Nefertiti (37 page)

'I thought I knew Senet well,' he said. 'When did you work it out?'

'I knew there were strange and missing elements to her story. But her grief betrayed her.'

He nodded. 'That man is a monster.'

'I don't believe in monsters, Khety. That makes it too easy for the rest of us. Ay is one of us, in the end.' 'That makes it worse,' he said. I had to agree.

Nefertiti came out from the chamber. Khety moved away respect-fy, leaving us alone. I had things to say now.

'That was quite a story you told me, when we first met, about your father and your family. You fooled me well.'

She looked at me calmly. 'When you are born without parents, you spend all your time imagining them. You imagine them as perfect people. To make up for all the things that didn't happen you dream up all the stories, and the stories seem real. Until one day
...
'

'The truth.'

'Yes. I imagined my father as a good man, a wonderful, kind man. One day I believed he would come to rescue me. I believed he would take me up on his white horse and we'd ride away together, for ever. Safe.'

'I could have destroyed him for you.'

She paused, thinking. 'No. You could have killed him, but then he would still be inside me, inside my head, for ever. That is worse, perhaps. Perhaps all I can do is forgive him. For what he has done to me. For what he has done to others. If I can do that, then he has no power over me any more.'

I was again amazed and appalled. 'Forgive him? He's used your life, his own child's, as a means to an end, as a way to power, and he's threatened to kill you and your children. There is no love in him.'

'That does not mean I should not forgive him. Love begets love. Hate begets hate. Revenge begets revenge. The choice is mine.'

'So you will accept his demands? Will you keep the feather?'

'I must. There is no choice. This is the destruction of all we have worked for; it is the end of the dream of a better way. But I warned you: the world makes its demands upon us, upon me, and I cannot say no. I have enough power to save those I love, and to influence the course of the future. I have a responsibility to the future.'

Then a thought came to me very clearly. 'I will not see you again.'

She took my hand in hers. 'I will not forget you.'

We sat there for a long time, together.

42

Well before dawn, in order to return without being seen, we descended from the tomb chamber and began to walk across the chilly dark plain towards the city and an unknowable future. I glanced across at Nefertiti, the Perfect One, who walked beside me now. She looked calmer, resolute; her eyes were raised, looking ahead steadily. Perhaps knowing the truth was easier, for all its horror, than living with un-certainty. The older girls stumbled beside us, still half asleep, and Khety and I carried the younger ones on our shoulders, lolling in and out of their sweet, strange dreams. Akhenaten shuffled along look-ing down at the dark, arid ground. Ay's guardsmen followed behind us at a little distance.

Nefertiti chose to return to the North Palace, the family's country-side retreat set apart from the rest of the city and its suburbs. It was not well fortified, and it lacked a resident barracks, so the security would be weak. But she said she had her reasons, and besides, its isolation was an advantage. Then Meretaten and Meketaten chimed in, suddenly

awake, insisting also on the North Palace so that they could visit their pet gazelles.

From a distance, all that could be seen of the palace was an endless high mud-brick wall which seemed to enclose a vast area of land running down to the bank of the Great River. There were no windows in the walls, and when we arrived we found the solid timber gates shut tight. I knocked as loudly as I dared. The sound seemed to travel far and unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn quiet. Eventually I heard a rattling and a groan, and then the small gate window opened. An old man blinked cautiously, then, recognizing the early callers standing in their dusty royal robes with a start of wonder and awe, began praying loudly. There was more fear than reverence in his eyes. I had no patience for this, and thumped on the heavy doors until he opened them. He prostrated himself and continued praying, so we stepped over him and moved into the palace precinct. He got up and followed us, telling us that the place was empty but being defended, single-handedly and with honour, by him alone. 'I am the only one remaining here, all the others have fled, but I knew, I
knew
you would return, and here I am waiting for you.' He looked like a waiter expect-ing a tip. Nefertiti thanked him quietly for his loyalty.

Sand had piled up against the walls in the courtyard, and all the internal doors and windows remained shuttered. The Queen walked ahead, opening doors and passing through columned reception halls, deserted and echoing. Khety and I kept ourselves alert, for I could not be certain there were no hostile forces here, perhaps Horemheb's. But we found no trace of anyone.

Ay's guards had stayed at the gates, so Khety and I stood guard in the main courtyard while Nefertiti took the children into their chambers to rest and prepare themselves for the coming day. Akhenaten sullenly followed them. We observed the last stars retiring, and soon dawn's high blue light began to fill the dome of the sky. Slowly the moon sank into the Otherworld. Dogs barked across the landscape, and the ceaseless chatter of the birds in the river-side trees began. Life was reasserting itself.

