Nefertiti (16 page)

'What are you doing here? How did you get past security? Let him stand.'

The guards backed off at once. I stood and brushed myself down. 'It wasn't difficult. I mentioned before that the security here seems inadequate.'

His expression turned thunderous. Something about this man made me want to rile him, even though I knew it was a foolish impulse.

'That is fine advice from a man who disappeared on a
duck shoot.'

Then another voice spoke. Light and clear. 'Please look into the ease with which he managed to find his way in here. What are things coming to in this land? Come,' Akhenaten said to me, dismissing all others, including Ramose, who still looked furious, with a light wave.

We walked into a private room, and the doors closed softly behind us. But he quickly turned on me.

'Such was the silence and lack of progress I assumed you were indeed dead. Which you might as well be. Speak.'

'It does seem someone else here would prefer me to be dead.'

He stared at me. Then he beckoned me to follow him quickly out through an archway into a walled garden. We walked a little way down the path until we were some distance from the building.

'The palace was built to guard me, but it is also a listening device. One notices the slightest thread of cool air from time to time, seeming to come from nowhere - and that tells me there is a tiny gap in the wall so slight as to be invisible yet so powerful that words and information pour away into the world. Words are very powerful, but also very dangerous.'

We sat opposite each other on two wooden chairs, our knees almost touching. The heat was shocking. Sweat burst out of me. He looked as comfortable as a lizard.

I informed him of the identity of the dead girl. I pointed out that this identification was a major discovery with several important implications, not least that it suggested the Queen was not dead. To this he gave little reaction other than a quick sideways nod of the head.

I described the horror of Tjenry's murder, then the hunt and the attempt on my life, but held back from naming Mahu directly. I left him to deduce that information. But I made it clear there were forces within his city that were hunting me down. He was suddenly, mercurially, annoyed.

'The days are passing like water through your hands, and you sit here telling me nothing. All you have achieved so far is to make enemies. And you have told me
nothing certain about the where
abouts or fate of the Queen, or who has taken her.'

I let him simmer for a moment, then I said, 'I am closer to solving the mystery than before. But I need further permissions and, with them, certain protections.'

'Such as?' he snapped.

'I would like to interview the Queen Mother. And your daughters.'

'Why? Do you think my own mother has kidnapped my wife?'

I pushed my argument. It was all I could do. 'I need to speak to everyone who may know something, or may have noticed something which they did not think to be important. I am trying to trace the tracks of our mystery in the dust of the past. All clues are vital.'

He pondered this for a moment, then made up his mind decisively. 'I will grant this. But remember my promise to you. Fail, and you and your family will suffer accordingly. For the last time I say to you: your time is running out.'

I was saved from having to reply by a light
tap-tap-tap,
the sound of someone approaching with a stick. Up the path came a young boy. He was the striking image of Akhenaten, from the charismatic, angled face and thin body to the exquisite crutch tucked under his arm. His gaze passed slowly over me. I experienced a slight shiver. He looked like an old soul in a child's twisted body.

Akhenaten nodded coolly at the boy, who gazed at us both then swung himself away with a practised confidence and elegance that implied a small lifetime of infirmity. I could hear the crutch counting out his steps as he moved away into the echoey chamber beyond. Akhenaten made no comment on this strange appearance.

'I will give you your permissions,' he reiterated. 'You may meet the Queen Mother and my girls this evening. And I will make one suggestion.' I waited. 'I have created many alliances and many friend-ships, but inevitably I also have many enemies. You can imagine who they are. Disaffected Priests from the redundant cults. The old Karnak families. Theban nobles whose corrupt fortunes are diverted now towards this city's meaningful vision. And if I have these enemies, imagine how much more they must hate the Queen. A powerful man in command of the world is one thing; a powerful woman is quite another. And now I must move on. I would like you to attend the presentation of Meryra in the Great Temple. To see how far we have come in the direction of truth. He is a most trusted servant and the only Priest besides ourselves who is granted the honour of interceding between the world and the god. All will see him honoured.'

