Nefertiti (5 page)
I found myself in a large, open, well-lit room. A great desk, its polished surface of some gorgeous hardwood unfamiliar to me, dominated. On it were a few objects of fine workmanship: a vase of blue lotus flowers, a statuette of Akhenaten, an alabaster decanter delicately formed in the shape of a bird rising from water, a collection of goblets, and two wooden trays. There was a strange panting sound coming from beneath the desk where a large man sat considering a document he had taken from the first tray. He ignored my presence. Mahu.
He was stocky, powerfully muscled, middle-aged. His seniority and power were evident in the manner and proportions of his body and the distinctively brutal, almost hewn shape of his head, with its strong grey hair cut close to the scalp; as well as in the elegant clothing of that body, which was rich and luxurious in every way. He wore an extraordinary collar. I had time to observe it. Six rows of rings carried a multitude of smaller gold rings strung on cords, held together by a heavy clasp decorated with a winged scarab and sun discs, and
inlaid with lapis lazuli. He also wore a sleeved tunic of finest white linen and sandals.
But more interesting than all this theatrical regalia were his eyes. When he finally deigned to look up I saw that they were unusual, not in their topaz colouring, but in the way they shimmered with hunger. As cruel and apparently casual as a lion or a god. I felt he could gaze through to my very bones, to the weaknesses and vulnerabilities and destinies hidden within them. I wondered whether he ate breakfast; whether he had children, a wife, friends; whether his was a life in which such power can be harnessed to tenderness and care; or whether all humanity, all its dreams and ambitions and vanities of the heart, was so clear to him that he had no more feeling for it than a god has for the foolish mortals whom time wipes out in a moment, like a cloth across a speckled and misty mirror.
I returned his stare. He rose from the desk and moved towards me, accompanied by a slathering black dog - the source of the odd panting.
'I see you are interested in my collar,' he said. 'A gift from Akhenaten. It is important to dress as one believes oneself to be, don't you think?'
‘Y
our attire is magnificent,' I acknowledged, hoping my slight irony would hit home. But his fastidious appraisal of my own rather travel-worn clothing seemed to indicate that any irony on my part would be cancelled out by the evident inadequacy, and therefore lack of self-belief, of my own appearance.
We waited a moment, considering what could be said next. I used to talk and talk; now I wait in silence for them to make the first move. But he seemed entirely undaunted by my poor ploy. As if reading my thoughts, he gestured to the couch. I had no choice but to sit while he remained standing. I still have a lot to learn about these games of power.
He stared down at me, and rubbed his chin. The silence was discomforting.
'So, you are chosen to investigate the mystery.'
'I have that honour.'
'What do you suppose you have done to deserve it?' 'I suppose nothing. Whatever gifts I have are in the service of our Lord.' I winced as I listened to these feeble platitudes. 'And your family
...?'
'My father was a scribe in the Office of Construction.'
My lack of elite status hung in the air between us.
'I am prepared to learn the nature of the mystery,' I added.
'Akhenaten himself wishes to apprise you of its known elements. He has granted me the task to introduce you to our new world here, to assist you as may seem appropriate, and above all to keep an eye on you.'
He paused meaningfully. I waited.
'Also we have assigned two of our best officers, one senior, one more junior but promising, to guide you as required, at all hours of the day and night. To help you to find your way around the place.'
Watchdogs running at my heels. A nuisance, and deliberately so.
'I'm sorry to say I do not support the choice of you,' he continued. You may as well know this now. Why bring in an outside man? A man who knows nothing of how things work here? A man whose experience of the real world consists of petty thieves and whores, whose
expertise
extends to examining the petty and minor clues scattered about in the muck and dirt of the pathetic scenes of the murders of the low-class scum and the criminal? A man who calls this the new science of investigation. However, the matter was not in my hands. This is a new world. It is not Thebes, and it will take you time you do not have to learn its ways. There are many forces at work; I am concerned that, mishandled or misunderstood, they could crush a man like stale bread.'
And those topaz eyes gazed right through me for a long moment.
'But please remember: I am here to help. Let me offer my hand in professional respect, Medjay to Medjay. I am the man with the keys to this city. I know it stone by stone. I know where the stones are from, and who placed them in their positions, and why.'
I maintained a level gaze throughout this soliloquy. And since it seemed we were making speeches to each other, after a respectful pause I stood up and began my reply.
'I agree with your assessment of the situation. And I gratefully accept your offer of professional support. But since Akhenaten himself has chosen me, I hope I can earn the unqualified support of all his servants. I believe he would wish it to be so. And if I fail, there will be no question of my fate.'
He inclined his head very slightly, and held my gaze for a little too long. 'We understand each other perfectly.' He then turned back to his desk, briefly scanned the papyrus document, looked up at me with an enigmatic expression somewhere between a smile and a warning, and almost negligently let the document drift back down into the empty tray on his desk. 'Your interview is destined for sunset,' he said, before sitting down and turning his attention to the window.