Then Akhenaten appeared at the door. He looked at his god, the Aten, now a sliver of red, as it appeared just at the rim of the eastern cliffs. But there was no jubilation or celebration in his expression. He raised his arms in silent adoration. It looked futile and mad. We averted our eyes, as respectfully as we could, hoping not to have to emulate him.

'Come, I wish to show you something.'

He turned and shuffled back into the dusty hallway, and I followed, leaving Khety to remain on guard. We walked for some time until eventually we came to a splendidly carved double door. He threw it open, and insisted I enter first. I found myself in a tall, square chamber. It was open to the sky, and had only three walls on which an artist had recreated a vision of the Perfect Life. Kingfishers were depicted in mid-flight, their black and white wings scissoring the still air as they dived in and out of the ringed, lucid water; or alighted, momentarily but for ever, upon the nodding heads of the great papyrus stalks twice as high as a man. And then a strange thing happened: with a brief shrill cry a shape darted, on a flash of brilliant wings, into the chamber and vanished, just as suddenly, into the wall. What had I seen? I could not believe my eyes.

Akhenaten clapped his hands and laughed with childish pleasure at my amazement. 'Nesting boxes, hidden in the walls! You see, even birds can be fooled by the greatest art. They believe they are in a real river!'

He was delighted with this make-believe world, but for me it was proof that his perfect city of paint and mud and light and shadow was just an illusion. I had seen the wrong side of it, I had seen how it worked, and I understood above all that it was built not for beauty or even for power, but for fear.

'This is not all, there is more,' he said, taking me by the arm, his eyes brimming like a lonely old man in an asylum.

The chamber opened on to a secret green world: a park full of fruit trees, plants and water channels. Like the Otherworld, it seemed to have no beginning and no end. In a penned area, young gazelles waited by long, carved feeding troughs. The troughs were empty. No-one was feeding these abandoned animals now. I found a store of grain and quickly filled the troughs, although to what purpose I had no idea. Surely these beasts would not survive for much longer amid this dereliction. I watched Akhenaten stroke the feeding animals with some deep need, talking to them quietly.

We moved deeper into his green world, and with his gold staff he pointed out all the beasts and the birds, reciting their names as if he were their creator. Then, suddenly, he was furious. 'I created this world,' he shouted. 'This city, this garden! And now they will destroy everything!'

I nodded. There was nothing to be said.

The sun was moving into the House of the Day. I bade him farewell. He gripped my arm, stared me in the eye, and said, 'May you breathe the sweet wind of the north and go forth into the sky on the arms of the Living Light, the Aten, your body protected and your heart content, for ever and ever.' It was a blessing from his heart, and I was moved, more than I expected. Then he waved me away and disappeared slowly into his green world. That was the last I ever saw of him.

43

Nefertiti rode ahead in her chariot of gold. The older princesses rode behind her in their own smaller chariots. Their red and gold scarves flared out, fluttering like rare birds in the soft morning breeze. Khety and I followed them, flanked still by Ay's guards and their silver arrows. The day, paradoxically, was exceptionally beautiful, as if the storm had polished the natural world, restoring it to its pristine state. The waters sparkled and the birds sang. The river glittered here and there beyond the trees. But as we moved onwards through the city, the human world looked very different. Fires had destroyed sections of the suburbs, leaving charred ruins. One area of storage buildings was still ablaze. People wandered aimlessly, their faces grey with ash. Dead bodies lay untended in passageways. I saw soldiers throwing corpses on carts, one on top of the other, without care or respect.

A troop of Horemheb's soldiers controlled access to the central city, and had set up barriers across the way. But when they saw the Queen, and Ay's men, they stepped aside, and we passed unchallenged.

Along the Royal Road, small crowds began to accumulate. People stopped what they were doing - sweeping up debris, or tending im-provised little fires around which they had gathered against the terror and darkness of the night hours - to stare blankly at the sight of the Queen in her chariot. As she passed, some rose and made profound gestures of respect and worship; others cried out in desperation, their hands clenched in supplication. She acknowledged them.

As we approached the temples of the central city we saw Horemheb's troops in their uniforms standing guard on all corners, while others herded straggling groups of people - the uncertain remains of visiting parties from all over the Empire - from one place to another. Improvised encampments had grown up literally overnight. A well had been cleared, and long lines of people holding jugs and jars waited to receive fresh supplies. Some bread stalls were selling, no doubt at inflated prices, to orderly queues of people. Everywhere, people looked shocked and terrified, unsure about what was happen-ing to their world, amazed and daunted by the swift changes of fortune. They stumbled about, or suddenly stopped walking, as if they had forgotten where they were going, and why.

