Authors: Allen Drury
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Historical, #Mythology & Folk Tales, #Historical Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #fairy tales
Return to Thebes (21 page)
We give the Family an easy, smiling look as we step from the platform. Aye, Horemheb and Hatsuret preserve a careful politeness. Nakht-Min, Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, Ramesses and Tuthmose dare to look friendly and pleased. Sitamon steps forward fearlessly to kiss us both, and on some sudden impulse as startling and inexplicable as most of the things she does, funny little Mutnedjmet does the same while Ipy and Senna bounce about, shrilly crowing and applauding, somewhere down around our kneecaps.
“Majesty,” Sitamon says in a voice she makes deliberately clear and carrying, “I agree entirely with what you said. It means a great new day for Kemet. We have had enough of separation, bitterness and hate.”
“I, too,” Mutnedjmet says happily, “I, too.”
“And we!” Ipy and Senna flute with their customary privileged informality. “And we!”
“Thank you, Sister,” I say gravely to Sitamon, and, “Thank you,” gravely to the rest. “My wife and I will do our best in all things for our beloved Two Kingdoms.”
“You may rely on me,” Sitamon says in the same emphatic way as I take her arm and Ankhesenamon’s and we begin to walk toward the temple.
Behind us the others fall in line. No word comes from my uncle, my cousin or the dark and dangerous priest. But I do not care.
I am truly Pharaoh now, and I do not care.
***
Hatsuret
The day draws toward its close and I no longer lead the procession. I led it all through Thebes, walking ahead triumphantly as the High Priest of Amon should, sanctifying by his presence the god’s blessing and support of Pharaoh. But when we crossed the Nile and were about to land on the west bank he turned to me and said firmly in the presence of the Family:
“Hatsuret, I wish that you take your place somewhere behind us now. On that bank of the Nile I let you lead through Thebes as a sign of my respect for Amon. Here I wish you to let me lead as a sign of Amon’s respect for me.”
“But, Son of the Sun—” I began smoothly, confident I would have the support of the regent Aye and General Horemheb in my objections to this sacrilegious order.
“We so wish it,” he said evenly, and turned his back on me to point out to Her Majesty the distant towering colossi of his father which guard the mortuary temple, and the gracefully ascending stairways of the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut (life, health, prosperity!), far off against the tawny cliffs.
“But—” I began again; looked around in consternation at the others; found them also too taken aback, apparently, to speak; found myself inadvertently staring into the coolly amused eyes of the Princess Sitamon, who is not my friend and had best not become too clever with me; and was forced to subside in angry silence and confusion until the royal barge touched the landing stage.
There I made a last attempt, starting to step forward as though the conversation had not occurred.
“
Hatsuret!
”
Pharaoh said, and his sharp young voice cracked across my face like a whip. “
You heard me!
”
“Obey His Majesty,” Aye said calmly, “for it is not worth disrupting this day.”
“It is not important,” Horemheb agreed.
“It is important to
me,
”
Tutankhamon said; and I almost replied with equal arrogance, “And it is important to
me.
”
But I did not quite dare, particularly since my allies seemed for some reason to be abandoning me.
I said no word but waited for them to disembark and then took my place behind Horemheb and Nakht-Min. As I did so Horemheb turned and shook his head slightly with an expression as if to say:
Do not worry. We will tame this cub.
But we had thought he
was
tamed! Suddenly he does not seem to be, any more.
Well: this does not frighten me. Three times now I have done the work of Amon and the House of Thebes. Smenkhkara—Merytaten—even that great proud beauty who scorned Amon in all her pride and arrogance, that spoiled one who thought she could live forever but could not, Nefertiti. I killed them all for Amon and for those who, like myself, sought the restoration of the god and a rebirth of
ma’at
and justice in the Two Lands. I will not be afraid to kill again for the same reasons, if we all decide it necessary.