I walked out of the room with the feeling he was watching me through the back of that cruel skull, and closed the door behind me. I had to give it a little shove to close it fully, and the squeak and bang alerted the guards, the nasty little secretary and the assistant. The latter came forward and said, 'I will show you your accommodation. And then bring you to your appointment.' So he already knew all about it. I felt like an animal being prepared for the offering table.
Sunset, indeed. The hour of death.
I can do nothing but wait, and waiting is torture to me. I would rather eat sand. I have been given an office, with a couch and a desk, in a construction behind the main temples and the Medjay barracks. It looks on to an empty pool, with a fountain that does not work. It is surrounded by a terrace, and beyond that there is a view of a rock-strewn, red-earth plot. Someone has hurriedly tried to make the terrace look less derelict by placing some uncertain plants and little acacia bushes in pots. And a bench, as if I might have the leisure to sit in the shade and think of pleasure and
poetry. But otherwise the build
ing seems uninhabited. Above the head of the couch is a niche containing an icon of Akhenaten himself, the Great King into whose presence I am shortly to be ushered. Well, I will then be able to gauge the differences between the strange fellow in this niche, with his long neck, sagging belly and large sloping eyes, somewhere between a mule and a mother-in-law, and the reality of the divine incarnation.
I drank water from the jug. It was unusually sweet and clear. Then
I tested the couch for softness and was surprised by how comfortable it seemed, especially after the spine-bending experience of the ship's hammock. Too comfortable as it turned out. I awoke, suddenly, to banging. It was late, and someone was knocking on the door. I remembered nothing. My journal lay on the floor, its sheets somewhat creased, the flow of words stopped in mid-thought. The image of Akhenaten still stared down at me, as if I was already failing on the job. But I felt strangely rested. Had I been so tired to sleep like that? I checked the room. Nothing seemed changed. I examined the journal: no sheets torn out, no markings. Yet - something felt different. As if there were a trace of some other presence in the memory of the air. Had there been some potion in the water? I remembered then its unusual sweetness.
The knocking was repeated. I called out 'Enter!' in an authoritative way that I hoped disguised my afternoon sleepiness. The officer of the guard who had conducted me to the interview, and then to this office, appeared at the threshold. A man perhaps five years younger than me, with careful eyes and a well-learned expression of caution accommodated within a pleasant, alert and undistinguished face. He was followed by a younger man, more handsome, neat and smooth, with the eyes of a charmer and that deliberately slow leisure of movement common to our profession.
'What is your name?' I addressed the more senior of the pair.
'Khety, sir.'
'A wise name for a wise ma
n?' 'My parents
hoped so, sir.'
'We gain power from our names, don't you believe?'
'It is generally believed to be so, yes, sir.'
He held himself carefully. Unconfidently confident.
'How long have you been here, Khety?'
'Since the beginning, sir. With Mahu himself.'
'You mean since the city was built?'
'All my life. My father worked for him before me.'
This was common practice, of course. The generations of a low- or even middle-ranking family would have a great deal to gain by such an alliance, as well as a great deal to lose if they were in any way to fall from favour. But it told me quite candidly, and as I might easily have guessed, that I must deal carefully with this officer. Bring him in to my researches while knowing that every detail and every step will be reported to Mahu. All perfectly normal.
'And you?'
'Tjenry, sir.'
His tone lacked a touch of respect, but I liked his style, his hint of bravura.
'I look forward to the benefit of your experience and knowledge during the investigation of the mystery.'
'It's an honour, sir.' He allowed a touch of a smile to curve his lips.
'Good. I need you to assist me, to show me the ways and the secrets of this great city.'
'Yes, sir.'
'You have come to conduct me to my interview?' 'It is time.' 'Then let us go.'
And indeed, the sun was setting, the shadows lengthening, trees and buildings now illuminated sideways; not the blinding in-candescence of afternoon, but an evening world of gold, quicksilver and blue shades, accompanied by conferences of birds. We walked together up the wide thoroughfare and on to the neatly swept Royal Road as it ascended gradually towards the central precinct parallel to the river and the setting sun. Individuals were walking in the same direction accompanied by their obedient shadows, with an air of singular purpose, as if they must never be seen to be doing anything less than work vital to the survival of the state.
'Khety, what is the principle of the arrangement of this part of the city?'
'It is a grid, sir. The streets are all straight lines, and they intersect each other so that the buildings in their sections are all of the same size. It is perfect.'
'Perfect, but not finished.'
He ignored my comment, but Tjenry added, 'There's not much time left now until the Festival. They've brought in extra labour. Even so, it's going to be tough to meet the deadlines.'
Khety continued with his guided tour: 'To the right of us is the Records Office, and beyond that the House of Life.'
