An Evil Spirit Out of the West

Chapter 16

Such songs rang through Thebes: all along its avenues, narrow twisting streets and across the broad, seething river into the Necropolis. The paean echoed around the tombs of the dead and up beyond the great brooding peak where the Goddess Meretseger had her home. The song of the Aten was everywhere. On shopfronts, on stalls, carved on the pylons and temples, displayed on their banners and pennants. Akhenaten had come into his own. He had broken with convention and, dressed in all the glorious war regalia of Pharaoh, processed solemnly through the city. Nefertiti, in the chariot beside him, received the plaudits of the crowd. There was none of the usual pomp, the clashing of cymbals, the rattling of sistra, the clouds of incense or the songs of the Divine choirs. No priest went before him. Only Akhenaten in all his magnificent glory, Master of Thebes, Ruler of Egypt, against whom no one dared raise a hand. The news of Hotep’s death and the disappearance of Shishnak were warning enough. Akhenaten, together with Ay, ensured that every vacancy, every position of power in both the Great House and the temples were held by their friends and allies.

Akhenaten wished to prove how he feared nothing. He insisted that the imperial bodyguard not accompany him on his royal progress, the roaring crowds being held back by a dangerously thin line of foot soldiers from the Seth and Anubis regiments.

‘I put my trust in the Aten,’ Akhenaten had boasted.

We had all bowed and nosed the ground before him, though my confidence in the Aten was not so great. I had the side streets packed with mercenaries, and master bowmen from the Syrian company on the tops of houses and palaces, as well as barges of marines along the river between Karnak and Luxor just in case the power of the Aten might fail.

On day thirteen in the fourth month of the Growing Season, year five of his Co-regency, Akhenaten held a sumptuous meal in the great Banqueting Chamber at Malkata. He had been absent for about three weeks, leaving us to scurry about to ensure all was well whilst he processed solemnly upriver to the place of the Aten. On his return he made the decision to turn Egypt on its head, to make a new beginning. First we feasted in those glorious chambers. The silver and ebony inlaid tables groaned with the gold cups, plates and bowls displaying small irises and water lilies. An imposing procession of servants from every part of the empire, male and female, garbed in pure white linen, served red cabbage, sesame seeds, aniseed and cumin in order to create a great thirst to be quenched by the coolest beer, Hittite wines and the best from Pharaoh’s vineyards in Egypt and Canaan. After this came roast geese, haunches of calf and gazelle steaks adorned with ham frills, all roasted over wood with bowls of blood gravy and dishes of every type of vegetable. We ate and drank our fill, whilst the Orchestra of the Sun played sweet music and the divine choir chanted hymns to the Aten.

Once the servants withdrew, the gilded doors were locked and secured, the oil lamps freshened, and more wine served. Ay called the revellers to order. We were all present — Nefertiti, Tiye, Horemheb and Rameses, Pentju, Huy, Meryre, Maya and the newcomer, Tutu, who had won the full support of Ay. Tutu had been promoted to the rank of Chamberlain and First Servant of Neferkheprure-Waenre, Akhenaten’s new throne-name translated literally as ‘The transformation of Ra is perfect, the unique one of Ra’. Nefertiti also had a new name, being called Nefernefruaten meaning ‘Beautiful are the beauties of Aten’.

Ay began the proceedings. For the first time we heard Akhenaten’s vision of the Godhead, himself as well as his future intentions. I can still recall Ay’s powerful voice rolling through the chamber. First he began with a hymn.

On and on he went. One line, I remember, pricked my ears.

‘You are in our hearts but no one knows you except your son Neferkheprure-Waenre …’

Most of this hymn was drawn from chants devised by other temples. Ay paused, wetted his throat and continued, his voice no longer so sing-song. He was now acting as the King’s mouth, proclaiming the King’s words.

‘Look, I am informing you regarding the forms of other gods: their temples are known to me, their writings learned by heart. I am aware of the primeval bodies. I have watched them as they ceased to exist, one after the other, except for the god who begot himself by himself, the Glorious Aten.’

I glanced along the table. Most of the guests had drunk too deeply to be taking note, but Horemheb, sat next to me, had a fierce scowl on his face.

