Khufu’s Tale
I have taken a great oath upon my life to tell the truth, or what I can, about the Pharaoh Akenhaten, He-who-is-pleasing-to-the-Aten. I am Khufu, son of Iputy, a priest of Isis in the city of Thebes. I studied at the House of Life and later moved to a small temple of Aten in the Malkata Palace, where I was noted for my industry and my skill, my dedication to letters and my submission to the will of the Divine One. I am a priest who has studied the sacred writings of Thoth but one who came to recognise his error that all such Gods are shadows, phantasms of men’s imaginations. They are the darkness which comes before the dawn and the rising of the Aten, the Sun Disc, above the horizon. I revered the symbol of the All-Seeing, All-Knowing Invisible God, who has commanded us not to make an image of Him but has chosen to reveal Himself in our hearts through His son Akenhaten. I renounced my errors in the presence of the Divine One and his Great Queen Nefertiti, the beautiful woman, She-who-is-pleasing-to-the-Aten. I confessed the mistakes of my life and dedicated myself to the adoration and service of the All-Seeing God.
My zeal was soon noticed by Lord Meryre, High Priest of the Aten and Chief of Ceremonies in the principal temple at the City of the Aten. I was eaten up by zeal whilst the love of the Lord’s House filled my days. One hour there was worth a thousand years elsewhere. I was most obedient and listened attentively to the teaching of the Divine One. This teaching was eventually frustrated by Nefertiti, who wished to assume the status and title of a God and whose interference cast a shadow across the sunlight of the new revelation.
I also acknowledge that I have wandered from the path of righteousness in my zeal to serve my master. I have sat at the camp fire of Egypt’s enemies and taken part in their evil deliberations. I have sinned, and my sin shall always be before me. I am grateful to the Lord Mahu for the great pardon and mercy he has shown me. I have sworn to tell the truth and to do reparation. I shall leave this place and go into obscurity. I shall end my days far away from the great stirrings of Egypt.
Lord Mahu has asked when did it begin? What were the seeds of this great mystery? Now, he knows the history of the City of the Aten, though the events which led to its downfall are hidden in the murk and swirl of the strife. So when did it begin? I shall answer bluntly. A rift occurred between the Divine One, Akenhaten, and his Queen Nefertiti over the birth of the Divine One’s son by the lesser queen and wife Khiya, Princess of the Mitanni. It was common gossip that Nefertiti had tolerated Khiya on the understanding that she would never conceive. When she heard that the Princess of the Foreigners, as she termed her, had not only conceived but died giving birth to a living son, her fury knew no bounds. A woman of deep pride and soaring ambition, Nefertiti believed that she could rage and vent her anger in public. The Divine One refused to tolerate this and banished her from his presence. After this breach, the Palace of the Aten was plunged into gloom and despair, the glory of the court dimmed. The splendour of its temples was cloaked in darkness, their lanterns and lights extinguished by a sense of creeping despondency. Akenhaten was alone, Khiya dead, Nefertiti exiled to her quarters in the northern part of the city.
The Divine One, by the fifteenth year of his reign, allowed his head to be turned and his heart spoiled by strong wine and the juice of the poppy. His soul became unquiet, wearing out his body as an over-sharp sword wears out its sheath. Anxious and agitated, Akenhaten would prowl the palace corridors. Sometimes he would cry for his God; other times for Nefertiti, his baby son or his comrades from years past. He was a man who forsook the sacrifice, the morning and evening prayer, living in the sombre caverns of his past. He would act as if attacked by an evil spirit out of the west, as if his soul was possessed by demons. He cursed his father, Amenhotep the Magnificent, and bewailed the tragic death of his elder brother Tuthmosis.