But when they saw Nefertiti passing on her chariot, everyone's faces lightened, as if here at last was something they could believe in; something they had lost and now found again. She slowed her chariot and acknowledged the cries and calls of support and approval as they grew. The people, forgetting their fear of the soldiers, now pushed and surged to line the sides of the Royal Road. Theirs was not the well-orchestrated and insincere enthusiasm that had greeted Akhenaten in worship; their cheers were cries from the heart. Something in the Queen's spirit rose to meet their call. I too believed, at that moment, that she could, after all, save something from this. My spirits lightened a little. What surely lay ahead suddenly seemed less intractable.

To the overwhelming accompaniment of roars and prayers of support in a chaos of languages, and a fanfare of trumpets from the assembled troops, we turned through the gate and into the vast courtyard of the Great Palace. It had been swept and restored to order.

The great stone statues of Nefertiti and Akhenaten lined the huge open space, which was now packed to the walls with waiting digni-taries, ambassadors and leaders, their scribes and attendants, servants and fan holders and parasol holders, all of whom turned to observe the Queen's arrival. It seemed they had been waiting for some time. Everything suddenly went very quiet. All I could hear was the rustle of several thousand of the finest linens in the world as the gathering rose to its feet, waiting to witness the next move in the game of power. There was no sign of Horemheb or Ay.

Nefertiti came to a halt and, still holding the reins of her team of horses and looking magnificent in the double crown, addressed the people from her gold chariot.

'This night has been long and dark,' she said. 'But now a new sun has risen upon a new day. We are gathered together in witness and in celebration. The shade of our Great Palace offers protection, and comfort, and security, to all of you. We return to it. We invite you to join us.'

She was acknowledging, without saying so explicitly, that the cult of the Aten was finished; that Akhenaten was absent but that she was present and there had been a shift in power. She was the embodiment of this political change. She was the new sun. She was the new day.

There was silence for a long moment. Then, gradually, a slow murmur of approval and appreciation began to spread through the crowd. Men nodded, and turned to each other in agreement. This was what they had wanted and needed to hear. Applause and calls of praise began to ring out, growing from tentative beginnings into a long, loud, strong affirmation. So far so good.

Nefertiti descended from the chariot, gathered the princesses around her, and strode into the main building as if to say: we are a dynasty of strong women; we are in charge. The crowd of men followed her inside. I tried to keep up with her as we all struggled along the palace's overwhelmed corridors. Despite the clamour and activity, the petitions and prayers and calls for her attention, she was still able to make discreet acknowledgements of the respects paid by the waiting scribes, administrators, palace officials and overseers -fathers and sons standing together to witness her return - as she passed down the corridors.

Finally we entered a great hall, near the water's edge. I had never seen a chamber with so many graceful columns, hundreds of them, surmounted by red, blue and white chevrons, holding up a ceiling of heavenly stars. It seemed ironic to me now that the dirty business of power and politics required such beautiful chambers.

The hall was soon overflowing with dignitaries, and there were many more people crowding into the side passages and antechambers. Nefertiti, accompanied by her daughters, entered the Window of Appearances, turned, and looked out over the gathering.

'I am returned,' she said. 'I stand before you now not as a god but as a woman. I am heart, and spirit, and truth. Listen to what I say, and speak of it to your people. I come to restore truth. Let all know this: truth shall prevail. Any man who challenges or dishonours our peace with war or corruption or lies is guilty of a crime against truth and against the Two Lands. This is the Truth of the Gods, the Truth of
maat,
and the Truth of my House.'

The chamber was utterly silent. Everyone was attending to every nuance and each unspoken implication of her words.

'And now we shall reward, in the sight and witness of the whole world, those who we love and who have tendered us their love.'

Through the columns and the crowded heads of the world's men of power, I saw Horemheb approach the Window. He ascended the platform before her, bowed his arrogant head, and received a gold collar, which Nefertiti placed around his neck. He stood back, bowed, kneeled, and stepped down. He did all of this with an exact grace, but it carried with it no sense whatsoever of real commitment. Next came Ramose. He, too, received a collar, but his reaction was one of pride. He looked moved and relieved. Others followed as the herald called out their names, leading figures in the hierarchy whose loyalty she needed to ensure in public before she could move forward to the harder negotiations. She was bringing together the elements that had threatened to tear the land apart, making them acknowledge her authority and obey her rule.

