so infinitely old that its sides are papyrus-thin with the polishings of centuries.

In it, attached at the base so that he is rigid and upright, his face stern, unfriendly and fierce as it has been throughout our history, there stands, perhaps three feet tall, your antagonist and mine, O Aten, the solid gold figure of the god Amon-Ra.

“General Horemheb,” I command, “remove the statue of Amon-Ra!”

Again the animal groan from the crowd. The soldiers lower the barque to waist level so that Horemheb can reach the god. He removes him carefully, staggering a little under his weight, and hands him to three of the sturdiest soldiers. They make a sling for him with their hands, trembling in awe and fear but doing my bidding, as they must.

Again the animal groan from the crowd. But they have not seen all my wonders yet, have they, Father Aten?

“Place the Sacred Barque here at my feet,” I command, and as they do so, Smenkhkara instinctively starts to step back. But I hold out a restraining hand and say:

“Brother, join me!”

And lifting first one foot and then the other, I trample on the Sacred Barque, whose ancient fragile sides begin to crack and crumble beneath my blows. At my side Smenkhkara begins to trample also in a frenzied, mindless, almost terrifying fashion.

And over all the animal groan rises and is broken now by horrified, anguished shouts and protestations that cannot be restrained.

But you are with us, Father Aten, and we do not falter or hesitate.

We trample and
trample
and TRAMPLE until we almost forget to stop, so furious do we become in expressing our hatred and our final triumph over this cruel, vindictive, venal god.

It is only when Horemheb ventures to say at last in a broken, desolate voice, “It is done, Majesty. Son of the Sun, desist, the barque of your enemy is no more!” that I finally return to myself and realize again where I am and what I am doing, and what I still have left to do.