Often Akenhaten would treat me as if I was his ear priest, ready to listen to his confession. He would recount how his elder brother Tuthmosis had been hideously poisoned in the Temple of Amun-Ra at Kransk; how he could have prevented it but failed to do so. He would describe his other sins, his lust and his pride. He would seek relief from his obsession, playing and relaxing with his two daughters whom he now proclaimed as his queens. Both became pregnant, but even then, his seed was cursed, the children of both unions dying in childbirth. Ankhesenamun remained strong, but Meritaten, weak from the start, became terrified of her father’s sullen isolation, his fits of dejection and despair broken by mad bouts of fury. He insisted on sitting in lonely glory in his throne room or prowling round it like a panther in its cage. On other occasions, particularly as the shadows grew longer and the sun began to set, he would become obsessed with unspeakable terrors and demand the company of the Lord Meryre, my humble self and Djoser. We would crouch for hours and listen to his plaints.
‘Oppression, agony and fear haunt me,’ he’d shout. ‘The demons have frustrated my desires. I have sinned. I am sick, my sins are many and my faults are grave.’
He would sit staring down the throne room, lips moving as if talking to beings we could not see. He’d then recover and start screaming, ‘What have I done? What have I done?’
At times we became frightened that he was possessed or that his true soul had left his body. The plague came, sweeping into the city like the Angel of Death, dealing out retribution and suffering on every side. The Divine One saw this as a curse, and his dejection deepened. He would kneel and pray, screaming for us priests to gather around him
He fell into the darkness and we thought he would either remain so or do himself an injury. He’d later recover and crouch on his throne, nibbling his fingers like a frightened child. Weeks passed into months. Sometimes he would neglect to wash or shave, driving away his servants with blows and curses.
During the sowing season of that same year, we became aware of others in the palace, at first nothing more than dark shapes and shadows, men out of the desert. The Imperial Guard were dismissed and these newcomers took up positions. This lasted for at least a month before they too disappeared. The Imperial Guard were ordered to return and we were allowed into the Divine One’s presence so he could show us his face. We found him calm upon his throne. He issued a proclamation, which startled us all: Nefertiti was to be restored. My lord Meryre, summoning up his courage, asked if others of the Royal Circle would be assembled, but Akenhaten rejected this. God’s Father, the Lord Ay, he replied quietly, would deal with them.
His Great Queen Nefertiti was brought to him. She arrived gowned, beautifully adorned, and knelt as a suppliant at his feet. On that day, and for the following days, she stayed alone with him. When we were summoned once again to his presence, Akenhaten was calmer. Nefertiti now shared his bed and throne, his lamentations grew less, and he took to sifting a set of amber turquoise beads. As time passed Nefertiti’s power became more apparent. She was declared regent. Cold and imperious, she took to shaving her head and dressing herself in the garb of Pharaoh. Whilst her status and glory increased, Akenhaten’s diminished. He drew apart from his Queen and from us, as if his former madness was a filthy robe he had shrugged off. He grew concerned with maps, charts and stars. He would also pray, not in the Temple of the Aten but alone in his own private chamber. If he sacrificed, it was not the blood of lambs or bulls, but grains of incense sprinkled over a brazier of fire. The Divine One also resumed hunting trips, often going out into the Red Lands alone.
One day, just after the New Year, when the Dog Star could be clearly seen high in the heavens and the white ibis had returned to the banks of the Nile to show the inundation was imminent, Akenhaten returned from a hunting trip. He was accompanied by what we thought were mere sand-dwellers, desert wanderers, in their striped robes with bushy hair and beards. My lord Meryre’s spies reported that these were the same who had often visited the Divine One as a boy and whose presence in the Palace had been noticed earlier. They came with no proclamation or trumpets, no pomp or ceremony, but soft as the wind, slipping down the tracks and paths of the eastern limestone cliffs into the City of the Aten. Lord Ay and officers of the Imperial Guard were under strict instruction: these visitors were the Pharaoh’s friends; they were to be welcomed and allowed into his presence without fear or trouble. Their leader was Yakoub, a tall, fierce-looking warrior, though he was friendly enough.