‘As for Thebes,’ Ay continued, ‘and the things that have been done here,’ his voice rose to a chant, ‘they are worse than the things we heard in year four of our reign, worse than the things that we heard in year three of our reign, worse than the things we heard in year two of our reign …’

On and on he went. This was the only reference Akhenaten made to the conspiracy and treason he’d confronted.

‘However, on this day, Akhenaten,’ Ay proclaimed, ‘His Majesty obvious in a great chariot of electrum, appeared in glory just like Aten does when he rises in the horizon and fills the land with love and pleasantness. He set off on a good road towards the place of the Aten. He found himself a great monument there. He has ridden a circuit and the land will rejoice and all hearts will exult. He will make an estate of the Aten for his Father, erect a memorial to his name and to the great Royal Wife Nefernefruaten — Nefertiti. It will belong to Aten’s name for ever and ever. Now it is the Aten who has advised him concerning this. No official ever advised him. Nor did any person in this land. It was the Aten his Father who advised him so it could be built here. So, in the place of the Aten, he shall make a house to the Aten his Father. He shall also make a sun shade for the great Royal Wife. He shall make himself a residence. There shall be made a tomb for him in the Eastern Mountains. Let his burial be after the millions of jubilees which Aten his Father has bequeathed to him. He shall never leave that place. He shall not go to the North or the South, the East or the West, but in that place he shall make something beautiful for the Aten his Father. Something beautiful in the North, something beautiful in the South …’

By now the Royal Circle was alert but very silent, listening intently to this proclamation. Beneath the courtly courtesies, the pious exclamations, the tributes to the Aten, the reality emerged. Akhenaten was to shake the dust of Thebes from his feet. He would desert the gods of Egypt and build a new city, a great shrine for the Aten.

I closed my eyes and thought of that sandy cove stretching to the mountains. Akhenaten was determined on this. During Ay’s declamation, he sat, a faint smile on his face, dressed in a kilt of gold silver cloth and a shirt of the same material: a brilliantly coloured sash with gorgeous tabs circled his waist, over his shoulders lay a jewel-encrusted cape. Diamonds gleamed in his earlobes and on his fingers, legs and ankles. A pectoral displaying a golden Sun Disc surrounded by precious stones lay flat on his chest. A feathered crown on his head made him look taller. He cradled in his lap a jewel-encrusted ankh along with the gold-filigreed flail and rod. Akhenaten’s face was subtly painted, lips red with carmine, eyelids dusted a light green. Dark kohl rings circled the eyes. He looked majestic, the fine jewels transforming his misshapen body and ugly face into a vision of power and glory. Beside him sat Nefertiti, her red hair tumbling down, a plumed crown on her head, her face exquisitely painted. She was clothed in robes of gold and silver, shimmering with jewels, yet the beauty of her face and the brilliance of her blue eyes cut through all this and made my heart ache. These were not the cruel mockers who had attended Shishnak’s trial. They had transformed themselves into immortal beings surrounded by light. Even the air around them was heavy with perfumed glory. I became lost in a reverie as Akhenaten’s proclamation offered a new beginning. Our enemies were no more. No hand would be raised against us, no pit dug to trap us. No crook across our path to bring us down.

After his hymn to the Aten, Ay turned to more practical details, listing the treasure of the Temple of Amun which would be used to finance Akhenaten’s vision. I half-listened, staring at Nefertiti. I realised that, whatever she did, whatever she said, she was my vision, my Aten. She looked so exquisitely beautiful, those crystal blue eyes staring at me, savouring a quiet joke as if we were both fellow conspirators. Beside her Tiye, dressed in jewel-encrusted silver, enjoyed this moment of triumph. The rest were drunk not only on wine but on visions of further power and glory as they gathered on the threshold of a new era. As for me, Mahu the Baboon of the South? I would have given it all up to be lying in an orchard, Nefertiti beside me serving wine. A sharp dig in my ribs shattered my dream. Horemheb was glaring at me.

‘For what we were,’ he whispered beneath the discussion going on around us, ‘for what we are now. Mahu, listen to me. He’s mad! He’s insane!’

The comment was so sharp, such a contrast, that I burst out laughing. Ay stared across. Akhenaten’s smile faded whilst Nefertiti frowned.

‘I am sorry,’ I apologised, ‘but listing the treasures of Karnak I thought of Shishnak in his wig.’

A murmur of laughter greeted my words. I got to my feet.

