Akhenaten (3 page)

The conflict threatened Thebes. People were torn between their loyalty to Amun and their obligation to the mad offshoot of the greatest family in our history.
The Great Queen Tiye was consumed with worry as she watched the seed she had sown grow into a poisonous plant. He was falling into a bottomless pit, dragging his family along with him. Tiye kept bringing her offerings to the temple of Amun, in an attempt to diminish the turmoil that jeopardized the throne.

“You win by allegiance, and lose by defiance,” she said.

“You are asking us to be loyal to a heretic. If only you had listened to me in the beginning.”

“We must not despair.”

Her usual strength collapsed in the face of his mysterious insanity, and she was impotent before her effeminate, spoilt son. It was inevitable that we continue our holy struggle. The mad king was no longer able to bear the pressure in Thebes, particularly when he heard the hostile cries of the people during the feast of Amun. Claiming that his god had commanded him to leave Thebes and build a new city, he left in a grand exodus with eighty thousand other heretics, to live in their accursed exile. His move from Thebes gave us time to prepare for holy war, and allowed him to indulge his blasphemy and make the new capital a place for riotous festivities and orgies. Love and Joy, this was the slogan of his new, nameless god. Whenever his natural weakness stung him, he went to extremes to prove that his power had no limits. The priests were evicted and the temples closed. The idols and all the patrimonial endowments were confiscated. I said to the priests, “It is death and the hereafter you must cherish, for there is nothing to live for now that the temples are closed.” But we
found refuge in the homes of the pious followers of Amun. They were our fighters, and we continued the struggle with hope and determination.

The heretic continued to flaunt his power, parading in the provinces and calling upon the people to join him in his heresy. Those were the darkest days. The people were torn and dismayed, not knowing whether to choose their deities or their feeble king and his obscenely beautiful wife. Those were the days of grief and torment, hypocrisy and regret, and fear of divine wrath. But the words of love and joy began to take their toll. The public servants cared little for their duties and exploited citizens for their pleasure. Rebellion spread throughout the empire. Our enemies feared us no more, and began to threaten our borders. When the rulers in the provinces called for help they received poems instead of troops. They died as martyrs, cursing the treacherous heretic with their final breath. The stream of riches that had flown into Egypt from all over the world dried up, leaving the markets bare, the merchants impoverished, and the country famished. I cried out to the people, “The curse of Amun has descended upon us. We must destroy the heretic, or else we will be extinguished in war.”

Still I opted for the path of peace to spare the country the trauma of war. I confronted the queen mother, Tiye.

“I am troubled and grieved, High Priest of Amun,” she said.

“I am no longer high priest.” Bitterness grasped me.

“I am only a hunted vagabond now.”

“I ask the gods for mercy,” she stuttered.

“You must do something. He is your son; he adores you. You are responsible for all that has happened. Caution him before a civil war wipes out everything.”

She was vexed when I reminded her of her responsibility. She said, “I have decided to go to the new capital, Akhetaten.”

Indeed Queen Tiye made some deserving efforts, but she could not repair the damage. I did not despair, but went to Akhetaten, despite the danger in such an undertaking. There I met with the heretic's men.

“I speak to you from a position of power,” I said. “My men are awaiting a signal from me to pounce on you. I am here now in a last attempt to save what can possibly be saved without bloodshed or destruction. I will leave you to yourselves for a while, and trust you will come to your senses and do your duty.”

They appeared to be convinced, and in due time they did what I asked of them, each for his own purposes. But the country was spared grave affliction. They met with the heretic and presented him with two urgent demands—to declare freedom of worship, and to send an army to defend the empire against our enemies who were making incursions across the borders. The mad king refused. They proposed that if he abdicated the throne, he could keep his faith and preach it however he wished. Again, their offer was rejected. But this time he appointed his brother Smenkhkare to share the throne. We disregarded his order and named Tutankhamun king of the throne. The heretic's men deserted him and
pledged allegiance to the new pharaoh. In time, order was restored in the country without war or destruction.

We relinquished all desire for revenge on the madman and his wife and those who remained loyal to him.