As the year progressed, the Divine One allowed these visitors to mingle freely with his priests. Yakoub was a great storyteller, a man who knew the deserts like the palm of his hand. He told me how he and his kin were of the tribe of Israar, a sect of the Apiru who, many years ago, had come from the western hill country of Canaan, travelling south into Egypt. Some of their tribe had settled in the Delta area, where they had become skilled stonemasons. Others had remained tending their flocks, moving along that lonely part of Egypt between the Black Lands and the Red Lands of the desert. He claimed how the Great Queen Tiye, wife of Amenhotep the Magnificent and mother of Akenhaten, was the descendant of their tribe. He boasted how others in the service of the Divine One, such as Djarka, servant of my lord Mahu, Chief of Police and Overseer of the House of Secrets, was also of them. Yakoub would share wine and break bread with us. He’d talk of his mysterious God whose name cannot be uttered, about how a Temu or Aput, a Messenger God or Messiah, was prophesied to come from his tribe.
During this time, the Divine One’s recovery improved. Serene and calm, he took to washing and purifying himself, whilst the business of the palace and the city was left to Nefertiti and others of the Royal Circle. However, one thing did alarm the Lord Meryre. Yakoub and his people were being paid direct from the Divine One’s per hatch, the household treasury. At first Lord Meryre thought these were bribes; he later became convinced that the Divine One’s companions were actually moving royal treasure out into the Red Lands. The High Priest, virtually excluded from Akenhaten’s presence and no longer consulted over rites and liturgy, became alarmed at the secretiveness of our divine master. Meryre often gathered myself, Djoser and the other priests for secret counsel. He made us swear an oath of loyalty to him declaring how others of the Royal Circle could no longer be trusted, that something was about to happen and we should prepare ourselves against the evil day. Eventually, one morning, when Akenhaten was in the Window of Appearances greeting the rising sun, Meryre demanded an audience. We were ushered into the imperial presence, but Akenhaten remained kneeling, keeping his back to us as if he didn’t care if we came, went or stayed. Lord Meryre, deeply insulted, was about to withdraw.
‘Why do you leave, my lord Meryre?’ Akenhaten’s voice was strong and clear.
When we turned in the doorway, Pharaoh no longer had his back to us but was squatting cross-legged. He was dressed only in a loincloth, with a thin linen shawl about his shoulders. His head and face were shaved and oiled, and the lines of worry about his eyes and mouth had disappeared.
‘You may, if you wish,’ he smiled and gestured, ‘come and speak to me.’
‘Perhaps,’ Meryre retorted, ‘we should be joined by your Great Queen and God’s Father Ay?’
The smile disappeared from Akenhaten’s face.
‘You must have wondered what happened to me, my lord Meryre. Come, be seated and I shall tell you. For my time with you is short.’
Alarmed and intrigued, Meryre, Djoser and I knelt before him.
‘Do not mention to me,’ Akenhaten’s head went down, his voice strong and echoing, ‘the Batiui, those red-haired devils of Akhmin, those fiends, those creatures of abomination who do not speak, and have not spoken, with true voice.’
The Divine One’s eyes rolled back in his head. He stretched out his hands. I thought he was having a fit.
‘My lord, what is the matter?’ Meryre demanded.
‘When you mentioned their names,’ Akenhaten’s eyes were now closed, ‘bloodstained phantoms surrounded me. I hear rushing and roaring like that of a powerful wind.’
‘But my lord,’ Meryre whispered, ‘the palace is silent. The morning sky is darkening over.’
‘It is my heart which speaks.’ Akenhaten kept his eyes closed. ‘I leave the things of the evil one and my heart travels. The rushing and roaring must be the wind blowing through the tops of lofty cedars.’
‘But my lord,’ Meryre insisted, ‘there are no cedars in the City of the Aten.’
‘I am here,’ Akenhaten sighed, ‘but my heart is in a place where cedars grow. I tire of this place. I have had visions of a city and the glory of Egypt as nothing more than lumpish grey mounds of clay cracked by the sun, scored by the rains. This city as a dark smudge on a wasteland of sand.’
‘Your Majesty,’ Meryre asked, ‘has Your Majesty been given a vision of the future?’
‘I have lived in visions in the darkness of the night. I have seen the shadows shift. I have been in the tertrati iati, the landscape of the night. I have had a taste of things to come: a dream about the power of the One and the future of Egypt.’ He put his hands over his face, then opened them, keeping them by the sides of his face like a veil. ‘Open are the double doors of the Far Horizon,’ he intoned. ‘Unlocked are its bolts. The divine cause is clear, though storms darken the sky. The stars rain down, the bones of beasts tremble. The demons are silent. I shall not die on this earth.’