‘Your Majesty, I must withdraw.’

I left the brilliantly painted Chamber of the Glorious Falcon and almost ran down the corridor, tiled in cobalt-blue, its walls painted a golden yellow with blood-red diamonds at top and bottom. I hastened past guards and servants and out into the moon-bathed courtyard. There I went over to the fountain and sat on its edge and let the laughter come. The more I tried to stop, the worse it became. Horemheb and Rameses followed. They, too, had excused themselves. I watched the water spilling out of the eagle’s mouth, making the lotus blossom rise and sink. I tried to compose myself but still I laughed. Horemheb and Rameses tried to speak. They stood, dressed in polished leather kilts, necks and chests adorned with golden necklaces and silver beads, staffs of office in their hands. The very sight of them sent me into further peals of laughter whilst they stood and glowered as if I was some impertinent recruit. The more they did so, the worse it became. Tears coursed down my cheeks, my sides ached, but I could not stop.

‘What is so funny?’ Rameses demanded.

The laughter bubbled up again. I could not speak. Behind Horemheb and Rameses a shadow moved in the colonnades. Djarka was there, his bow already strung. I raised my hand and shook my head. He retreated deeper into the darkness as Horemheb and Rameses turned.

‘Mahu!’ Horemheb grasped me by the very front of my robe and pulled me towards him. ‘Mahu!’

‘I am sorry.’ I wiped the tears on the back of my hand. ‘I was just sitting there lost in the dreams of glory, listening to the revelations of a god. And what do you say, Horemheb?’ I hissed. ‘He’s mad! He’s insane!’ I pushed him away. ‘You could lose your head for such a remark.’

Horemheb stepped back.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I whispered. ‘I have never laughed so much for such a long time. It was such a contrast, so comical.’

Rameses measured his steps as he walked towards me and stopped, his face only a few inches from mine.

‘We know it is, Mahu. It’s madness, sitting there, eating cabbage and onions, chewing soft meat and gulping sweet wines whilst listening to the ranting and ravings of a god-obsessed fanatic.’

‘You could both lose your heads,’ I replied.

‘We are only telling the truth,’ Horemheb protested. He gestured back towards the palace. ‘People suspect but they don’t really know. Can you imagine, Mahu, what is going to happen when this is proclaimed beyond the Third Cataract or across Sinai? The Pharaoh of Egypt is about to break from the past, lost in a dream of building a new city, a new capital. Are the old gods to be destroyed, the temples closed? Will the Necropolis truly become the City of the Dead? Don’t you realise, Mahu, Akhenaten intends to begin again. Can you imagine the cost of it all? If our treasure is diverted to building cities out in the desert, if our energies are devoted to the worship of the one god, who will pay for the troops? The chariots? The horses? Who will send gold, silver and precious stones to our allies?’

‘You are beginning to sound like God’s Father Hotep.’

‘No, we are just talking sense!’ Rameses protested, but fear glowed in his eyes. Pride warmed my heart. Rameses the snake, for the first time ever, was fearful. Both of them were here to ask for my help, my advice.

‘Well,’ Horemheb poked me in the chest. ‘Do you believe all this, Mahu? Playing at being priests and temple worshippers is all very well, but what about in a year’s time, ten years’ time?’

‘We are on a river,’ I replied. ‘We must let the current take us.’

‘To our deaths?’

‘Rameses, we are all going to die.’

‘Not before our time,’ Horemheb snapped. ‘Mahu, you know, I know — we all know this is madness.’

‘So the river rushes fast.’

‘Look.’ Horemheb grasped my wrist. ‘I am grateful for what you have done for me and for Rameses. We are also grateful for what you did for Hotep.’ Horemheb shook his head. ‘I had no quarrel with him, Mahu.’

‘Except that he tried to get us all killed out in the Red Lands.’

‘Politics,’ Rameses grinned. ‘It also gave us the opportunity for glory and the rewards that went with it.’

‘Akhenaten gave Hotep honourable burial,’ I replied, ‘because he had no choice. Hotep was the people’s hero.’

Horemheb withdrew his hand.

‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Horemheb, what are you really concerned about? Akhenaten is not threatening the army or preparing to surrender Egypt’s power.’