My heart sank. I accompanied him back inside, and there waiting for us was Parennefer. Charming, chatty, powerful Parennefer. He bowed low to Akhenaten, who instructed him to accompany me to the presentation and left without uttering a farewell. We remained with our heads bowed respectfully for several moments.

'Well,' said Parennefer laconically, 'I hear you've been a busy man.'

21

Parennefer took Khety and me back to the main open courtyard, where we waited for the royal procession to gather and organize itself. The last servants and late officials hurried into their places, the guards took their positions, and then, with a beating of the drums and a skirl of reed pipes, the whole group made its way back across the courtyard and up the stairs to the Window of Appearances between the palace and the Great Temple. In the road below, a great crowd was waiting and chanting in the sun. Akhenaten, dressed now in a glorious sash embroidered with cobra-heads and fringed in a multitude of colours, passed down gifts of collars and dishes rings to the lesser members and dignitaries of the gathered population. There was a young girl with him, dressed in similar clothes. 'That is Meretaten, the oldest princess. She takes her mother's place today.' Parennefer nodded meaningfully.

From beyond the Window, Akhenaten's appearance must have seemed strong, bold, secure. From my vantage, I could see how hard it was, physically, for him to maintain tha
t impression. In fact, while he
appeared from below to be standing, he was supported on a kind of palanquin, invisible to the crowd. Around him were gathered, in the fortunate shade of the bridge, a frieze of faces - the Empire illustrated - all intent on the enactments of the ceremony but also glancing at one another continually as if testing and judging everything, and their place within it. Those on the outer edges peered carefully over the shoulders of those closer to the heart of things, as if looking into a glorious light, touches of envy and anticipation illuminating their faces. And what faces they were: not just Theban and Memphis men, but also the handsome, powerfully composed faces of Nubian royalty, Arzawis and Hittites, Assyrian princes and Babylonian diplomats.

Parennefer nudged me and whispered again into my ear. 'So you see how complex the world is in our time. Everything is connected to everything else. Our cities are growing at a tremendous rate. And with the new building programmes and the influx of foreign workers, the kingdom has become a hungry monster with a vast appetite that must be fed on more and more of the world. Hence - well, everything.'

I nodded as if I agreed. Which was a mistake, because he just carried on.

'We have the Great River, but without it what are we but sand in the wind? We cannot dine on sand. No, if we want our fine linens, and our incense, and our rare timbers for our floors and our festivals, and our trinkets from Punt, and our gold from those remote Nubian mines, we must make pacts and terms around the world. Look, even here, those men - a delegation of Alashiyan traders and dealers, I believe. Their little island is vital for copper and timber. And of course they all send their girls as brides, and their sons as hostages of loyalty to be educated here. Well, they should be so lucky! Yes, they are separated from their own worlds when they're young, but look how they gain a new and infinitely greater one. There is a nursery in the palace. Such a confusion of languages, but when they're that young they very swiftly learn our speech and soon they are yelling at each other quite fluently. My own son's best friend is a Kushite. Imagine.'

His great monologue ceased for a moment, and before it could find a new course I couldn't stop myself asking, 'And what is it that we give these people in return for the tribute of the riches of their lands?'

He looked at me incredulously. 'Well, that's obvious, isn't it? Status and security. Of course they need gold to shore up their own power, and troops and the threat of our intervention to support it when challenged. But what they need most is to shine to their own people and to each other with some of our reflected glory. It behoves them to serve us well. They will not bite the hand that feeds. For instance, when there is trouble between the city lords in, say, Palestine, Megiddo, Taanach, Gath, and so on, and they start getting up on their hind legs and playing stupid games, that creates a problem with the routes of trade. We have an economic problem. So how do we deal with it?'

I shrugged, annoyed by his smugness.