‘Your Majesty,’ Meryre insisted, ‘if you have seen visions of the future, you must share them with us, leave your wisdom to your own son! Can we not,’ he hurried on, ‘take down your writings, convey your teachings to others?’
‘I would speak but they would not listen. I would tell but they would not understand. I would write but they would not learn. I would sing but they would turn away.’ Akenhaten’s shoulders slumped. ‘And as for my son,’ his eyes brimmed with tears, ‘or he who has been proclaimed my son … I have left my wisdom in the custody of the Watchers.’
‘Who are the Watchers?’ Meryre demanded.
‘When I go to my place,’ Akenhaten replied, ‘and if it be the will of God, my son will receive my wisdom. Until then …’
‘Your Majesty, what will happen to us?’
‘Each man follows his path, but where I go, you cannot come. When I am gone you shall long for me and search for me but you will not find me in my new place, in the mansion of my own making.’
‘And where is this?’ Meryre questioned.
Akenhaten opened his eyes, staring at us; his gaze was as fierce as a lion. ‘I wish to go, I am already in the land of no return.’
‘Why should you go there, my lord?’
‘Because I have striven after evil. I have transgressed the bounds of righteousness.’
Oh, my lord Mahu, I speak the truth. In that chamber I felt a sudden dread, the chill of fear. The sky was darkening with storm clouds. Djoser, to ease the tension, made some reference to this.
‘I am glad the clouds have come.’ Akenhaten smiled. ‘They will bring the rain, they will wash away the demons of the south-western winds.’
‘Who are these demons?’ Meryre asked.
Akenhaten gazed at a point above our heads.
‘They are seven in all. Yes, in the hollows of the great abyss lurk the seven, that’s what I have been told. They are neither male nor female. They take no wives, they beget no children. These demons of the seven know neither pity nor kindness. They do not listen to prayer or supplication; they are the messengers of death and the servants of the Devourer. If they meet a man like me, with whom God is angry, they fall on him like a lion takes a gazelle. They fill both his soul and body with poison. They bind his hands, they tie his feet and claw his sides.’
‘Have you seen these demons?’ Meryre asked.
‘They are skeletons who gather around my throne and bed. Red hair sprouts from their skulls; black wings conceal their hideousness; great flat hands stretch at the end of long arms. They take my body and claw my flesh.’ He gripped his stomach. ‘Like eagles’ talons, they grasp my heart and grind it like meal.’
‘And how do you combat them?’ Meryre was genuinely interested. He had often confided how he wished he possessed the power of an exorcist, the skill to drive out demons.
‘I called the priests of Apiru,’ Akenhaten confessed. ‘They sacrificed a lamb and daubed my body with its blood. They gave me powders to eat, to plunge my heart into a deep sleep. In my dreams I saw the demons, a howling, hideous throng who pay court to the Fetcher of Death.’ Akenhaten smiled. ‘When I woke, the demons had gone. My heart was purified. So do not threaten me, my lord Meryre, with bringing the red-haired ones here. I do not wish their presence.’
The High Priest was much dismayed and sought an immediate audience with the Lord Ay and the Great Queen Nefertiti. I was present at that interview. Lord Ay, anxious-faced, discussed the many possibilities, including that Akenhaten might be planning his own death. The Great Queen remained pale-faced and tight-lipped with fury. Although Nefertiti had been restored to favour, she, the Lord Ay and others of the Royal Circle were now banned from the imperial presence. At the end of the meeting Lord Ay concluded that I should be sent back to discuss certain possibilities with the Divine One.
I did so, expecting to be turned away, but Akenhaten graciously allowed me into his presence. He was now robed, an embroidered sash around his waist, a simple collar of gold about his neck. He was seated before a table. I remember the smell of cooking, of roast duck highly spiced. He offered to share this with me but I was too dry-tongued and frightened to eat.
‘Are you timid?’ Akenhaten asked. ‘Shall I tell you something, Khufu? My Great Queen and her wily father, for the first time in their lives, are truly frightened of me. They thought I was clay in their hands and that they could mould me. They cannot. They have failed in their true mission. It was they who led me from the path of righteousness.’