‘I am most concerned. I am frightened.’ Horemheb wiped his hands together. ‘The things I am concerned about will happen in the future. It will take years. Did you listen to Ay carefully, Mahu? I have no difficulty accepting Pharaoh’s title of being God’s Son or likening himself to the Hawk of Horus or the Ibis of Thoth. As far as I am concerned, he can give himself any title he wants. No.’ Horemheb lifted a warning finger. ‘Listen to that proclamation carefully, Mahu. There is only going to be one god in Egypt, a country which, for thousands of years, has worshipped what she likes. This god is to be Akhenaten himself.’

‘So?’ I shrugged. ‘His father laid claim to similar powers, that he was God’s Regent on earth.’

‘No!’ Horemheb continued remorselessly. ‘Akhenaten not only claims to be the only recipient of this new revelation but that, somehow or other, he pre-existed: he knew the Aten before he was born.’

‘What my good friend is saying,’ Rameses leaned his hand on Horemheb’s shoulder and pushed his face close, ‘is that it is only a matter of time before Akhenaten claims he is the Aten, the Sole God.’

‘Just titles!’ I scoffed. ‘Grandiose words which no one really believes.’

‘Someone already believes it,’ Rameses retorted, black eyes gleaming. ‘Akhenaten himself. That’s why we call him mad, insane and stupid.’

‘It will not come to that. Akhenaten is simply lost in visions of glory.’

‘Oh, he believes it,’ Rameses laughed, ‘he and his red-haired Queen. They see themselves as gods incarnate and that’s where the danger lies. If they truly believe it, they’ll eventually expect every one of their subjects to believe it too. What happens then, Mahu, to those who object, who protest? Who would like to point out that our army needs strengthening or ships need to be built or that our garrisons in Canaan need to be strengthened? Will we be told to shut up? That the Great God who arranges everything will do something? And what happens, Mahu, when he tells the Kings of the Mitanni and the Hittites, the Princes of Canaan and Kush that he is not their ally any longer? That he is their God instead — and must be obeyed.’ Rameses patted Horemheb on the shoulder. ‘Now, Mahu, think of that.’ And they both turned and walked away.

The revolution occurred; Akhenaten’s will was supreme. Thebes went down into the dust to make submission but now he trod on the city’s head, made its citizens breathe in and choke on the dust of his own departure. He would forsake Thebes. He would leave it for ever. He would let it wither like the fruit on the branch and no one could oppose him. The Magnificent One, drunk, drugged and failing, was now being fed the milk of mother mice mixed with ale in an attempt to cure his different ailments. Live, freshly shelled mussels were used to ease the pain of his sore gums but, in the end, it was always the sweet juice of the poppy which soothed the pain and sent him into a drugged sleep.

For a short while I fell ill myself — with a fever brought on, Pentju claimed, by exhaustion and excitement. I hoped that Nefertiti would come and tend me. I even sent Djarka with messages excusing my presence from the Royal Circle, but she never replied. Pentju tended me well; Khiya brought him to my bedside. She often visited me, chattering away about the affairs at court. She’d formed a firm friendship with Pentju and, when he finished with me, I would often glimpse them from my window walking in the gardens, heads together, squatting down, studying some herb or plant. Nefertiti didn’t visit me because she and Akhenaten were concerned with nothing but the move to the City of the Aten. I was swept up in the same preparations. The erection of stelae and boundary stones on the edges of that great crescent of sand beneath the eastern cliffs marked the beginning. I witnessed Akhenaten, glorious in his chariot, whip in hand, moving round the entire area dedicating the sacred spot revealed to him by the Aten. The news swept through Thebes like a sudden thunderstorm but, of course, it had all been prepared. Ay had seen to that. The wells were already dug, springs uncovered, canals constructed, the fertile edges on the eastern bank of the Nile brought under swift cultivation. The imperial fleet was massed. Barges, collected from all over Egypt, were moored at strategic positions along the Nile. Carts by their thousands and countless trains of mules and donkeys were brought from the imperial stables in many cities and villages.

