Akhenaten: Dweller in Truth

Haremhab

Haremhab was well built, moderately tall, with a strong, trustworthy demeanor. He was a descendant of an old religious family from Memphis, a family that had produced renowned physicians, priests, and army officials. Haremhab's father was the first in his family to be elevated to the ruling class when he was appointed chief of horsemen during the life of Amenhotep III. Haremhab was the only one of Akhenaten's men who kept his position as chief of security in the new era. His main duty at that time was to eradicate the corruption that had spread in the country and to restore peace. He was so successful that in the critical period of transition from Akhenaten's rule, Haremhab was regarded as a hero. The high priest of Amun gave him a glowing testimony, and Ay, the sage, confirmed it. He received me in the visitors' hall by the palace garden.

Akhenaten was my companion and friend from boyhood, long before he was my king. From the time I first knew him, until we parted, he thought of nothing but religion. I gave him the respect that was due to him from the beginning, for I was raised to worship duty and to place everything in that context, regardless of any personal emotions or attachments. Akhenaten was the crown prince, I was one of his subjects. I owed him respect. In my heart, however, I despised him for his weakness and his feminine appearance. I could not picture myself a friend of his. But the fact is, he won me and I became his true friend. I still wonder how it all happened. Perhaps I was unable to resist his tender, delicate emotions and his charm. He possessed an amazing ability to capture people's hearts. He even had the entire country applaud him as he called upon them to renounce the deities of their forefathers.

Akhenaten and I were opposites. But that did not stop us from developing a very firm friendship that withstood several trials, until finally it was crushed by a mountain of contradiction. I can still see his smile as he said, “Haremhab, my bloodthirsty, monstrous friend, I love you.” I searched in vain for something we might have in common. I invited him several times to join me in my favorite sport, hunting. He would always reply, “Beware and do not defile the loving heart of nature.” He disliked military training, even the uniform. One time he stared at my helmet and my sword and said, “Is it not strange that decent people like yourself are trained to become professional executioners?”

“What would your great-grandfather, Tuthmosis III, say if he heard you?”

“My great-grand father!” he cried. “He established his greatness on a pyramid of poor people's corpses. Did you not see his pictures on the walls of the temples? Making offerings of slaves to Amun? What great-grandfather, what bloodthirsty god?”

His strange ideas, I thought, may not stand in the way of his friendships, but what would happen if he took them to the throne? I was unable to imagine him as a pharaoh, like all the great pharaohs of Egypt. My feeling never changed, even during the merriest and most blissful times. Indeed during those times he seemed even further from the gravity and glory of the pharaohs.

Once, during his father's rule, I was deputed to discipline some rebels in a far corner of the empire. I set out in charge of an armed raid for the first time. My mission was carried out successfully and I returned with plenty of loot and captives. King Amenhotep III was impressed and honored me generously. When the prince congratulated me on my safe return, I invited him to see the captives. They stood before him shackled and half naked. As he gazed at them, their eyes begged for sympathy, as if they sensed his weakness. A cloud of gloom came over his face.

“Rest in peace,” he said tenderly, “you shall not be harmed.”

I became quite agitated, for I had vowed to punish them severely until they were willing to renounce chaos and submit to order.

“Haremhab,” he asked as we left together, “are you proud of what you did?”

“My Prince,” I replied, “I have earned this pride.”

“What a pity,” he mumbled, then continued teasingly, “you are just a sophisticated bandit.”

That was Akhenaten, the crown prince who would in time take the throne and rule the empire. Nonetheless, I was intrigued and craved more of the strange fruit of his mind. It never affected my own ideas though. It was like listening to a voice from another world, intriguing yet incomprehensible. How did we become friends? How did my heart become filled with love for him? These are questions I cannot answer.

I recall a discussion we had about religion one time. We were resting near his private place in the palace garden.

“Haremhab,” he asked, “why do you pray in the temple of Amun?”

I was taken aback. I had no answer that would satisfy him or me. I remained silent.

“Do you really believe in Amun, and all you were taught about him?”

I thought about the question for a short while then replied, “Not in the same way that other people believe in him.”

“Either you believe or you do not. There is no middle way.”

“I only care about religion as one of the oldest traditions in Egypt,” I said in all honesty.

“You worship only yourself, Haremhab,” he said with provoking confidence.

“Let us say that I worship Egypt.”

“Have you ever been tempted to ask what is the secret of life and existence?”

“I know how to eliminate such temptations when they arise,” I replied.

“How unfortunate. And what have you done for your soul then?”

“Duty is what I hold sacred.” I was growing weary of his pressing questions. “And I have built myself a tomb for the hereafter.”

He sighed. “I hope one day you will savor the sweetness of intimacy.”

“Intimacy?”

“Intimacy with the one creator of the universe.”