‘My lord,’ I dared to whisper, ‘you talk as if you are about to leave us. What about your baby son?’
‘I am always leaving you, Khufu, and as for my son, I shall share with you a great secret. For every secret must have a witness. Do you know why I banned the Great Queen from my presence? Because she dared to threaten my infant son! And do you know why she has been restored?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Because she had taken a blood oath by earth and sky that neither she, nor any of hers, shall lift a hand against him.’
‘My lord, are you to leave us?’
‘I wish to go to the Seshent.’ He smiled. ‘The Place of Purification.’
‘And your son?’ I insisted.
‘The Stegout.’ Akenhaten referred to the Watchers of the Gods. ‘They hold the secrets my son wishes to know.’
He was speaking in riddles, deliberately teasing me. He flicked his fingers, a gesture that the audience was over, so I withdrew. I reported faithfully what had happened. God’s Father Ay and Meryre were deeply discomforted, and perplexed at what to do.
On my oath, Lord Mahu, as I hope to live, that was the last time I or any others saw Akenhaten, the Divine One. The next morning Lord Meryre, who had summoned up enough courage, demanded an audience, but the guards turned him away, saying Pharaoh had gone out in the eastern Red Lands to hunt. The High Priest accepted this, and when he approached the next day, the same excuse was given, though the captain of the guard looked both troubled and intrigued. Two more days passed before a careful search was made. The Divine One had left the city. Chariots and horses had been taken from the royal stables but no huntsmen, whippers-in or hounds had followed. No one had seen him leave. No one knew when he had gone or when he would return. God’s Father Ay sent out a chariot squadron; they scoured up to a distance of ten miles but could find no trace or trail. Lord Ay believed that Akenhaten may have left for a period of solitude, but after two weeks had passed he reached the conclusion that something else had happened. He and Queen Nefertiti decided to send out an expedition into the eastern Red Lands; they were confident, from the reports of spies and guards, that Akenhaten had not crossed the Nile into the western desert.
My lord Tutu intervened. He laid before us letters about the situation in Canaan and argued the Divine One might have gone there. Queen Nefertiti questioned why her husband should go into the hill country of the Canaanites. I suspect she knew the answer before he replied. ‘Your Majesty,’ Tutu reasoned, ‘is it not from such hill country that your people come?’
‘My people,’ Nefertiti snapped. ‘My people are those of Egypt!’ And would not discuss the matter again.
Meryre, however, did not trust her or God’s Father Ay. He began to cast about to discover what had happened. An expedition was prepared. Then, one night whilst I was serving sacrifice in a small sun temple, I heard the most hideous scream, like that of a soul in anguish, caught by the hellhounds, trapped in the ketet, the darkness of the Underworld. The scream was short but full of agony, like that of a man in a death trap. At first I thought I was dreaming. I hurried to investigate, as did the Lord Ay, who had been in a chamber nearby, but the Queen’s mercenaries had sealed the corridors and would not let us pass. I made a careful enquiry the next day. I reasoned that if a man had been killed, sent to the slaughter, his corpse would be thrown into some pit or crocodile pool. Others in the palace had heard the scream, and so the story began, the suspicion that the Divine One had been murdered, possibly assassinated by his own wife. Yet there was no proof and it became one story amongst many. One thing I did learn from an acquaintance was that the chief embalmer in the House of Life at the Temple of the Aten had also disappeared. He was Queen Nefertiti’s creature, a thin-faced, one-eyed fellow who rejoiced in the name of Keket, the Stammerer. During these days of mystery Keket vanished for a while, and when he rejoined his colleagues, he kept his own counsel. Nevertheless, for a man who had served in the embalming house of Thebes, Keket now appeared to enjoy great favour and considerable wealth, the source of which remained a mystery.
In the end, Lord Meryre had his way. An expedition was dispatched under General Rahmose into the eastern Red Lands, even as far as Canaan, to discover the whereabouts, if possible, of the Lord Akenhaten.
