Pharaoh (Jack Howard 7) (2 page)

Prologue

The desert of Nubia, in the second year of the reign of the pharaoh Amenhotep IV, in the eighteenth dynasty of the New Kingdom, 1351
BC

The man carrying the staff of a high priest and the
ankh
symbol of a pharaoh stood at the entrance to the temple, watching the shaft of light from the setting sun rise up the body of the statue that loomed out of the far wall. Ahead in the gloom the others stood aside to let him pass forward, sprinkling incense and mouthing incantations as they did so. They were all present, the priests of this cult and also the priests of the god Amun from Thebes: those who had grown fat on the wealth that was rightfully his, and had doubted his allegiance to the gods. They had come here, a thousand miles to the south of the pyramids, to the edge of the known world, believing that he had chosen this place to prostrate himself before them, to recant his heresy and purify himself before the gods, to arise once again with the trappings of priesthood that had weighed down his father and generations of pharaohs before that. He passed them now, men with shaven heads and pious expressions who wore the gold-hemmed robes and upturned sandals that showed wealth, and he felt nothing but contempt. Soon they would know the truth.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he began to make out stacks of mummies in the recesses behind the statue, mummies with faces that seemed to snarl out at him from where they had been left as offerings by the priests who had officiated here since the temple was first hacked out of the rock thirty generations before, at the time of the pharaoh Amenenat and his sons. Then, Egyptian armies had fought their way far into the Nubian desert, hoping to extend the kingdom of the pharaohs over the source of the Nile at the vast lake beyond the horizon, to gain control of the very source of life. But they had been repelled by an enemy so terrifying that they had never again come beyond this point on the Nile, instead building this temple to appease the one who ruled over the river, into whose dark realm they had transgressed; never again would an Egyptian army pass through the veil of dust to the south into the land where the warriors held sway. They had depicted them on the very wall of this temple, a battle scene in which naked men with spears were shown hacking Egyptian soldiers to death; the pharaoh had turned back and left the bodies to the vultures and the scavengers of the deep, the ones they had found lurking in the pool at this place that seemed so like their image of the primeval fount of darkness.

But then the priests who had returned with the pharaoh to Egypt had taken the cult of the beast as their own, in Thebes, in the Faiyum, reducing the beast to a mere cipher, to another manifestation in the cult of Amun that gave the priests control over the people and the pharaoh. They had caught the beasts and kept them in pools and tamed them, and offered their mummies to the god. But out here, on the edge of darkness, the truth remained: harsh, visceral, a truth of fear and appeasement, of the sacrifice needed to harness the strength and power of the beast to protect the pharaoh and the army. Here, in a place so far into the desert that the gods of the north hardly held sway, a place where a man could look into the souls of his distant ancestors, here the words that the lector-priest would soon read had true meaning. Here, to dip your foot into the Nile was to dip it not into a river controlled by men, but into primeval darkness. Today the man with the staff would draw all the power back into this place, and he would cleanse Egypt of the falsehoods and artifice created by the priests. He had seen the light in the desert; today would be a new beginning, the start of a time of brilliance that he would spread to the world.

He could see the statue more clearly now; the shaft of light that came through an opening high on the chamber wall continued to rise up the body as the sun set in the west. The lower part was the body of a man, one foot forward, wearing a skirt and naked from the waist up, bearing a sceptre in one hand and the
ankh
symbol of life in the other. The statue towered over the man, at least twice his height, the massive musculature of the upper torso and arms making the head seem almost natural, as if such a creature could have been born that way. But it was the head of a crocodile, jutting out far into the chamber, fierce and terrifying. The head was still in shadow, a dark silhouette, but above it he could make out the plumed headdress of Amun and the horned sun-disc of Ra, with the sacred serpent spiralling around it. As the light rose higher, the snout came into view, mottled green marble with teeth of cloudy quartz, jagged and shimmering. The eyes were just visible, limpid pools of black, and he could see the nostrils, flaring and filled with cut crystals of red agate; they seemed to reveal an inner fire, as if the beast were burning within.