Today I sense the thought has begun to enter the minds of Aye and Horemheb. Certainly it has entered mine. For four years the boy King and Ankhesenamon have appeared to be docile tools in our hands as we have restored the old religion and begun the long task of bringing back the ancient order of Kemet out of the chaos left by the Heretic. The task is far from complete: we have much farther to go. Years of patient work still lie ahead to repair all the damage the Criminal of Akhet-Aten left behind.
Two stubborn children cannot be allowed to stand in our way.
We reach the mortuary temple of Amonhotep III (life, health, prosperity!). The procession halts, the Good God and the Chief Wife are lowered to the ground. They walk into the temple to do worship to his father.
Horemheb drops back a step. I whisper urgently, “We must discuss this!”
He nods.
“Tonight I shall talk to my father.”
“Where shall I meet you?”
“
Alone!
”
he snaps, and starts to turn away. Then he hesitates and turns back to murmur more courteously, “Do not press, Hatsuret. You will be advised in due course. Rest assured all things will come right for Kemet and for Amon.”
And for Horemheb,
I think, but this I would never, ever, dare say to anyone. He, too, can kill for his purposes as I have killed for mine. We are allies and must remain so. The welfare of Amon depends on it.
I convey my understanding with one swift look, bow impassively, raise my staff of office and move off as he leaves me to approach Ramesses, standing at the foot of one of the Colossi. Every line of his body as he walks away speaks determination and power.
I must always remain his friend.
I sense it is becoming very dangerous to be his enemy.
***
Ramesses
He is greatly troubled. He calls me aside as Pharaoh and the Chief Wife go into the mortuary temple of Amonhotep III (life, health, prosperity!) and demands in the peremptory tone he uses more and more frequently now:
“Ramesses, what do you make of this?”
“It seems to me,” I say cautiously, “that Their Majesties wish to restore harmony and peace to the land.”
“So he says,” Horemheb agrees, skepticism heavy in his voice. “So he says.”
“What do you think?” I ask, still cautiously, for I have learned that there are times when it is best to approach Horemheb slowly and let him do the talking.
“I think,” he says, and his eyes narrow, “that though he pretends to lower Aten, he still means to leave him in place high enough to threaten Amon. I think he means someday to restore the Aten altogether.”
“Oh no!” I say, shocked into speaking loudly enough so that soldiers and priests waiting nearby shift uneasily and glance at us as openly as they dare. “
Oh no!
”
I repeat, hastily whispering. “He would not dream of such a thing. He knows the evil Nefer-Kheperu-Ra—”
“The Heretic,” Horemheb interrupts sternly, and dutifully I amend:
“—the Heretic—brought upon the land. He knows how thankful Kemet is to be rid of him. He has seen how speedily in these past four years, under your magnificent leadership”—(it does no harm, these days, to flatter Horemheb)—“the Aten has been reduced and Amon raised again to his supreme and rightful place. His Majesty would not dare reverse this process!”
“I am not so sure now as I was a week ago what His Majesty will or will not dare,” Horemheb says dryly. “I think His Majesty is beginning to fancy his majesty. I think we must be on guard against him, lest he overturn all our work. He took us by surprise today. He must not be allowed to take us by surprise again. I wish you to make it your special charge to know all that he does, at all times. Starting immediately after the procession. You and Sitra have guarded the children before. Do so again tonight. Take Seti with you—they like Seti. Arrange it so that you become their intimates. Insinuate yourselves. Watch. Listen. Report to me everything.”
“What if he objects?” I ask, knowing it is probably a stupid question, but then I have never pretended to be clever. Ramesses is only a simple soldier—a very good one, but not brilliant like Horemheb. Or like my son Seti, whose mother must have been embraced by Amon, for the boy certainly does not get his brains from her or me.
“He will not object,” Horemheb says with the obvious patience he sometimes shows me when I fail to grasp his intentions immediately. “I said, take Seti with you. They both like Seti. Work through him. Officially, I will have you assigned as Head of the King’s Household. The rest will fall into place.”