Lord Meryre was insistent that Djoser and I were part of this expedition. Meryre had now openly broken with Queen Nefertiti and refused to submit to the Lord Ay. We had no choice but to undergo that harrowing experience! We crossed the burning desert, stopping at the Oasis of Sweetness before eventually entering the Sinai and on into Canaan. A strange country, with its reddish sandy soil, twisted oaks, deep woods and muddy rivers infested with crocodiles. We continued north into the meadow plains, avoiding the squalid towns, journeying slowly along roads infested by outlaws and bandits. The inhabitants treated us with suspicion. Each valley is occupied by a separate tribe, so no force was strong enough to oppose us. Eventually we reached the territories of Prince Aziru and were taken under his protection. Rahmose explained the secret purpose of our expedition. Aziru solemnly agreed to help us. He had profited and prospered because Akenhaten had ignored the affairs of Canaan. Even when we reached the court, we found Hittite envoys being entertained as guests of honour.
Aziru made careful search for Akenhaten. At first he considered our expedition was a pretext for some other mystery but his spies also whispered strange tales about a group who had come out of Egypt, a caravan fiercely protected by sand-dwellers which had moved north into the hills around the Dead Sea. Aziru’s greed sharpened at the stories that this caravan contained not only an important person but also a fabulous treasure. It was there that the great lie was born. Armed with letters, General Rahmose was sent back into Egypt, whilst Djoser and myself remained at Aziru’s court. As the months passed, Hittite visits to the court became more frequent. At last Aziru took us into his counsel. He was now openly supported by the Hittite king, who sent nobles, military advisers and treasure south. Aziru reasoned that if the true fate of Akenhaten was unknown, then why not put forward a usurper and interfere in the affairs of Egypt? He opened secret correspondence with Meryre, who responded that such a scheme had his full support, whilst Djoser and I would act as his envoys. Meryre used the pretext of sending statues, symbols of Aten, as gifts; they secretly contained his treasonable correspondence. On the plains outside Aziru’s city, an army began to assemble: Hittite troops, mercenaries, as well as those princelings and chieftains of Canaan eager to support Aziru in mischief.
I speak the truth: I was not as fervent in my support of this mischief as my companion Djoser. When I first met the usurper and his woman, I openly derided their appearance and character. They were no more the great King Akenhaten and his Queen than desert sand is the finest gold. Nevertheless, Aziru was determined. Stories came from Egypt how Nefertiti had attempted to rule as sole Pharaoh, only to be overthrown; how a regency council governed the kingdom in the name of Akenhaten’s son. The change in his name from Tutankhaten to Tutankhamun symbolised the way things were going in Egypt.
Meryre’s rage was unbounded. In secret correspondence he informed us that the City of the Aten had been abandoned. How the Royal Circle had returned to Thebes, determined on the restoration of the old ways. Nevertheless, this Royal Circle was divided, so the decision was reached to invade the Delta and draw the power of Horemheb north. In the meantime, Aziru persisted in his search for the real Akenhaten and his treasure but was unable to discover anything new.
In the second year of my stay in Canaan, during the third month of the harvest season, we moved from Canaan down across Sinai and into the Delta. The rest, my lord Mahu knows. I have spoken the truth, and can say no more …
I questioned Khufu closely about everything he had written, but he was tired, he had drunk deeply and he was still frightened. His answers were often slurred and rambling, so I dismissed him to bed. I preserved his account, a manuscript I have kept close by me over the years. I pored over it that night, going through every line. Some of it I recognised. The confusion in the City of the Aten following Nefertiti’s disgrace had cloaked everything in secrecy. Akenhaten’s depression, his bizarre behaviour and lonely prowling of the palace precincts were well known. Khufu’s story did shed some light. Akenhaten had suffered some form of madness; whether this was divinely inspired or not I could not say. He claimed to have had visions of the future and left some secret wisdom in the custody of these mysterious Watchers, but who were they? Were they the same people who had helped him? Ever since he was a boy, Akenhaten had received assistance from the wandering tribes of the Apiru. Khufu had named the clan or sect directly responsible: Israar. According to Khufu, they had brought in their own priests and exorcists to purify Akenhaten’s mind. He had discovered a new serenity and peace and resolved to leave the City of the Aten.