The lector-priest stood before the statue and unravelled his scroll. The man could see the hieroglyphic symbols on it, picked out in gold and red and green. The lector-priest began to recite, his voice high pitched and shrill in the chamber:

Hail to you, who arose from the dark waters,

Lord of the lowlands, ruler of the desert edge,

Who rules the river, who crosses backwaters;

Mighty god, whose seizing cannot be seen,

Who lives on plunder,

Who goes upstream searching for his own perfection,

Who goes downstream after hunting a multitude;

A great number you will devour:

Creator of the Nile,

Sobek, the Raging One.

The man stared at the head of the statue, waiting. He too would go upstream, searching for perfection. And then it happened: the shaft of sunlight reached the snout and the nostrils. A beam of red seemed to shoot out from the crystals, illuminating the smoke from the incense that rose from the priests, a swirling cloud that wreathed the head of the god as if it were rising from fire. The sunbeam seemed to engorge it with light, to ignite the eyes and the teeth, and at the same time to suck the light energy from it, as if it were awakening the beast and then drawing its essence back into the sun.

The man whispered under his breath: ‘You are no longer Sobek. Now you are Sobek-Re, the pathway of light towards the Aten. And soon you will no longer be Sobek-Re, and the Aten will rule supreme.’

He had completed the ritual of purification, and he turned to go. Through the open doorway he could see the orb of the sun setting into the western horizon, orange and glowing. On the wall to the left, in front of the battle scene, was the cartouche of his own name surmounted by the crocodile symbol of a pharaoh, signifying strength and power. Ahead of that was an image he had ordered his masons to carve when he was last here, when he had left Egypt while his father was still pharaoh, fleeing south with his slave friend to escape the suffocating routine of the palace and the cloying control of the priests, the life that he had known would one day be his. The likeness of himself that he had ordered to be carved on the temple wall he now defiantly put everywhere, in Thebes and at Giza and in his new capital Amarna; it showed the protuberant belly and jutting chin that the priests had so mocked when he was a boy, that were suddenly marks of divine favour when he became pharaoh and married the most beautiful woman in Egypt. The carving depicted him in front of the Aten, its rays enveloping him like arms, the image that had so disturbed the priests. He was portrayed without the symbols of priestly office, but instead was barefoot and naked except for a skirt; the priests may have imagined that he would now order his masons to add the embellishments, but they would have been wrong.

He looked back one last time. The priests were continuing their incantations, turned away from him. The beam of sunlight had risen above the statue and the shaft of red light had vanished, leaving only a dying glow as the reflection faded; soon it would be extinguished entirely. He looked at the
ankh
symbol again, and then at the jagged row of teeth.
Giver of life, taker of life
.

He took off his crown and dropped it with his staff on the floor, then cast off his robe; beneath it he was wearing only a loincloth, like the slaves. He opened his arms, face to the sun, feeling it bathe him in warmth, no longer self-conscious about his body. Under the Aten, all were created equal, and all were made beautiful. He passed through the entrance and along the edge of the rock-cut channel that led from the Nile to the temple. The channel was dry now, but was caked with desiccated mud from the river that gave off a putrid smell, reptilian. He walked towards a woman, sensuous in her white robe, her jet-black hair curly and long and her eyes surrounded by kohl; the shape of her breasts and thighs pleased him, aroused him, as he thought of the days and nights ahead when they would at last be man and woman, not pharaoh and high priestess. He took her hand and held it high. ‘Nefertiti-na-Aten,’ he said, smiling at her, using her new name for the first time. ‘May the Aten shine on us, and our children.’

‘It already shines on you, Akhen-Aten. Our son Tutankhamun will be Tutank-Aten, and will for ever be known as that, for he shall embrace the light too and his reign shall be long.’