'The Records Office? I'll want to visit that.'
'It is an extensive library of information about everything and everyone.'
'It's the only one in the whole of the Two Lands,' chipped in Tjenry brightly, as if he thought it was a great idea. 'So we are all in there, reduced to information?' 'I believe so,' said Khety.
'It is amazing how a few marks on papyrus can be said to represent all our histories and secrets, and be stored, and read, and remembered.' Khety nodded as if he was not sure what I was talking about. 'And what is that construction beyond?' 'The Small Aten Temple.'
'And that in the distance?' I could see ahead, opposite the sparkle and sails of the Great River, a low and immensely long building.
'The Great Aten Temple, which is kept for exceptional festivities.' 'Where am I to meet the King?'
'My instructions are to bring you to the Great Palace but to show you the Small Aten Temple first.'
'Houses, palaces, temples; great this, small that. It is confusing, isn't it? What's wrong with how things used to be?'
Khety nodded again, uncertain how to respond. Tjenry grinned. I grinned back.
Up ahead I could see the river o
f people and their shadows head
ing towards the great pylons of the temple, six of them arranged in pairs through the heart of the building, dazzlingly white. Streamers of multicoloured cloth drifted elegantly in the river breeze from their high poles as if they had all the time in the world. Unfinished h
ieroglyphs covered the stone fac
ades of the pylons, illuminated gold by the setting sun. I struggled to read some of them, but I have never been good at this. Then we passed between the central pylons, jostled stiffly by the human stream that narrowed through the guard gate under another carving of the Aten, then bunched, hustled and distributed itself out into an open courtyard with colonnades on each side. The people dispersed expertly to their offices and appointments. Sunset is an important time of prayer, in these days more so than ever before.
But this was a temple unlike any other I had seen. The great dark stone temples at Karnak are labyrinths lit by a few spots of intense white light, leading to ever more obscure chambers, all ensuring the god is kept perpetually hidden deep in the shadowy heart of his House, away from the ordinary light of the world and its teeming temporal worshippers. This was deliberately designed to be exactly the opposite, wide open to the air and the sun. Vast walls were decorated with thousands of images in panels and sections, almost all of them, as far as I could see, depicting Akhenaten, Nefertiti and their children worshipping the Aten. And the whole space was filled with hundreds of altars, arranged in rows, and all around the walls. At the back were chapels, again filled with altars. In the centre a main raised altar, surrounded by lotus-shaped incense burners, was piled high with food and flowers from both Upper and Lower Egypt. How clever to unite the offerings of the Two Lands in the one altar, and how ostentatious in our time of trouble. And everywhere one looked were statues, in all sizes, of Akhenaten and Nefertiti, looking down at their subjects not with the distant stare of official power, but with lively human faces, perfectly carved in the limestone, their hands intertwined or raised, cupped, to receive the divine gifts of the sun that on this evening, as every evening, were streaming down to them from a real sky. And people stood still, eyes wide open, their hands holding up offerings to the light: flowers, food, even occasionally babies.
I looked down at my own hands and saw that they were gilded by the warm evening light.
' "Since he casts his rays on me, bestowing life and dominion for ever and eternity, I shall make Akhetaten for the Aten, my father, in this place," ' Khety recited, and he smiled. 'The god is everywhere with us.'
'Except at night.'
'The god sails the darkness of the Otherworld, sir. But he always returns, reborn to a new day.'
'Speaking of which, should we
not now continue to the appoint
ment?' said Tjenry, amusingly bored by the spectacle of the worship.
They led, and I followed, through the crowds.
Whether or not this was the
deliberate intention, I was dis
orientated by the experience of the new temple and its worshippers. Yes, one hears about the new religion, and how we must now worship the sun disc, with our arms raised. Yes, one discusses its pros and cons. Yes, one has to consider one's position and one's future. For some it is a matter of life and death while for most of us it is a question of doing what is required and getting on with our lives. But now I do not know what to think. Standing in the sun has never been a wise thing to do.
We turned back out of the temple, left onto the Royal Road, and soon found ourselves outside the Great Palace. Connecting that complex to the King's House was a great covered bridge, with square archways to allow traffic to pass beneath. And in the centre, above the crowds, a large balcony.
'The Window of Appearances.'
'Ah.'
'From where our
Lord bestows gifts.' 'Have you
received gifts, Khety?'
'This collar, sir. It is of fine workmanship. And the materials are excellent.'
He fingered the gold thread and azure beads. It wasn't nearly as fine as the one worn by Mahu, but nevertheless a piece of beauty and worth.
You must have done great works to deserve such a gift.' 'He's very reliable, sir,' said Tjenry, who wore no such collar.
'I am faithful,' said Khety. They glanced at each other.
'And here we are - the Great Palace,' said Tjenry expansively, as if he owned the place.