'By letting the locals do the heavy lifting! We tell them they need to put their houses in order, and get together to deal with the problem. Or else! So they do, because they know if they don't - no more gold! No more friendly international relations! No more invitations to the Great House! Sometimes they complain, or make pleas for help -recently quite desperate - but often it is their little local problem and we cannot and should not interfere. Now I know there are exceptions, and these people we call our enemies! And of course we do not spare them. No. We turn our other harsher face to them, and kill them in large quantities.' He laughed, pleased with his bleak joke.

There was a call of praise from the crowd, and the retinue rose. Akhenaten was assisted from the Window by hands that everyone pretended were invisible, and the procession moved on, across the bridge and down into the Great Temple. 'Come,' said Parennefer, 'time for the show.'

And what a show it was. As we reached the end of the enclosed bridge, wide steps descended into the main courtyard of the temple, affording us a panoramic view. There were thousands and thousands of people waiting in attendance, who called out the formulas of praise to the King; national and international parties and delegations all waiting to join the procession, everyone shuffling and pushing surreptitiously to maintain or improve their positions while simul-taneously sustaining their dignity. For all this power gathered in one place, it was not an edifying sight. I was suddenly overcome with a wish to walk away, fast.

The open area was vast, at least twenty times the size of the Karnak Temple courts. First went an advance group who were greeted by the temple guards. Then came standard bearers from all around the Empire: a Nubian with feathers in his hair, a bearded Hittite carrying a spear, a Libyan with the traditional short hair and long side-locks, and others carrying insignia: square tablets held high on papyrus staffs, and a model sacred barque, its ribbons and plumes fluttering as they moved through the overheated air. At the heart of it all was Akhenaten, high up on a palanquin, with runners, grooms and attendants beside him. I have seen smaller ceremonies in Thebes, where the ancient mutual antagonism between Priesthood and royal authority was very clear. Not so here. Akhenaten seemed to have it all under his control. After all, he had proclaimed himself the incarnation of the god. Now he was going to have to prove it.

We passed through one great court, under the burning eye of the sun, through the deep darkness of another pylon, and out again between its banners into another court of even more enormous dimensions, like a jubilee field, with a large altar and feast offerings laid out on tables at its centre. Here waited hundreds more people in carefully rehearsed rows; and at the centre of the first row was Meryra, surrounded by members of his court, family and friends. He was wear-ing a long white gown with a decorated sash, its end held by a kneeling manservant. Behind him was his private retinue. Rows of officials held scrolls and reed pens - scribes to record the announcements and speeches. Medjay officers stood behind them carrying batons. And for each person there was a servant holding a sunshade against the harshness of the sun.

'I hear it's not all love between Meryra and Ramose,' I said to Parennefer.

'Well, you'll have noticed that Ramose is not here. It is a public blow for him. People are saying that Meryra has been promoted precisely to balance Ramose's extensive influence. There are key areas of disagreement.'

'About what?'

'Financial control. Foreign policy. And hidden within that is another struggle about the whole direction of the Great Estate.' 'Tell me more.' 'Not now. Later. Watch.'

Akhenaten's palanquin had come to a halt and was placed on supports beside the altar. An absolute silence fell. Even the swallows seemed to settle down. Akhenaten and Meretaten stepped up to the high altar. He raised his hands to the sun, holding up on high a bowl of something - of light, it seemed, for the beaten metal shone as if he were holding up the dish of creation to the Aten for it to sip at. And every single person followed him. Thousands and thousands of hands reaching out to receive the gift of the light. Lightland, our world of light. 'Light, light, light!' they cried out.

I loathed the cries, the stupid conformity; but it struck me forcibly how clever Akhenaten had been. He had brought the god out of darkness and mystery into the light of day. This was not some secret figure hidden in a dark shrine, accessible only by the intercession of the Priests, but an overwhelming god of heat and light, the first fire without which there could be no life, no world, no songs, no crops, nothing. I raised my hands like everyone else, reluctantly and without, I hope, the moronic expression of devotion I observed with contempt on those around me. Yet I must confess I almost felt the quiver of belief. Here was something I could see and feel rather than something I was called upon to believe in on the authority of tradition. I felt for a moment as if I too could be drawn into this great story, this boundless wonder of the god and the word, the divine being who grants us life.

