Authors: Allen Drury
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Historical, #Mythology & Folk Tales, #Historical Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #fairy tales
Return to Thebes (14 page)
“Who is coming?” I demand sharply, my voice succumbing to its damnable emotional croak. “Who is coming to my palace?
Tell me.
”
“Horemheb, Ramesses, Hatsuret and their troops.”
“For what purpose?”
“I do not know, Nefer-Kheperu-Ra,” he says, using my name with old familiarity, “but I know it bodes no good to you and Her Majesty. She has left the North Palace. They seem to know she is coming here—they are coming here. Please! Please, I beg of you as a father which I have almost been to you all these unhappy years—go! Please go! Immediately!”
“Where can I go that they will not find me?” I ask him bitterly; and suddenly I reject it all, him, them, everything—except my dear wife who is riding to me swiftly through the night, her plan apparently exposed, her life in jeopardy as I now know mine is.
A great calm and radiance settle on me, Father Aten, coming from you to your son Akhenaten. I know what I must do.
“Her Majesty is indeed coming here,” I tell this old man who is almost a stranger to me now, so remote does he seem in his terror. “She is being very brave. I can be no less brave. I shall go to the gate and greet her. They will not dare harm us.”
“They will, Majesty!” he cries in anguish as outside we hear the distant approaching sounds of many men and many horses. “They will! Son of the Sun, you must go!”
“No,” I say quietly, “I will not go.”
And I start toward the door, noting with disdain that Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, that great sage whom we have looked up to and revered all these years, is clinging desperately to my sleeve, weeping like a woman. He is but a poor thing, after all.
I go armored in our love for one another, and for you, Father Aten.
I am Nefer-Kheperu-Ra Akhenaten.
She is Nefer-neferu-aten Nefertiti.
And we will prevail.
***
Amonhotep,
Son of Hapu
He tries to shake off my hand with a furious impatience, he hobbles ahead of me along the corridor as fast as he can. He is like one possessed—but of a weird otherworldly serenity I am unable to penetrate. They are coming to kill them both, and he will not listen to me while there still is time. He could flee—even now, with luck, they could manage to escape and flee together—and from some hidden place seek friends to rise and put down their enemies … but he will not flee, for he knows, as I know, that they no longer have any friends and their tragic story is at last played out.
So I weep as I cling to him, seeking even now to hold him back. As we near the entrance he turns upon me with a sudden violent movement, eyes still remote but blinded briefly by a savage rage.
“
Let me go!
”
he snaps, yanking his sleeve finally from my grasp. “
Get back!
”
Furiously he stares at me, helplessly I stare back. Outside the sound of approaching troops comes nearer.
“Yes, Son of the Sun,” I murmur at last through my tears, “I will let you go.” He turns instantly and resumes his shuffling, stumbling run toward the great wooden doors where servants stand wide-eyed with terror, waiting to fling them open at his command.
“
Open!
”
he shouts with a terrible urgency. They obey, tumbling over one another in their fright. We look out upon a garish scene. A wild wind is blowing off the Nile, great torches hiss back the night. There is a jumble of horses, troops, men—and a single beautiful woman, standing straight and composed in her chariot as it pauses on one side of the courtyard to confront that of her half brother which has just drawn up on the other side.
For a moment we are all frozen in one of those awful spells that last forever in memory and, perhaps, in time. Over Akhenaten’s shoulder I can see them staring, first Nefertiti and Horemheb at one another, then the two of them at Akhenaten—he looking from each to each and back again, revealing nothing in a face that now is as composed as hers, serene and unafraid.
A breathless silence fills the world. The wind blows, the torches flare; only the restless shifting of the horses and the dry rustling of the palms keeps us in tenuous touch with reality. We are figures of stone, awaiting the word that will start us to life. It comes at last from him, in a voice that miraculously rings clear and commanding through the square.
“Why do you come here, Cousin? What business have you with your King and Pharaoh at this strange hour?”
Horemheb stares at him, he and Nefertiti at Horemheb. Finally Horemheb speaks, his face working with emotion but his voice filled with a terrible determination.
“We have come to arrest Your Majesties and remove you forever from the rule of the Two Lands,” he says, and a great shuddering sigh goes up from the trembling soldiers, the terrified servants and the few late wanderers of the city who have been attracted by the unusual commotion.
“You speak treason, Cousin,” Akhenaten says quietly, his face betraying no emotion other than a calm conviction that he will prevail. Abruptly his voice rises in sharp command: “Arrest him!”
There is a stirring among the troops, an uneasy movement, the exchange of many awed and frightened glances—but they have had their orders and although most are simple peasant lads confronted by the awesome age-old mystery of their Pharaoh, they stand firm. Horemheb is their leader, and commands the world.