He breathed in deeply, savouring it. Akhenaten; no longer Amenhotep, high priest of Amun, but Akhenaten, he on whom the light of the Aten shines, he who would soon return north to lift the veil of ignorance from his people and reveal the presence of the one God. He smiled again, and began to walk with her, looking up and seeing his soldiers lining the surrounding clifftops, the attendants and guards of the priests along the banks of the river below. They came to a cluster of shackled slaves and stopped in front of their leader, a young man with fire in his eyes wearing the beard of the Canaanites. He had been held between a pair of priestly guards, but two soldiers came and released him, and he walked forward to greet them.

‘Hail, Akhenaten,’ he said, embracing him. ‘Hail, Nefertiti-na-Aten, my sister,’ he said, kissing her hand.

She held him by the shoulders, kissing him on both cheeks. ‘Hail, Moses, my brother,’ she said.

Akhenaten embraced him again. ‘It is as we planned, my brother, when you came as a slave to my palace and we first sat watching the sun set over the pyramids, and then came here with me. Now I am pharaoh, and our vision has become my quest. I will go into the desert to the land of my forefathers to seek the place where the Aten rises, and then I will bring back the light and it will shine over all Egypt. Where will you go?’

Moses gestured at the slaves. ‘I will take my people north and return to the land of our fathers, where we will live under the light of the one God. I will await word from your new city that the Aten shines on all Egypt, and then we shall go forth together and spread the word to the world.’

‘May the Aten reach out and embrace you with his arms like the rays of the sun,’ Nefertiti said. ‘May you and your people find your way north in peace.’

Akhenaten shut his eyes. He would do something else, too. Soon he would release all the knowledge from the temples, knowledge from past ages that the priests had locked away and kept for themselves. The priests who had mocked his appearance as a boy had said that they had the knowledge to cure the illness that caused it, but that Amun and his consorts had instructed them not to, had told them to keep it concealed. For that he would bring down his own judgement on the priests, and on the gods; he would extinguish them all. He would take the knowledge from the temple libraries and bring it together in one place, in the one temple to the one God, and he would preside within, the light of the Aten shining through him on those who came for divine dispensation, which he would give freely: the knowledge of the ancients would be laid open for all. He had already begun to depict his vision of this temple of light, this city of knowledge; he had instructed his masons to show it within the image of himself on the temple wall, and soon, when he reached the birthplace of the Aten, he would inscribe it all on stone, when the light gave him the vision to plan his temple and send word for the masons and carvers and quarrymen to begin their work.

He opened his eyes, and Moses gestured towards the slaves, and then at the temple. ‘But they cannot go. The priests will demand the sacrifice.’

Akhenaten smiled again, feeling serene. He looked at the shadow rising up the face of the temple, seeing that the sun would only be shining through the aperture at the top for another few minutes; it was the sign for the ceremony of propitiation to end and the priests to leave, and for the final act of appeasement to take place. He raised one arm, and two teams of soldiers swung shut the stone doors, placing transverse wooden beams across to seal them. He looked towards the juncture of the channel with the river, and raised his hand again. The priestly guards had been pushed aside by his own soldiers, who now began to pull on the ropes on either side of a wooden frame above the channel, slowly raising the sluice gate. The first trickles of water became a torrent, driving down the channel towards the place where it disappeared under the rock face into the temple. The water would only fill the chamber with the priests to the height of a man, but that would be enough.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the sluice gate. The men jumped back, turning away and hiding their faces in their hands, terrified of laying eyes on the one who shall not be seen. A wave ran down the channel, pushed forward by something in the water: the leviathan, five times the length of a man, its great hoary tail slapping the sides of the channel as it surged forward, invisible below the muddy surface of the water. And then it was gone, as if it had clawed its way under the rock into the temple, a great wave sucking and spraying behind it, drenching the soldiers who cowered on either side of the entrance, making sure the doors remained shut.

It had been starving, ravenous. For days now the priests had kept it without food in the pool, and when the procession of shackled slaves had arrived, it had begun crashing its head against the sluice gate, knowing what lay in store. Only this time the feast would be far greater than before: not slaves who had been wasted down to skin and bone, but instead those who had overindulged their own appetites for excess, and whose flesh would now provide one last gluttonous feast for the god.