This might appear ridiculous to some. Why should anyone abandon wealth and power? Yet, as I have said, the child begets the man. Akenhaten’s early days had been spent in lonely obscurity. He had experienced the austerity of a poor priest. When he became Pharaoh, although he exulted in the pomp and grandeur, he saw this only as a means to the worship of his God. So had he abandoned his city? Or was he murdered? The breach between Nefertiti and himself, whatever the pretence peddled to the rest of the court, had been irrevocable and final. Apparently, according to Khufu, the main reason for Nefertiti’s restoration was that she had taken a solemn oath not to harm the Prince Tutankhamun, which meant that even during her exile she had probably tried to injure the infant. The second reason for her restoration was so that Akenhaten could conjure up the illusion of normalcy, of harmony. He ceded the affairs of state to his ambitious, arrogant wife whilst he secretly prepared to abandon his family, his court and his empire.
Akenhaten had reached that calmness often found in a man who has experienced an agonising struggle and come through it to confront his own death. He had been determined to leave and was undoubtedly helped by Apiru, the men of Israar. They had removed treasure, gold, silver and precious stones, as preparation for Akenhaten’s secret life. Moreover, these were men who knew the desert, its secret paths, its hidden wells and oases. They would have experienced no problem in crossing the burning sands into Sinai and then north into Canaan. And who would take notice of them there? A country riven by petty blood feuds and tribal jealousies?
Grasping Khufu’s manuscript, I went and sat on a small balcony, staring out into the night. If Akenhaten had truly left, if he wished to remain hidden, pursuing his own vision, then what had Khufu heard? According to the evidence, someone had been murdered in the imperial apartments, but instead of a corpse being thrown into a pit or a crocodile pool, this creature of Nefertiti, the chief embalmer, had been summoned into her quarters and lavishly rewarded for some secret task. The embalming of a corpse? The tombs in the eastern cliffs of the City of the Aten were full of unmarked sarcophagi, coffins and corpses. What had Nefertiti plotted to do? Only a few months after this, she had attempted to assume supreme power in Egypt and been brought down by a pack of hyaenas, of which I was one.
I should have felt tired, but sleep escaped me. Had Akenhaten truly fled? Was Khufu’s story about a man being slain mere distraction? Ankhesenamun had whispered how her sister Meritaten had claimed to know about the poisoning of her own father-husband. Meritaten’s heart had been disturbed, nothing more than a weak girl terrified of her sombre father. Was her boast more a result of wishful thinking than the truth? Or was it all the work of Ankhesenamun’s fertile imaginings? Had Akenhaten travelled into Canaan determined on a life of seclusion only to be forced out by the rise of the usurper and the hideous events in the Delta? Had he come south once more to see justice done? To visit his son and communicate quietly to me that he was still alive? Nebamun undoubtedly spoke the truth. He claimed to have seen a man disguised as a priest with more than a passing resemblance to Akenhaten, fingering turquoise amber beads. Khufu had mentioned the same in his confession.
I recalled the golden emblem found in the usurper’s tent, and the map I had consulted in Nebamun’s library. I went and fetched both. I searched out the location of the City of the Aten and placed the emblem with the sun on it, noticing that its rays pointed to an area in south Canaan. Aziru, using a different map, must have done the same in his searches. I looked at the area and tried to recall the stories I had heard, of valleys and plains, thick woods, turbulent rivers and stretches of blistering desert where not even a blade of grass or the sturdiest bush could grow. I put the map away and went to the antechamber; Djarka lay asleep on a cot bed. I shook him awake. He staggered from his bed, threw water over his face and peered through the window.
‘My lord Mahu, it must be the third decan of the night? Can you not sleep?’
‘Tell me about your people,’ I demanded.
Djarka, rubbing his eyes, sat down on the floor, his back to the wall. I lit some more oil lamps.
‘Could this not have waited until the morning?’ he moaned.
‘Tell me about your people!’