“
Arrest him!
”
Akhenaten shouts again, his voice now croaking with a furious anger that is frightening in its intensity … but they do not move.
“
ARREST HIM!
”
he shouts for the third time … and still they do not move.
The silence returns. Our dreadful paralysis has enveloped us again. None stirs. A stillness as of death lies on us now.
“Your Majesties,” Horemheb says at last, face still filled with emotion but voice implacable, “had best come quietly so that no one will be hurt”
“
No!
”
Nefertiti cries, her voice as implacable as his, ringing firm and fearless in the chilling wind. Calmly she takes the reins of her chariot from the trembling hands of her driver and turns to Akhenaten, standing rigid on the topmost step.
“Husband,” she says, still in the same clear, untroubled voice, “come with me and let us leave this traitorous dog to eat his vomit as befits him.
Come!
”
And she slaps the reins across the backs of her horses, who whinny and start forward.
Instantly the world goes mad.
“Stop her!” Horemheb shouts in a terrible voice.
“Let her through on pain of death and the eternal curse of Pharaoh through all time, forever and ever!” Akhenaten shouts in fury equally terrible.
For the slightest of moments the world hangs suspended. Then the terrified but obedient soldiers tumble forward, her chariot is surrounded, the horses scream and rear high as someone stabs them and their entrails begin to spill upon the stones. Wild shouts mingle with the horses’ screams as the soldiers seek to strengthen one another’s resolve. The dust swirls up and hides the dreadful scene for several moments. When it is hurried away by the racing wind, the melee emerges again in all its awful excitement. At its center stands Horemheb, holding the reins of the dying horses. Straight and proud, eyes fierce, expression fearless and enraged, Nefertiti stands at the front of her chariot. Behind her stands Hatsuret, a glistening battle-ax raised high above his head.
For what seems an eternity but can only be a moment she stays so in the wildly flickering light of the great bronze-shielded torches, beautiful, brave, indomitable and unconquerable.
“
Now!
”
Horemheb shouts. Hatsuret raises still higher the gleaming ax.
So fast the eye is unable to follow, it flashes for a split second and comes down to cleave forever that perfect, timeless skull.
A heavy, unbelieving groan comes from the stunned soldiers and the watching crowd, a wild animal scream from Akhenaten. Desperately I clutch his arm, with a strength I did not know my old bones could muster I drag him back inside before any can emerge from the blood-sick stupor that engulfs them. Frantically I shout at the servants, frantically they leap to slam shut and bolt the massive doors.
“Majesty!” I cry. “You must flee! Oh, my dear son, I beg of you, please, please,
please,
come with me!”
He is in a daze, he does not know where he is—but he obeys. Blindly he staggers away with me down the corridor. At our backs we hear the first heavy crash of the battering rams.
Somehow I hurry him, half falling, half stumbling, leaning on me for support I am almost afraid I cannot give, I am so desperate and frightened and my heart hurts so as I struggle to breathe, down the seemingly endless corridors to the private entrance at the back. Miraculously Horemheb has not thought of this: perhaps he could not imagine her death would not deliver the Good God helpless in his hands. Only Akenaten’s troops are on guard, and they have as yet had no word of what has transpired in front.
I stand for a moment irresolute, and in that moment he comes back to me.
“Chariot,” he croaks. “
Chariot!
”
“Yes!” I cry, and give the command. Sped by my haste and agitation, the guards spring to obey. In a moment a chariot with two horses stands before us. In the next, the back gates have been swung open. With a strange, startling agility, calling upon who knows what reserves of strength and terror, he leaps up as I have not seen him do since he was a child and grasps the reins tightly in his long, thin hands.
“Majesty—” I cry, and start to clamber up with him. But savagely he pushes me back—savagely, but, I think, quite impersonally, for I know he hardly realizes I am there.
“No!” he cries. “I go!”
And lashes the horses, who leap forward, and vanishes in the night of the still sleeping, unsuspecting city.
I know where he is going in his blind grief and desperation and I know that they will find him there.
I bow my head and weep bitterly for Nefer-Kheperu-Ra Akhenaten, tenth King and Pharaoh of the Eighteenth Dynasty to rule over the land of Kemet, whose living body I know I shall never look upon again.…
Some time later—some little time, though to me in my utmost agony of soul it has seemed very long indeed—I hear the crash of the great doors going down, a swirl of soldiers jangling through the halls. Ever nearer comes the voice of Horemheb. I sit upon the ground and draw my robe over my head and wait humbly for his coming: for I know that for me as well he means Death.