“But suppose he does object?” I repeat, again rather stupidly, I am afraid: but after all, the Good God is reaching an age, as he showed today, when he is beginning to get his own ideas. And he
is
the Good God.
“He will not object,” Horemheb says, a certain harshness entering his voice. “How can he object? He is only thirteen.”
“But he is the Living Horus—” I begin.
“He is not going to fly yet awhile,” Horemheb says with a sudden grimness in his voice. “We will see to it that his wings remain clipped. Do not worry about things that do not concern you, Ramesses. Do as I say. Tell Sitra and Seti to be prepared to move into Malkata tonight. From now on you are Head of the King’s Household and they are the King’s friends and helpers.”
“They
are,
”
I say truthfully. “So am I. Will that not make it difficult for us to—”
“Ramesses,” Horemheb says, placing a hand like iron on my arm and lowering his voice in the way that has made me a little afraid of him, of late. “I have never had cause to question your friendship or your loyalty in all these years we have fought and worked side by side. Do not give me cause now.”
“No, Horemheb,” I say hastily. “Of course not. We will do as you say.”
“Good,” he says, releasing my arm and lightening his tone so that those few who had dared glance our way glance no longer. “Look! The Good God comes!”
And from the mortuary temple the two children emerge blinking into the softening afternoon sunlight and the procession prepares to resume its stately progress to the Valley of the Kings, and from there to Malkata. I search for my wife and son in the crowd, finally find the bright and handsome lad of ten who belongs to me.
“Go find your mother, Seti,” I direct, “and tell her that we are moving into the Palace of Malkata tonight.”
“Why?” he asks blankly.
“Because your ‘Uncle Horemheb’ decrees it,” I say, “so no argument. Get along to your mother!”
“But only Pharaoh ‘decrees’—” he begins; and then abruptly stops. His eyes widen thoughtfully: all children around the Palace in these recent years have become old before their time. He apparently sees something I do not understand.
“Very well, Father!” he says briskly, and runs off, leaving me standing puzzled in the sun.
“Ramesses!” Horemheb shouts as the procession begins to move slowly forward toward the barren rocky gorges where a special altar has been set up for the Good God’s worship of his ancestors.
“Yes!” I shout back as I hurry to catch up. “I am here, Horemheb!”
***
Horemheb
I move them about like black and white pieces on the checkered board of the game of
senet,
and they jump to my command. Many things in Kemet, now, jump to my command. And why should they not, since I am the principal power and moving force therein?
Or so, at least, it says in my titles.…
“King’s Deputy” was given me by my father at my insistence, you will recall—which he did not relish too much—when he assumed the title and position of Regent. Since then, with his agreement, sometimes willing, sometimes grudging, I have added many more:
“The King’s Elect … the Administrator of the Two … The Greatest of the Favorites of the Lord of the Two Lands … the Two Eyes of the King of Upper and Lower Kemet … The True Scribe, The Well-Beloved of the King … Chief Intendant … The Confidant of the King’s Special Confidants … The Greatest of The Great …The Most Powerful of the Powerful … High Lord of the People …”
Thus the titles, which I have adopted to impress
all
the people—and which, I suppose, impress
some
of the Court.
Others, particularly my father, know that essentially they mean something less than half what they say. He controls the other half, and more.
The Regent Aye is still the most powerful man in Kemet, though his son presses him hard on every count. We manage to work in reasonable harmony—for now. But inevitably the day is coming when one or the other must yield. As between a man seventy-one and one fifty-one, time, if nothing else, is on my side.