“Why one creator only?” I questioned, somewhat impassive.

“Because he is too great to have an equal,” he replied serenely.

Akhenaten! A feeble shadow wandering aimlessly in the palace garden, flirting with flowers and birds, singing like a girl. I could swear he was meant to be born female, and at the last minute nature changed its course. A grave misfortune for Egypt. The first time Nefertiti made an appearance in the royal palace was in the Sed festival, the thirtieth jubilee of the pharaoh's reign. She stunned everyone with her beauty and spirit. She danced with the daughters of the honorables, and charmed us all with her sensuous voice:

Her parents, Ay and Tey, must have prepared her for such an impressive display; they had paved the way for her to sit on the throne of Egypt. Bear in mind that Ay was the crown prince's teacher. No doubt he had every chance to influence Akhenaten's shaky character, and to lead him by the hand to the snare that he had set with his daughter. In any event, Nefertiti won the affection of both the prince and his mother at the Sed festival. Not too long after, she was married to the crown prince.

During the wedding celebrations, the high priest of Amun said to me, “Perhaps in marriage the prince will mature and put aside his foolish ideas.”

“A common woman like her,” I replied, pointing at Nefertiti, “probably never dreamed of the throne. She will not jeopardize it by angering her husband.”

I have often wondered if she would have taken him as her husband if he was not crown prince. You see, it is hard to imagine Akhenaten as the knight of any girl's dream, even if she was a simple peasant.

Marriage did not calm him. On the contrary he became more defiant. In time I learned about his peculiar claim: a new god, revealed to him through a voice and no vision. The future, I thought then, would be grim. After a while, news came that Amenhotep III was so angry with the prince that he had sent him on a long tour of the empire.

Haremhab went on to tell me in detail about Akhenaten's talks with the people of the empire, when he called on them to join his new religion and promised them love and joy and equal treatment. He added nothing to what I had heard from Ay.

Despite our friendship and my loyalty to the prince, I wished then, for the first time, to kill him with my own sword before he drowned us all in his destruction. You must understand however that my desire to kill him was not at all inspired by spite.

Amenhotep III died, and the prince was summoned to the throne. When he became pharaoh, he invited all his men to join his new religion. Then it was my turn.

“Haremhab,” he said, “those who will cooperate with me must declare their faith in the One and Only.”

“My dear Pharaoh, you know my position regarding all gods and religions. Nevertheless, I am a man of duty and a servant of the throne. I therefore declare my faith in the One and Only out of loyalty to your throne and to the country.”

He smiled. “That should be enough for the time being. I do not wish my palace to be without you. Perhaps one day you will be blessed with true faith.”

So I started a new life in the service of a new god and a new king. I served them with a loyalty drawn only from my sense of duty. But I must admit that the king revealed new powers I was not aware he possessed. Despite his physical feebleness and feminine appearance he challenged everything that came his way. He fought against the most powerful and resourceful men, the priests. He destroyed the old traditions that had been rooted in our country for hundreds of years. He even fought sorcery and potent witchcraft. Nefertiti, too, revealed herself to be a true queen, as if she had been born with the sole purpose of emulating the greatness of Tiye and Hatshepsut. She was the one who ran the affairs of the kingdom while the king devoted his time to his religious calling. Unfortunately, Nefertiti seemed to believe in the new religion. So much has been said about this woman, and I despise hearsay. But I must admit that her faith remained a mystery that needs to be solved. Sometimes I did not doubt that she was a true believer; at other times I could not fathom her. Did she feign piousness to strengthen her position as queen? Did she mean to encourage her husband to become more immersed in religion so that she could become the sole ruler of the land and the subjects? Was she merely a tool in her father's hand for some mysterious scheme? The priests tried to warn her, but she did not respond to them, with the result that their concern turned to spite. They were convinced that Akhenaten was weak, and they could not imagine that he was capable of challenging them. Because of that, they accused Tiye of being the source of his ideas, and blamed his stubbornness and persistence on Nefertiti. That, I believe, is nonsense. They can point their fingers at whoever they want, but I have no doubt that this foolishness was the product of Akhenaten's own mind. By moving to the new capital, Akhenaten declared war on all the deities.

He became a missionary, preaching his religion throughout the provinces. We so much enjoyed the blissful days of victory and peace that I imagined that this young, feeble king was capable of demolishing the structure of life as we had always known it, and building it anew according to his designs. I followed in awe his eloquent conquests of the provinces and the frenzy with which the people received him. I felt that a new kind of power had possessed him and that he excelled in exercising it. But at the back of my mind there was always a hint of doubt that this new world that was being created so quickly could last. Could order be achieved by the exercise of love alone? What were we supposed to make then of what we had experienced in the long life of our country? On one occasion Nefertiti said to me, as if she could read my thoughts, “He is inspired. God has blessed him with divine love. We shall be victorious and God will be by our side.”