But amazingly it does not come. I am aware of a sudden quiet, I am conscious that he is standing over me. Slowly I draw my robe away and look up with tear-filled eyes into his strained and ravaged face.
For a long time our eyes hold in silence. Then at last he reaches down and gently draws the robe back over my head. I prepare myself instantly for the end of life. But again he astounds me.
“Do not feel too badly, old friend,” he says softly, “and do not think I will blame you for what you have done this night. You have done what you believed you had to do”—he pauses and his voice grows infinitely sad, with a depth of feeling I had not known was in him, my bright and clever “Kaires” who came to us so long ago—“and so, I think, have we.”
With an abrupt harshness he cries, “Bring my horse! I go alone to the Northern Tombs!” There is an obedient jumble of response—and he is gone.
I draw my robe tighter over my head, I lock my hands around my knees, I rock back and forth in desolation for our poor lost Akhenaten and our beautiful Nefertiti.
***
Akhenaten
(life, health, prosperity!)
Far below me the city sleeps. Here where I have come so often, I rest in you, my Father Aten. You are my protector, my friend; you open for me the peaceful ways. For your son Akhenaten you will set all things right and make the world to sing again. You will restore to me my beloved wife, who has not died, and my dearest brother, who has not died, and together we will rule in happiness and love for all our people, forever and ever, for millions and millions of years.
It seems to me that somewhere, but a little while ago, there was horror in the night. I cannot remember exactly what it was, I remember light and voices shouting, there seems to be a great terror—and then it eludes me. I cannot understand, I no longer remember, I forget and with a smile of infinite peace I think again upon your wonderful and loving grace to me, my Father Aten.
You know, my Father Aten, how long and faithfully I have loved you, and how earnestly I have sought to make my people understand your joyous kindness to the world. I have labored diligently in all things so that they might know how you have made the world to be a beautiful and happy place, and how you love all men and keep them safe, O Sole God who rules the universe. I have tried to make them see that they must not be afraid of other gods, that they must not fear the powers of magic, of evil and of darkness—that they must love only you, who are all things good and kind, in whose holy light all men, women, birds, animals, living things are blessed and sheltered and made whole.
This I have tried to do, Father Aten—only you know how hard I have tried. I think I may sometimes have made mistakes, for though I am a god I am also human; but they have been mistakes grown of loving you, and not from evil in my heart. I know my people have not understood me always, and perhaps I have not understood them as much as I would wish; but I have tried to serve them, and to save them, as best I could with the benison of your loving guidance. For you I married my daughters, that I might have sons to carry on my line and spread your gospel to all the lands and oceans, not only of Kemet but far beyond our borders, for all men need your loving help. For you I put aside my dear wife Nefertiti for a time and took to my side my dear brother Smenkhkara, who represented to me all that was happy and hopeful in my own youth that was so sadly ended when I fell ill: in his love I thought I might find the strength to help me strengthen you. For you I destroyed Amon and the other gods, so that nothing would stand in the way of your dominance of the world.
I have wanted only love, for you, for myself, for everyone. Dimly I seem to remember that there was opposition—bitterness—I have a vague feeling that some things were unhappy and did not go right for me—I try to remember, but my mind is tired tonight, Father Aten, and I cannot. Nor do I wish to or need to, protected as I am by your love, resting in peace within your loving arms.
It may be all has not gone as I would have wished, it may be I have been wrong about some things. But I have loved you, Father Aten, and I have loved my kingdom and its people, and for them I have sought only happy things. I have tried, Father Aten—I have tried: only you know how hard your son Akhenaten has tried.…
Far below I see the tiny spark of a flickering torch, twisting erratically in the wind. I thought the wind might be cold up here, for somehow I seem to have come without my robe, clad only in my linen shift; but I am warm and comfortable in the glow of your love, and I do not feel it. Somehow all the world seems bright and filled with happiness tonight, and all bad things are gone.…
I believe it is a single horseman who comes: the torch rocks as in the hand of one who rides a galloping steed. He has started up the long stone ramp that leads here to the Northern Tombs. His progress slows as his mount takes the steep incline. But he is coming, Father Aten, and to greet him I believe that I will sing to him once more my Hymn that I wrote to you, which I have sung so often to sustain me through all our years together. I do not know who he is who comes: but I think that he can only be moved, as all men are moved, by the loving beauty of what I sing to you.