A veritable armada carried courtiers, musicians as well as the hordes of administrators together with shrubs, plants and seeds to the place of the Aten. The waters of the Nile were almost hidden by the great flotilla. Along the banks moved line after line of carts, donkeys, and mules piled high with wood. Flanking these was the massed might of Egypt’s army: footsoldiers, archers, and squadron after squadron of war-chariots. I would have loved to have flown like an eagle to view the majestic power and might of Egypt all moving North to the place of the Aten. A veritable army ringed the land approaches whilst war-barges patrolled the river. Thebes was shocked, its leading citizens given no quarter. Power followed Pharaoh. If Pharaoh left Thebes the dilemma was whether to stay and lose all influence, and any hope of preferment, or abandon the family home and join the great exodus North. Workers in the Necropolis rioted as they realised the impact of the new religion on their labour. Nakhtimin’s troops, assisted by my police and Sobeck’s gangs, crushed these disturbances.

I met my old friend secretly. Sobeck had decided not to move North but stay where he was and, as he put it, ‘look after the City of the Sceptre till the eventual return’. It was the old Sobeck, relaxed and cynical, as intent on building his own empire as Akhenaten was to realise his dream. He admitted that he had met Maya. I explained the circumstances. Sobeck just shrugged, gave that lopsided smile and murmured that, at least, he had another friend high at court. I and the other members of the Kap had no choice but to leave Thebes. The Old City, as it was now termed, was left under the command of Nakhtimin and my subordinates in the East and West.

Time flew. I seemed to spend my life journeying by river to and from Thebes. The entire archives of the House of Secrets were moved to that sandy crescent which now blossomed into a city of pavilions and tents. Chaos was avoided. Akhenaten and Ay had planned so well, so resolute in their plundering of the temple treasuries, that enough provisions and supplies were at hand to feed the growing influx of citizens and workers. Thousands upon thousands of sculptors, architects and craftsmen were hired to work under the direction of Akhenaten’s Chief Architect Bek and his two assistants Tethmos and Intu. Bargeloads of sandstone from beyond the First Cataract were on the move North. Ships, their cargo-holds full of sweet-smelling Lebanese cedar, travelled across the Great Green to disgorge their cargoes in the Delta to be placed immediately on the waiting barges. The nearby marble quarries of Hathor were quickly extended, thousands of workers from Thebes hired, the precious stone hacked and sledged into the Holy Place. Alabaster, as well as copper and malachite from Sinai and Kush, together with gold, silver and lapis lazuli from all the mines of Egypt followed after.

All this had been planned from the start. Ay had plotted and worked into the early hours, year after year, as Akhenaten prepared for his great moment. Ay proved himself an administrative genius. I admired him for his subtle cunning, the way he’d kept his plans so close to his heart. The city had been created in the minds of Akhenaten, Ay and Nefertiti and kept secret in detailed plans on roll after roll of papyrus. Akhenaten realised his dream of creating a place for the Aten; he also wreaked hideous vengeance on the great ones of Thebes, its nobles, administrators and priests who, for years, had either ignored or mocked him.

At first Akhenaten’s opponents tried to exploit the situation but Sobeck’s influence was even greater whilst the prospect of work for the new city emptied the slums of both Thebes and the Necropolis. Tens of thousands of people wrapped their possessions in bundles and trekked North to begin a new life. They were quartered on the west bank of the Nile and used to shape millions upon millions of hard mud bricks. Surveyors became busy with stakes and ropes laying out the new city in accordance with Akhenaten’s dream. The shanty towns around the construction site grew whilst detailed plans ensured a special place for the imperial family and other nobles and scribes. All was protected by Egypt’s war-chariots, her massed regiments drawn in from every garrison and outpost throughout the Kingdom of the Two Lands. The Nile had just flooded so transport was easy whilst the deserts on either side, deliberately neglected for years, were full of game for the hunter. At the same time the great storehouses and granaries of nearby cities were ordered to open their doors to send a constant stream of supplies to that great camp now growing midway between Memphis and Thebes. No wonder Ay had been concerned about the previous harvests. They had been good and so now he reaped the fruits of his hard work.