But I pulled myself together. After all, this great being, source of light and life, needed no worship from me. And I have seen this god's darker works, the ones that do not belong in songs and chants and prayers and poems. And, if I might risk heresy, he did not need it either from all these men, their hands raised in worship not because they believed in the religion, but because they believed they must be seen to do this in order to survive. No. The person who needed such worship was the strange man at the heart of all this ceremony, the one I had seen wincing with pain.

We stood for some time like madmen in the blazing light of midday. Eventually Akhenaten lowered the bowl, and suddenly there was action. Fan bearers and sunshade bearers came forward, and Priests led on an ox, its horns decorated with a blaze of coloured plumes, a woven garland around his neck. The Priests offered up the prayer, then one of them came forward with a knife. The calm beast understood nothing of what was about to happen to it. The blade was raised high, flashing, and then it swung down quickly, slicing through the beast's strong white neck, showing the butcher's world beneath. A shower of crimson blood spattered onto the hot stones and splashed into the offering bowl. The animal's expression seemed troubled rather than devastated. Then, with a bellow and a sigh of complaint, it slipped and skittered in its own blood and the fallen petals, and collapsed. Quickly, other Priests got to work. What had been a living being just moments before was jointed and hacked into body parts carried forward to be offered on the tables. Blood and flowers - the gods' delights. I thought of Tjenry, and his mutilated remains.

Music and dance followed swiftly. The dancers moved back and forth dressed in their veils and linen robes, shaking their sistra and their breasts, while a troupe of blind singers and a harpist, their faces turned considerately away from the Lord, beat their palms on the ground to keep time. Old and bald, with folds of fat hanging from their comfortable bellies, their sightless faces entranced by the power of the music. Alas, to my ears these venerable gentlemen sounded more like a pack of sincere but tone-deaf dogs.

Then Meryra came forward, attended by three subordinates and three Priests, and slowly ascended the steps to kneel down, his arms still lifted in salutation, his collars glistening in the sun, at the feet of Akhenaten, who leaned down towards him and placed another collar around his neck, this one finer and larger than the others. Meryra remained where he was as Akhenaten spoke.

'I, Lord of the Two Lands, let the Commander of the Treasury, the High Priest of the Aten in the Temple of Akhetaten, receive gold on his neck and his feet for his obedience to the House of the King. I, who live by the Truth, Lord of the Two Lands, say: I make you, Meryra, High Priest of the Aten in the Temple of the Aten in Akhetaten. And I say: my servant who hears the Teaching, my heart is satisfied with you, and you shall enjoy the Gifts of the King in the Temple of the Aten.'

More silence. Then Meryra made his answer. 'Life, prosperity, health to the Great Son of the Aten. Grant that He endure for ever and ever. Abundant are the gifts which the Aten knows to give, pleasing his heart, the Living and the Great Aten, Lord of the Orbit, Lord of Heaven, Lord of Earth, within the Temple of the Aten in Akhetaten.'

And then there were other, lesser speeches from other, lesser figures. Eventually even Parennefer looked bored and hot, even though he seemed to love this kind of thing. As if reading my mind he leaned over and whispered, 'Ceremonies are the glory of any civilization, but will this
never
end?'

Eventually it was over. The heat was disastrous, and the older men in particular were suffering. I looked along the rows; most were surreptitiously trying to mop their brows, or inch a little deeper into whatever shade they could find. Several were swaying dangerously, others were being propped up by their servants. And then I felt the hair bristle on the back of my neck. A pair of topaz eyes glittered out of the shade opposite me. That compact, cropped grey hair. The fine, shining gold draped around his shoulders. Mahu. On seeing me his expression did not alter in the slightest.

Parennefer, clever Parennefer, picked up on my reaction. He immediately saw the cause. He pretended to be making some pious comment to me, but he whispered, 'What is going on between you two?'