Amun's followers hurried to the temples after their long deprivation. The nightmare had ended and life began to resume its normal course. As for the heretic, when madness had consumed him, he fell ill and died, disappointed in his god and hopeless of the hereafter. He left behind him his wicked wife to endure loneliness and regret.

The high priest gazed at me silently for a long while. Then he said, “We are still healing. We need time and serious effort. Our loss, inside and outside the empire, was beyond estimate. How did it all happen? How could such a mad, distorted person stir up such agony?” He paused for a moment then concluded, “That is the true story. Record it faithfully. Do carry my sincere greetings to your dear father.”

y was the sage and former counselor to Akhenaten, and father of Nefertiti and Mutnedjmet. Old age had settled in the furrows of his face. I met him in his palace overlooking the Nile in south Thebes. He told me the story in a serene voice without letting his face reveal any emotion. I was in awe of his solemnity and dignity, and the richness of his experience. “Life, Meriamun, is a wonder,” he began. “It is a sky laden with clouds of contradictions.” He contemplated a while, surrendering to a current of memories. Then, he continued.

The story begins one summer day when I was summoned to appear before King Amenhotep III and Great Queen Tiye.

“You are a wise man, Ay,” the queen said. “Your knowledge of the secular and the spiritual is unrivaled.
We have decided to entrust you with the education of our sons Tuthmosis and Amenhotep.”

I bowed my shaven head in gratitude and said, “Fortunate is he who will have the honor of serving the king and queen.”

Tuthmosis was seven years old, Amenhotep was six. Tuthmosis was strong, handsome, and well built, though not particularly tall. Amenhotep was dark, tall, and slender, with small, feminine features. He had a tender yet penetrating look that made a deep impression on me. The handsome lad died and the weak one was spared. The death of his brother shook Amenhotep and he wept for a long time.

One day he said to me, “Master, my brother was pious, he frequented the temple of Amun, received his charms and fetishes, but still he was left to die. Master and Sage, why don't you bring him back to life?”

“Son,” I replied, “one's soul is immortal. Let that be your solace.”

That was the beginning of our many discussions on life and death. I was sincerely pleased with his insight and understanding in spiritual matters. The boy was clearly ahead of his years. I often found myself thinking that Akhenaten was born with some otherworldly wisdom. Even in secular subjects, he quickly mastered the skills of reading, writing, and algebra. I said to Queen Tiye, “His abilities are so extraordinary that he is beginning to intimidate his master.”

I looked forward to lessons with him and wondered what his mind would produce when he reigned over the
empire of his forefathers. I was certain that the greatness of his empire would surpass that of his father's.

Amenhotep III was a great and powerful ruler. He was merciless with his enemies and those who disobeyed him. In peaceful times he indulged himself with women, food, and wine. He became so thoroughly consumed by those pleasures that he soon fell victim to all kinds of ailments, and spent his last days in agony, suffering excruciating pains. As for Queen Tiye, she came from an honorable Nubian family. She proved to be a woman of such power and wisdom that she outshone even Queen Hatshepsut. Because of the death of her eldest son and her husband's infidelity she became very attached to the young Amenhotep. It was as if she were his mother, his lover, and his teacher. She was so passionate about politics that she sacrificed her feminine heart to nourish her ambition for power. The priests falsely accused her of being responsible for her son's perversity. The truth is that she wanted him to be abreast of all religions. Perhaps she wanted Aten to replace Amun and become the deity to whom all others owed allegiance, for Aten was the sun god who breathed life everywhere. His subjects were united by faith and not merely by force. She hoped to use religion as a political instrument that could bring about the unity of Egypt. It was not her intention that her son believe in the religion and not the politics, but Akhenaten refused to put religion in the service of anything. The mother had contrived a clever political scheme, but the son believed in the means, not the end. He devoted himself to his religious
calling, jeopardizing the country, the empire, and the throne.

Ay remained silent for a while. He tightened the sash around his shoulders. His face looked rather small under the thick wig. When some time had passed in silence, he continued.