‘You know it,’ he protested. ‘I am of the Apiru, who come from Canaan. Some remained with their flocks, others settled in the Delta, whilst the rest colonised Akhmin, becoming more,’ he laughed abruptly, ‘more Egyptian than the Egyptians. I belong to the latter. You know that. I served Great Queen Tiye, that’s how I came into your service. The loyal archer, the manservant, the Protector of the Prince.’
I ignored the sarcasm in his voice.
‘And do you know the men of the Israar?’
I made two mistakes that night. First, I should have questioned Khufu more closely. Secondly, I allowed Djarka to remain hidden in the darkness, even though at the time I sensed something was wrong.
‘The men of Israar,’ I repeated. ‘What do you know of them?’
‘They are the heart of our people.’ He sighed. ‘They have more priests than the rest. They have not been tainted by Egypt, by its glorious splendour, its luxury, its opulence. They tend their herds, moving backwards and forwards, sometimes in Canaan, sometimes along the rich Black Lands of Egypt.’
‘Have you heard rumours,’ I asked, ‘that they were involved in the abduction or escape of Akenhaten?’
‘Master, if I had heard,’ the answer came too easily, ‘I would have told you. When the Divine One,’ he sighed again, ‘left or was killed, I, like you, was banned from his presence. You were weak due to the plague. I had still not recovered from her death …’ He let his words hang in the air, a memorial of his deep love for the woman whom I’d discovered to be an assassin. Then he clambered to his feet, ‘I know nothing of Akenhaten. I know nothing at all,’ and went back to his bed.
I returned to my chamber. Once again I went through Khufu’s story but could learn nothing else. Nevertheless, I was convinced my old master was alive, that he had revisited Egypt and would now return to his secret place in Canaan. I also went through the documents taken from the Delta. In the main they were interesting: letters between Aziru and his allies in both Canaan and the kingdom of the Hittites. I cleared the documents away, so intent on what I was doing that I started at the soft touch on my arm. Tutankhamun was standing dressed in his night shift, his eyes filled with tears. He held a small wooden box; he silently offered this to me. I took the casket and lifted the lid. Inside were the two mummified corpses of the tortoises he had drowned.
‘I did not intend to do wrong, Uncle Mahu. I just thought I should punish them.’
I closed the lid and crouched down. He put his arms round my neck and stood trembling. I took him across to the table, removed the cover cloth and gave him a sweetmeat and a sip of wine.
‘Forget the tortoises, my lord,’ I whispered. ‘They were good tortoises and have now travelled across the Far Horizon.’
‘Will there be tortoises there?’ Tutankhamun asked.
‘If you want, my lord, there will be tortoises, gazelles, cats and dogs.’
‘When will I go to the Far Horizon?’
‘Only when you are very old,’ I replied. ‘And the father of many children and the grandfather of countless others.’
Tutankhamun giggled, licking his fingers and staring at me like the little owl he was.
‘Is it true, Uncle Mahu, that my father is still alive? I heard the servants talking. If he is alive, why doesn’t he visit me? Why did he leave me?’
‘Your father had to leave you, my lord, for his safety and yours.’
‘When I become a man,’ Tutankhamun declared, ‘I shall be a warrior. I shall sweep north like Ahmose did, carrying fire and sword against the People of the Nine Bows.’
I prised the wine cup from his hands and placed it back on the table. ‘My lord, how old are you now?’
‘Uncle Mahu, you know how old I am. Since you left, my day of birth has come and gone. I am now midway between my seventh and eighth year.’
‘Can you remember,’ I asked crouching down, ‘your father ever visiting you?’
The young Prince shook his head.
‘Did he ever send you a gift?’
‘Many gifts, toy soldiers, a chariot, a hippopotamus …’
‘Did he,’ I intervened, ‘or possibly Lord Pentju ever mention the Watchers? Think, my lord.’
Tutankhamun squeezed his eyes shut and opened them quickly.
‘Never, Uncle Mahu. Who are the Watchers?’
‘Finally, my lord,’ I scooped him up in my arms, ‘how often have I told you never to leave your bedchamber in the dead of night?’
Joking and laughing, I took him back, placed him in his bed and sat down to wait until he had fallen fast asleep.
hui
(Ancient Egyptian for ‘to shoot venom’)