Much else, of course, is also on my side; but much is on his side, too. The Regent Aye is now the longest continuing link with what Kemet regards as the golden age of Amonhotep III (life, health, prosperity!), exceeding even Sitamon, who fancies herself in the role—as she has fancied herself in other roles that she will never occupy. She apparently thought she was going to be my wife. In all honesty, for quite a long time I thought so too. But things change, plans change. Mine no longer include such a position for her. It is unfortunate, probably, but there it is. Womanlike, she now refuses to see me at all, which I consider rather foolish. We have always been friends, always enjoyed one another’s company: she is an intelligent woman, I value her opinions and advice. She has turned against me, however, and today she has made it quite clear that she intends to side with the children against me and my father. This is not wise on her part, but she knows the risks and, I suppose, being a daughter of the Great Wife, has the character to meet them if they come. I hope so, for her sake.
In any event, Aye possesses still an influence in Kemet that I can only challenge, not defeat; and I dare not challenge it too openly, either. The day will come, but it will be awhile, I think. Meanwhile we work together in uneasy tandem, a tension between us that could explode into action when Tut goes if not before.
How naturally I use the phrase “when Tut goes”! Tut has been on the throne only four years, he has not yet reached majority, he could conceivably live and rule for another thirty, forty, fifty—yet somehow I do not think he will. Already, in fact, I have accepted in my heart the possibility that he, too, may eventually have to be removed from the throne as his brothers were before him, if Kemet is to flourish and prosper again. And that Kemet flourish and prosper again is my sole desire. I feel this even more deeply, if possible, than I did on the day I came to Thebes as eager young “Kaires,” so many long and bloody years ago.
All I have witnessed since, all I have been party to, simply confirms me in what I thought then: that I care more for the Two Lands and their welfare than even the occupant of the Great House. And now that I see opening before me the possibility that I myself may someday be the occupant of the Great House, this motive is even more insistent in my … particularly when the present occupant already shows signs of being as stubborn, as inflexible and as unmanageable as the Heretic himself.
I do not know what has inspired the boy to become so suddenly independent. A week ago he was a willing child of thirteen, shy, compliant, almost timorous in the way he acted in the presence of my father and me. You would have thought we were keeping him prisoner in some fashion, instead of aiding him in every way we could to restore the Two Lands to
ma’at
and glory. There were times when I almost thought he was afraid of us. Yet all that we have done we have done for Kemet. Surely he must see this.
Now he no longer seems afraid. I believe it began with the episode in the village when Hatsuret, who is an ambitious fool and sometimes a drunken one (with him, too, I may someday have a date to keep), tried to lead his stupid foray against the peasants and ran afoul of the King. I think Tut was so shocked and angered by what he found Hatsuret trying to do that he lost any lingering belief he might have had in Hatsuret’s pose of priestly piety. He also lost the fear of him, which he has felt ever since Hatsuret performed for us those terrible but necessary errands that helped put an end to the rule of the Heretic.
In those, of course, he was acting upon the orders of the Great Wife, my father and myself. He exceeded them in the case of Smenkhkara and Merytaten, but in case of Nefertiti and in my own rendezvous with Akhenaten, we did, viewing it now in retrospect, exactly what had to be done. I had not intended that we go that far—permanent arrest and secret imprisonment somewhere in the Red Land was my original thought—but Nefertiti provoked me beyond endurance, and so ended all.
“Husband,” she cried to that awful scarecrow he had become, “come with me and let us leave this traitorous dog to eat his own vomit as befits him!”
Me,
her own brother, her friend from childhood! This she said about
me,
in the presence of all those witnesses, thinking herself too proud and too powerful to suffer the fate of those who flaunt the gods too brazenly and too long!
Something broke inside my head. A blinding flash of fury drove all before it. Behind her Hatsuret stood with ax poised. “
Now!
”
I cried, and it was done. And having caused that awful thing, I knew then there was but one thing only left for me to do, and that was end the whole sad shadow show once and for all, forever. And so I followed him to the Northern Tombs and did it.