I must confess in my long, sin-sodden life, I have met few real surprises, but to see a city, its palaces, temples, houses, gardens, parks, pools and lakes literally spring up from the desert was truly awesome. It happened so quickly, almost like the sun rising and flooding the land with colour and exciting life. What a city! All the resources of a great empire were directed to its construction. The imperial residences were the first priority; its colonnaded great bridge spanned the King’s Highway with the glorious Window of Appearance so Akhenaten and Nefertiti could meet those they wished to favour. The Northern Palace followed next with its inner and outer courtyards, glistening pools, colonnades, altars open to the sun, gardens full of flowers, and row upon row of lush vines. Floors were laid, so highly polished they gleamed like water. The beautiful Green Room was constructed with its long windows all two yards high and seven yards long, overlooking the most sumptuous garden, richly stocked with every kind of herb, flower and tree. The Chamber’s other three walls were painted a deep blue to reproduce the beauty of the Nile. The exquisite green borders at top and bottom represented the Nile’s fertile banks, alive with all the exotic birds of the riverside. The floor and ceiling were of pure white, so brilliantly constructed and originally painted, the illusion was created that the room was an extension of the garden and that the garden was an extension of the room.

Other chambers in the palace were decorated with different motifs. In the River Room, kingfishers nested in lotus and papyrus thickets, the red spathus of the papyrus so realistic, they seemed to be bending under a breeze. Above these, black and white kingfishers dived towards the water, so vivid you’d expect to hear the splash and see them fly up. Another chamber, the Vine Room, was decorated with girls gathering grapes whilst nearby bird-catchers drew in a clap net full of trapped wild fowl, so lifelike, if you stared long enough you’d think the birds were about to flutter, you’d even strain to catch their cries. The ceiling was decorated with pictures of vine trellises, their grapes of purple faience so luscious you were tempted to stretch up and pluck them. In the centre of this palace, as in other palaces, was the Throne Room with majestic columns on either side resplendent in every colour. At the far end, under a beautiful sculptured canopy of stone, stood the gold and jewel-encrusted thrones of Akhenaten and his Queen.

The temples of the Aten, the Eternal Mansion or the House of Rejoicing dazzled the eye with the whiteness of their limestone founded on pink granite. These were approached through soaring pylons: you would cross spacious courtyards and climb tiers of steps to altars open to the sky, carefully positioned to catch the rays of the sun. Around these sanctuaries stood the storehouses stuffed full of gorgeous tribute brought to the temples from the broad-slabbed quaysides which now ran along the Nile. All such buildings were bounded by walls, each with its own spring, well and gardens. Every palace had its own sunshade pavilions, garden chapels with cool rooms and colonnaded walks decorated with gold asps as well as plants or flowers painted in the form of rosettes and garlands.

The private houses of the nobles to the north and south of the city were all built flat-roofed and mud-bricked, but made all the more resplendent with columns, porticoes, steps and colonnades, all brightly painted and decorated with artwork. The inside walls blazed with light depicting hunting, farming or river scenes though it was almost compulsory that the central hall depicted Akhenaten, his Queen and their children being blessed by the rays of the Aten. Akhenaten’s watchword to his builders, architects and craftsmen was ‘to live in the truth’. By this he meant art was to reflect life in all its detail and the heart of all life was the glory of Aten. The nobles were only too eager to comply. Their mansions became small palaces with rich drapes covering the windows, exquisite furniture, beds of ebony and ivory, baskets of flowers and, everywhere, the sign of the Sun Disc, the symbol of the Aten’s true son, Akhenaten.

The city was composed of three sections: the northern suburbs, the central city with its temples, Great Palace and Mansion of Aten and, beyond that, the southern suburbs with the villas and mansions of the nobles. To the north-east of the city were the houses of the workers whilst others had to find homes on the west bank of the Nile. Streets were clearly named and the entire city was connected by a broad imperial avenue called the King’s Highway. In the centre lay the administrative heart of Akhenaten’s city, the House of Scribes, the House of Reception and the House of Secrets with its police station and cells where I executed my office. Djarka became my lieutenant. We allowed no one to join us from Thebes but recruited mercenaries, Asiatics and Nubians to patrol the streets. Horemheb and Rameses were responsible for the security of the approaches by land and river; at night, the eastern clifftops gleamed with the campfires of their soldiers.