One time I sat alone with the minister Nakht, casually drinking wine. I believed, and I still do, that Nakht was a persuasive politician. I asked him, “Do you really believe in the One and Only, the god of love and peace?”

“Yes,” he replied calmly, “but I don't support the seizure of other deities.”

I was relieved. “A compromise then? Did you counsel the king?”

“Yes. He thought it heresy.”

“And Nefertiti?”

“She speaks his tongue now,” he said sorrowfully.

Then Haremhab told me how peace and happiness eventually turned to a promise of destruction. Again, he did not add to what the high priest or Ay had already told me.

At that point I tried to advise Akhenaten. “We must change our policy,” I said. But he rejected every proposition I made that hinted of any compromise. The challenge seemed to inspire him even more.

“We must go ahead with our holy war until the very end,” he said. “And there shall be no other end but victory.”

Then he patted my shoulder gently and continued, “You must not share with the wretched ones their love of misery.”

When the condition of the country continued to deteriorate I wished once more that I could kill him, this time out of love and loyalty. It became clear that what I thought was an incredible power in his feeble body was in reality a raging madness that must be curbed. The queen mother visited us when things were at their worst, and summoned me to her palace in the southern quarters of Akhetaten. “Perhaps you will succeed where we have failed,” I said.

She stared at me intently, then asked, “I trust you have advised the pharaoh of the changes you thought necessary to rectify the situation.”

I had heard how Tiye interpreted any hesitation preceding an answer, so I replied quickly, “I suggested, Your Majesty, a change in the country's home and foreign policies.”

She seemed relieved. “This is what I expect from a loyal man like you, Haremhab.”

“He is my king and my friend, as you now, Your Highness.”

“Will you promise me, Haremhab, to remain loyal under any circumstances?” she asked, gazing straight into my eyes.

I thought quickly, and replied, “I promise you my loyalty regardless of the circumstances.”

It was clear that she was relieved. “They are asking for his head. You have the power to keep him safe from harm. Sooner or later they will try to draw you to their side.”

I repeated my promise to remain truthful and loyal to the king. Indeed I kept my promise; to abandon him in Akhetaten was the only way to protect him. Tiye failed to dissuade him, despite all her powers of persuasion. She left Akhetaten, to die with her fears. When the grip tightened on the city, I was certain beyond doubt that the new god was incapable of defending himself, let alone his beloved chosen king. We drank the bitterness of isolation, and death loomed over and around us. Yet the pharaoh did not waver; if anything, he seemed more determined. The flame of his spirit refused to die.

“My God will never let me down,” he continued to say. Whenever I saw his face glowing with confidence, intoxicated, I became more certain that he was afflicted with insanity. It might have appeared a religious battle on the surface, but in truth it was sheer madness raging in the mind of a man born with a halo of perversity.

Then there was the visit of the high priest of Amun and his last warning to us. He grasped my hand firmly and said, “Haremhab, you are a man of many merits. Relieve your conscience of its burden and do what is expected of a man in your position.”

To tell you the truth, I admired the man for rising above any desire to avenge himself, and for his attempt to spare the country more woes. We asked to meet with the king. It was a difficult, painful, sad meeting. It was as if we were shrugging off our loyalty to a man who knew nothing but love, a man who created a wonderful dream from the sparks of madness and wanted nothing more than to share it with us. I advised him to decree freedom of worship and initiate an immediate plan to defend the empire from the attacks of the enemies on the border. When he refused I suggested that he relinquish his obligations as pharaoh and devote his time to his religious calling. We gave him time to consider our counsel. Then he appointed Smenkhkare a co-ruler on the throne, and although Nefertiti left him, he still persisted. We therefore decided to abandon him and make peace with his enemies to preserve the unity of the country. We made this decision only after agreeing that no one should harm him or his wife. I gave the oath before the new king, Tutankhamun. That was the last episode in the greatest tragedy in Egypt's history. You see what madness has done to our country?

Haremhab and I embraced the silence that usually accompanies endings. I began to gather my papers to get ready to leave. Then it occurred to me to ask, “Why do you think she left him? Nefertiti I mean.”

He replied without hesitation. “She must have realized that his madness was now jeopardizing her own life, so she left his palace to save herself.”

“But why would she stay in the city? Why not leave Akhetaten with the rest of you?” He replied scornfully. “She was sure the priests considered her equally culpable in her husband's crimes.”

As I shook his hand to bid him farewell, I said, “How did he die?”

“His natural weakness made him incapable of bearing the defeat. His faith was shaken when his god forsook him. He fell ill for a few days, and died.”

“How did you receive the news of his death, Commander?” I asked after some hesitation.

“I have said all I have to say,” he replied stonily.