I am still amazed at the young boy's intelligence. It was as if he had been born with the mind of a high priest. I often caught myself arguing with him as though he were my equal. By the time he was ten, his mind was like a hot spring, sparkling with ideas. His weak body harbored such a strong will and perseverance that I took him as living proof that the human spirit could be stronger than the most exercised muscles. He was so devoted to his religious instruction that he spent no time preparing himself for the throne. He would not accept any idea without questioning and argument, and he never hesitated to express his doubts about many of our traditional teachings. I was taken aback when, one time, he said, “Thebes! A holy city! Isn't that what they claim? Thebes, Master, is nothing but a den of rapacious merchants, debauchery, and fornication. Who are those great priests? They delude people with superstition, and take from the poor what little they have. They seduce women in the name of the deities. Their temple has become a house of harlotry and sin. Accursed Thebes.”

I was greatly concerned when I heard him speak these
words. I could see accusing fingers pointed at me, his teacher.

“Those priests are the foundation of the throne,” I replied.

“Then the throne is built on lies and dissolution.”

“Their power is no less than that of an army,” I warned him.

“Bandits and thugs are powerful, too.”

It was clear from the very beginning that he disliked Amun, who reigned in the holy of holies. He favored Aten, whose light shone throughout the world.

“Amun is the god of priests, but Aten is God of heaven and earth.”

“You should be loyal to all deities.”

“Should I not trust my heart to show me the difference between right and wrong?” he asked.

“One day you will be crowned in the temple of Amun,” I said in an attempt to persuade him.

He spread his slender arms and said, “I would rather be crowned in the open air, under the light of the sun.”

“Amun is the deity that empowered your ancestors and gave them victory over their enemies.”

He remained quiet, thinking, then said, “I cannot understand how a god could allow anyone to massacre his own creation.”

I grew more worried but continued my efforts to dissuade him. “But we, the subjects of Amun, cannot always understand his holy wisdom.”

“The sunlight of Aten does not discriminate between people when it shines down upon us.”

“You must not forget that life is a battleground.”

“Master,” he replied sadly, “do not speak to me of war. Have you not seen the sun when it rises above the fields and the Nile? Have you not seen the horizon when the sun goes down? Have you heard the nightingale sing, or the doves coo? Have you never felt the sacred happiness buried deep in your heart?”

I knew that there was nothing I could do. He was like a tree and I could not stop him from growing. I conveyed my fears to the queen, but she did not share my concerns.

“He is still an innocent child, Ay,” she said. “He will learn more of this life as he grows. Soon he will begin his military training.”

The pious young prince started his military training along with the sons of the nobles. He detested it, possibly because of his physical weakness. Soon he rejected the training, thus admitting a failure not befitting a king's son.

“I do not wish to learn the fundamentals of murder,” he said bitterly.

The king was saddened by his son's decision. “A king who cannot fight is at the mercy of his commanders,” he said.

The crown prince and the king had several confrontations. Most likely, this strife was the seed of the malice the boy harbored against his great father. I do believe, however, that the priests of Amun stretched this fact when they accused him of avenging himself by erasing his father's name from all the monuments. He only wanted to eradicate the name of Amun. He even changed his own name from Amenhotep to Akhenaten for the same
purpose. Then came the night that condemned him to a life of seclusion. He had been waiting for the sunrise in the dark royal garden by the bank of the Nile. I learned all the details when I met him in the morning. I believe it was spring time. The air was clear of all dew and dust. When I greeted him, he turned to me with a pale face and mesmerized eyes.

“Master, the truth has been revealed to me,” he said without returning my greeting. “I came here before sunrise. The night was my companion, its silence my blessing. As I bid darkness farewell, I felt that I was rising with the air around me. It was as though I was retreating with the night. Then there was a marvelous light, and I saw all the creatures that I had seen or even heard of gather before my eyes and greet each other in delight. I had overcome pain and death, I thought. I was intoxicated with the sweet scent of creation. I heard his clear voice speaking to me: ‘I am the One and Only God; there is no God but I. I am the truth. Dwell in my kingdom, and worship me only. Give me yourself; I have granted you my divine love.’”

We stared at each other for a long while. I was overcome by despair and could not speak.

“Do you not believe me, Master?”

“You never lie,” I replied.