Then I heard my name called. The room went silent. Surely it was a mistake. I heard it again: 'Rahotep, Seeker of Mysteries'. I was startled. My breath suddenly sounded loud in my ears, and my heart raced. As in a dream, I saw a pathway open up for me in the crowd, and I passed through it, past the rows of curious, shadowy faces, towards the Window. I stepped up onto the platform and looked up at her face, framed by the icons of her power. Everything seemed charged with detail: the clear light in her glittering eyes; the colours, red, gold, blue, in the Window; the red ribbons that hung below the frieze of fierce, protecting cobra-heads above us; even the expectant hush in the room.

I knew that I had found her, and I understood that I had lost her. I had always known it would be so. This was the end. Is it foolish to say I felt something like snow falling about me, as if these last moments with her had slowed and changed into the intangible, delicate and fast-disappearing flakes? There was a look of lightness on her face. She possessed her power once more. I felt a sadness welling in my heart. It was not a good sadness, clear as sweet water; it was darker and stranger, like some beautifully bitter, rich, blood-red wine. I thought of her then as that box of snow. My treasure. I would carry her memory with me, and I would never open it.

She reached down to me and placed a gold collar around my neck. I breathed deeply, needing to take in her scent. Already she was becom-ing distant, drifting away from me. She whispered one word:
goodbye.
Then I stepped away, the unaccustomed weight of gold and honour upon my shoulders - the gift of a better future, the one thing she could give to me. She had rewarded me with gold and with respect. And she had done it in front of the world. And she had spoken to me.

I walked back to my place, and this time I drew interested and sometimes admiring expressions and nods from these powerful men. Things had changed again. Status, that strange and fickle god, had smiled on me. I found myself standing next to Nakht. He gestured to the collar with a kind of 'well done' expression on his face.

I looked back to the Window, for Ay had appeared, carrying with him his peculiar cold atmosphere, his uncanny unearthliness. He stepped up onto the platform, the last to be acknowledged. There was utter silence in the room, as if no-one dared even breathe during the encounter of these two great figures. They stared at each other for a moment, then Nefertiti lowered the collar around her father's neck as if it were a chain not a reward. She was trying to yoke him to her inten-tions. She seemed to have succeeded. He made a light bow of respect, and stepped back. But then he looked up again and, with a faint smile I instantly mistrusted, clapped his hands together.

From a side door emerged a slight, strange figure - the young boy I had seen once before with Akhenaten. He shuffled forward with an exquisite gold staff tucked under his right arm. Its tapping on the floor sounded loud in the hushed room. His face was gaunt and charismatic, his body angled and thin. He looked as if he had been here among mortals before, many times. I shivered involuntarily. I looked at Nefertiti's face. It was shocked, as if a ghost were standing before her.

The boy arrived at the Window, and Ay invited him to come and stand next to him. Nefertiti seemed to have no say in the matter, and she honoured him with a collar as well. The three stood together, the Queen in her Window looking down upon the older man and the young boy. Something as yet unknown was framed here for the future.

'Who is that boy?' I whispered to Nakht.

'His name is Tutenkhaten.'

'Who is he?'

'He is a royal child. Some say his father is Akhenaten, some say not.'

'And who is his mother?'

'That I do not know. But it would be important to find out, for that boy has a role written for him by Ay in the Book of Time. If the time of the Aten is over, the Amun will be restored. He may yet be called by a new name. Tutankhamun.'

Then Ay invited the Queen to descend. She did so, with her daughters. A large door opened at the far end of the hall. The chamber it opened on to was dark with congregating shadows. There was a sound of rustling and shuffling, as men made way for her. Nefertiti knew she must walk now, across this great hall, past these great men and into that dark chamber, with pride and dignity. She set off, followed by Ay, Horemheb, Ramose and the shuffling boy. I thought again of the Society of Ashes. I wondered who else held feathers. Who else was waiting in that room of shadows?

The Queen walked past me, her face proud and dignified beneath the great crown. I remembered all those glorious stone faces in Thutmosis's workshop, and it was as if the best of them had come to life now in her poise, balance and beauty. Her face was self-possessed and powerful. But I saw in her eyes, for a moment as she glanced at me, those gold flecks of pain. Then the door closed behind them, and she was gone.

As the hall burst into an uproar of controversial shouts and arguments, a breathless pain overwhelmed my heart. Nakht noticed. 'Let us go outside,' he said.

As we walked away through the crowds I tried to regain my breath. I needed to talk, to keep thinking, to move ahead, as she had done, into my own future. I needed to evade the pain of this moment.

'How is your garden coming on?' I heard myself say, astonished by the irrelevance of my question.

Nakht smiled, understanding. I had forgotten how much I liked him.

'Oh, it is struggling with the desert, as always,' he said. 'But I am returning to Thebes, now that all is changing. Why don't you join me?'