I have been asked so many times what life was like in the City of Aten. It was peaceful at first, full of petty incident and excitement as the seasons of the year rolled one into another. All of Thebes and Egypt had been shocked by the speed and thoroughness of Akhenaten’s revolution; like a wrestler with the breath knocked out of him, they could only stagger and choke but do little. Animals bitten by a certain snake become paralysed, so it was in both Egypt and the Palace of the Aten. Oh, I can describe the different buildings, their beauty as well as the stream of ordinances issued to keep everything fresh and lovely. But in the end? Well, we were like children invited into a beautiful garden to play. The sun shone and shone and shone, plates of sweet dates and iced melon were served and served and served. The music played and played and played but night never came. No breeze blew to cool our sweat and we were not allowed to go home. The sun, indeed, became too bright. Our guests grew sick of the rich food. Our ears were dinned with so much music, we longed for the darkness of the night and the coolness and peace it would bring.

Aten! Aten! Aten! At first everything was centred around this, with only slight changes in the rhythm. Akhenaten, escorted by Nefertiti, would summon meetings of the Royal Circle to lecture us about the new religion, our duties to him and the Aten, our obligations to accept it in all its ways. Huy quietly grumbled how he would love to go and preach about the Aten somewhere, anywhere, as far away as possible. The theme was constant: ‘You should be grateful to Akhenaten for revealing to you the light.’ We were to thank him for what he had done, rejoice in his presence, be ecstatic over his gifts, as well as realise that the Aten would only hear our prayers if they were directed through himself and his glorious Queen.

Matters were not helped by what I dubbed ‘the toadies’, the courtiers and officials who now surrounded Akhenaten. They did not include the children of the Kap except for Meryre: he was made High Priest of the Aten when Akhenaten gave up that office, moving from the role of priest to that of He whom the priests should venerate. The ranks of these toadies were swollen as more of the Akhmin gang arrived. Ahmose, fat and slimy, reeking of perfume, who rejoiced in the titles of True Royal Scribe, Fan-bearer on the Right of the King, Steward in the House of Akhenaten, Overseer of the Court of Justice. A viper of a man, Ahmose had a heart of stone and a nose sharp for his own preferment. Tutu from the House of Secrets became Ahmose’s good friend — a disappointment to me but he was seduced by the exclusivity of Akhenaten’s immediate circle and, of course, he also came from Akhmin. Another was Rahimose, Chief Scribe of Recruits, Ay’s nominee from his own town to counter-balance the growing military power of Horemheb. These and others formed what I called ‘the Devout’ or, in private, ‘the Toadies’. The others, including myself, I called ‘the Cynics’: Horemheb and Rameses, Pentju, Huy and Maya. They grew bored with the constant childish excitement of the parades and ceremonies, the offerings and rewards. Horemheb and Rameses used their military duties to escape into the Red Lands. Huy often went on embassies and would return more woebegone than ever at Akhenaten’s attitude to Egypt’s foreign policy.

‘It’s quite simple to understand,’ Huy declared on one occasion. ‘All people should worship the Aten and all people should accept our Pharaoh as the Aten incarnate. Any problems are not his responsibility. He thinks the Mitanni, the Canaanites, the Libyans and Kushites should love him for what he is and not for the gold and silver they expect to receive from him.’

The others were equally cynical. Pentju, in particular, would often use the excuse of tending to a patient or searching for some new cure to avoid official functions. Maya found some comfort in his new duties as Overseer of the House of Silver, proving to be a brilliant financier and treasurer — ‘Able,’ as Rameses remarked sourly, ‘to squeeze gold out of a rock.’ Maya often had to travel to Thebes; he would use such occasions to meet Sobeck. At least his return brought a welcome relief as he reported the chatter and gossip from that stunned, dying city. He told us about its temples, the subdued life in the markets and the growing resentment of its populace at what they now openly called the Great Heresy.

Ay was the bridge between all groups. Akhenaten’s faithful minister, the confidant and ally of everyone who mattered. A watcher and scrutiniser of hearts was Ay, yet even here I sensed a subdued panic. We had all been brought to this place — but what next? Ay expended his energies on strengthening his ties with the men of influence in the city of Aten and elsewhere, particularly Horemheb whose military skill and organisation he came to admire. Mutnodjmet, Ay’s second daughter, Nefertiti’s comely, fat-faced, calm-eyed sister, arrived in the city with her Danga dwarves. Horemheb fell in love with her only as Horemheb could: stiff-necked, tight-jawed, stuttering and embarrassed. Yet he truly loved her. I used to tease him, tapping him on the chest and saying, ‘At last I have discovered that you have a true heart and not one of flint.’ Horemheb would splutter with annoyance, he’d even blush. This was one problem Rameses was unable to help him with so I had constantly to advise Horemheb on what presents to buy and how he should act. Ay encouraged all this. Mutnodjmet was not indolent but she had been kept in the shadows by her beautiful elder sister. At first she was very confused by Horemheb. Eventually, with a little coaxing from both her father and myself, she responded sweetly to the great soldier’s overtures. Rameses, too, encouraged that match and eventually they married. Maya tartly commented that he didn’t know whom Horemheb loved the most, Mutnodjmet or her dwarves.