When my father and I met again a few minutes later, we did not know at first how we would face the Great Wife and tell her. But it was done, all done: there was nothing remaining but to move straight ahead. We told her with pain and weeping, we thought we convinced her that the final steps had been inevitable and necessary—because by then we were convinced of it ourselves: it had to end, they could not have been left alive, it would have meant nothing but chaos for the Two Lands. She appeared to agree, we left her. In the morning they found her sitting dead by the window, her head propped against pillows so that her sightless eyes could still gaze upon the eternal Nile and the kingdom she had loved and served so well.
Still there was nothing to do but move forward. It was done, all done. My boy cousin was on the throne, a new day had dawned for Kemet. A child of nine could not rule, it would have been ridiculous. The reins fell into the two pairs of hands strong enough to take them up. My father and I began our uneasy but inescapable joint rule of the Two Kingdoms.
I suppose it was understandable that my little cousin should consider himself a prisoner after that, because naturally we had to make decisions in his name, we had to repair the sad state of Kemet just as rapidly as we could. It was imperative that we restore
ma’at
and justice, bring back Amon as the principal element of stability among the people, place Pharaoh firmly once more in his position of partnership with all the gods. I wrote the restoration stela setting forth the things that must be done and proclaimed it in his name so that the Two Lands would know that this was his plan and intention. And the rebuilding of a shattered society began.
Never have I worked so hard before, never has my father labored so diligently—and neither of us has ever been a sluggard. The chaos in which Akhenaten left this land was unbelievable. We are only just beginning to see some orderly pattern developing again, only just beginning to perceive the possibility of re-establishing a sound and stable future—and suddenly Tutankhamon betrays us all by maundering off once more about the Aten!
Is it any wonder the Regent and I have been astounded and upset this day? Is it any wonder we feel as though the ground had been cut suddenly once more from beneath our feet? Is it any wonder that, whereas it took me years to come to the bitter conclusion that Akhenaten must be removed, and years after that to actually do something about it, it has taken me only a few swift hours to acknowledge and accept the very real possibility that Tutankhamon may have to be removed too?
I do not know what ultimate dream possesses the boy, what secret plottings go on between the two of them—for I suspect that she, like her mother, is probably the constant encourager and supporter of her husband’s follies. But I do know that it cannot be permitted to continue. I do know that if the heresy, which we thought dead with its creator, is to be revived in the person of his youngest brother, then this time there can be no long, spun-out unraveling of the years to bring it to conclusion. We are only just beginning to find our way out of the tangle left by Nefer-Kheperu-Ra. For the very sake of Kemet, we cannot permit Neb-Kheperu-Ra to drag us back into it with our work only half completed.
Oh, I know he talked about “reconciliation,” “harmony,” “peace” and “love.” I know he talks—
now
—only of making the Aten a friendly partner with Amon. Those are pretty words—pretty words. Perhaps he is sincere in them. But we have heard their like before.
Was not Akhenaten sincere too? And did not sincerity lead very fast to fanaticism? And did not that in turn make inevitable Kemet’s troubles? And does that not mean that we have no choice but to stop it
now
before it becomes again a ravening serpent in the land?
Would that I were Pharaoh
now,
and there would be none of his nonsense ever again in Kemet! Would that I could seize power
now
and set things right once and for all!
No man deserves it more—none has worked harder or waited more patiently—none would be a more worthy servant of the Two Lands. The Pharaoh Horemheb (life, health, prosperity to me!) is needed by this kingdom. Amon and all the gods know it as well as I.…
I must talk to my father about this. I have sent word that I will meet him in his audience chamber here in Malkata an hour from now when Ramesses tells me that the children are finally asleep, and when, from the Court to the farthest reaches of Thebes, the world will be filled with drunkenness and roistering and no one will notice our quiet conferring.
I have been patient for many, many, years—all my life, it sometimes seems to me. All that I have done I have done for Kemet. I am getting no younger. Now Tutankhamon suddenly threatens all. The Regent Aye and the King’s Deputy Horemheb must decide the future before he becomes old enough to take full power and thwart us, as his brother did, when we seek to do what is right and best for Kemet.
***