I rise to my feet—I seem to have been lying prostrate on the ground, though I cannot remember why—and I move to the edge of the terrace that fronts the tombs. I spread my arms wide to embrace my city, my beloved kingdom and the glorious shining world. It is filled for me tonight with a marvelous all-conquering peace in the beauty of your love, and I sing to you:
“Thou arisest fair in the horizon of Heaven, O Living Aten, Beginner of Life. When thou dawnest in the East, thou fillest every land with thy beauty. Thou art indeed comely, great, radiant and high over every land. Thy rays embrace the lands to the full extent of all that thou hast made, for thou art Ra and thou attainest their limits and subdueth them for thy beloved son, Akhenaten. Thou art remote yet thy rays are upon the earth. Thou art in the sight of men, yet thy ways are not known.
“When thou settest in the Western horizon, the earth is in darkness after the manner of death. Men spend the night indoors with the head covered, the eye not seeing its fellow. Their possessions might be stolen, even when under their heads, and they would be unaware of it. Every lion comes forth from its lair and all snakes bite. Darkness is the only light, and the earth is silent when their Creator rests in his habitation.
“The earth brightens when thou arisest in the Eastern horizon and shinest forth as Aten in the daytime. Thou drivest away the night when thou givest forth thy beams. The Two Lands are in festival. They awake and stand upon their feet for thou hast raised them up. They wash their limbs, they put on raiment and raise their arms in adoration at thy appearance. The entire earth performs its labors. All cattle are at peace in their pastures. The trees and herbage grow green. The birds fly from their nests, their wings raised in praise of thy spirit. All animals gambol on their feet, all the winged creation live when thou hast risen for them. The boats sail upstream, and likewise downstream. All ways open at thy dawning. The fish in the river leap in thy presence. Thy rays are in the midst of the sea.
“Thou it is who causest women to conceive and maketh seed into man, who giveth life to the child in the womb of its mother, who comforteth him so that he cries not therein, nurse that thou art, even in the womb, who giveth breath to quicken all that he hath made. When the child comes forth from the body on the day of his birth, then thou openest his mouth completely and thou furnisheth his sustenance. When the chick in the egg chirps within the shell, thou givest him the breath within it to sustain him. Thou createst for him his proper term within the egg, so that he shall break it and come forth from it to testify to his completion as he runs about on his two feet when he emerges.
“How manifold are thy works! They are hidden from the sight of men, O Sole God, like unto whom there is no other! Thou didst fashion the earth according to thy desire when thou wast alone
—
all men, all cattle great and small, all that are upon the earth that run upon their feet or rise up on high, flying with their wings. And the lands of Syria and Kush and Kemet
—
thou appointest every man to his place and satisfieth his needs. Everyone receives his sustenance and his days are numbered. Their tongues are diverse in speech and their qualities likewise, and their color is differentiated for thou has distinguished the nations.
“Thou makest the waters under the earth and thou bringest them forth as the Nile at thy pleasure to sustain the people of Kemet even as thou hast made them live for thee, O Divine Lord of them all, toiling for them, the Lord of every land, shining forth for them, the Aten Disk of the daytime, great in majesty!
“All distant foreign lands also, thou createst their life. Thou hast placed a Nile in heaven to come forth for them and make a flood upon the mountains like the sea in order to water the fields of their villages. How excellent are thy plans, O Lord of Eternity!
—
a Nile in the sky is thy gift to the foreigners and to the beasts of their lands; but the true Nile flows from under the earth for Kemet.
“Thy beams nourish every field and when thou shinest they live and grow for thee. Thou makest the seasons in order to sustain all that thou hast made, the winter to cool them, the summer heat that they may taste of thy quality. Thou hast made heaven afar off that thou mayest behold all that thou hast made when thou wast alone, appearing in thine aspect of the Living Aten, rising and shining forth. Thou makest millions of forms out of thyself, towns, villages, fields, roads, the river. All eyes behold thee before them, for thou art the Aten of the daytime, above all that thou hast created.
“Thou are in my heart, and there is none that knoweth thee save thy son, Akhenaten. Thou hast made him wise in thy plans and thy power!”
Triumphantly I conclude, my voice loud and clear in the silent night, ringing over the city, the Nile, Kemet, the world; and as I do, the horseman reaches the edge of the terrace, dismounts and walks slowly toward me. I see that it is my cousin Horemheb and that he is carrying a battle-ax …
and suddenly I remember. I know.
Great terror for a second fills my heart, but then you come to me and place your hand tenderly upon my shoulder and strengthen me, O Father Aten, and all is peaceful and serene again with me. You are like unto a great light, a Nile of Niles that floods my being.
I do not fear him. He will not harm me.
I am the Living Horus and I stand armored in your love.
“Ah, yes, Cousin,” I say quietly as he advances. “Somehow I knew that you would come for me.”
***