Shortly after this, news arrived that the Magnificent One had died. Living in the twilight, he had gone quietly into the West. Queen Tiye buried him in glorious splendour in a majestic tomb prepared for him in the Valley of the Kings, protected by the great Colossi of the King. These gleaming red quartzite statues were built to last for ever, glowering over an empire he had created, ‘And,’ Rameses whispered, ‘which his son was about to lose.’

I always wondered if Queen Tiye had helped her husband over the Far Horizon. She certainly struck quick at the cause of her discontent, Princess Sitamun being promptly banished to some distant estate to live out her life in silent obscurity. Akhenaten and his court observed the seventy days of mourning. Certain monuments and inscriptions were erected to his father but these were more as an afterthought, acts of filial piety to his grey-haired, widowed mother. Queen Tiye became a constant visitor to her son’s new city, a small sunshade palace being built and placed at her disposal. She was still courteous and affable to me but more concerned that I protect her son. She no longer had to watch me; Djarka did that for her. Queen Tiye treated me as she would a good knife, ensuring the point and blade still remained sharp and strong. Nefertiti she avoided, being more concerned to talk to Ay. They would often meet in the Hall of Audience near the Records Office, going through documents, talking far into the night over the growing problems from the distant far-flung provinces to the empire.

Afterwards Ay would visit me to break bread and drink some wine. He had been given the title of Chief of Royal Archers and would use such occasions to check the barracks and storerooms. He was amused at how I kept a small armoury in a chamber on the second floor of my own house. I bluntly informed him that I had not forgotten the Jackals or that bloody battle in the Valley of the Shadows. Ay would nod and, without fail, would ask the same question, probing to find out what I and others of the Kap, as he called us, thought of the present situation. I would snap back that I wasn’t a spy and ask him what the future held. He muttered about similar cities being founded in Canaan and Nubia, of arranging eternal treaties of peace with other kings and states. Ay was deeply worried; he had good reason to be.

Akhenaten and Nefertiti, together with their children, were now becoming not just the centre of the new cult but the cult itself. In the northern and southern section of the eastern cliffs, on either side of Akhenaten’s planned tomb, we founded our own Necropolis. You can go and look at these, they are still there; most are half-finished. I chose one in the southern cliffs, an underground cavern to fool the grave-robbers. Go into mine and have a good look. The paintings are not much and the prayers to the Aten are all wrong — that was my way of kicking against the goad. Go into the rest and study the paintings and inscriptions. Akhenaten had outlawed the Osirian rite. There were to be no ceremonies of Opening the Mouth, preparing for the Journey through the Underworld where your soul was weighed on the scales of Thoth and received the judgement of Osiris. Oh no, Akhenaten changed all that! He made it much simpler. All you had to do was die with Pharaoh’s smile directed towards you (which, of course, you couldn’t see because you had your head down and your arse up) and everything would be fine. The Necropolis of the Sun Disc proved this. Every single tomb depicted Akhenaten and Nefertiti, together with their family, giving presents, being blessed by the Aten, riding out together under the Aten, eating under the Aten, playing, drinking, sleeping and kissing under the Aten.

As in death, so in life. We were all given psalters with prayers and hymns to the Aten. We were invited to compete, to show our adulation to the Aten and the royal couple. Even wall paintings had to reflect Akhenaten’s command about ‘living in the truth’: they had to be executed according to a certain style. Some people may call it original, thought-provoking and beautiful. To a certain extent that’s true but, when you are surrounded by it day and night, ordered to decorate your tombs in the same imagery, it becomes tiresome like hearing the same piece of music, not so well played, being repeated time and time again.

Why did I stay? Well, where else could I go? My interrogators have asked me why I didn’t flee. I think for a long time. I reflect. I recall those events and the answer is quite simple.

Nefertiti’s smile!