Akhenaten (2 page)

I still remember his repulsive appearance, neither man nor woman. Because he was so weak and frail, he naturally became resentful of all strong men, priests, and deities. He conceived of a god similar to himself in weakness and femininity, both father and mother, with no other purpose but love. A god worshiped with rituals
of dance and song! Akhenaten drowned in a swamp of foolishness, and neglected his obligations to the throne, while our men and loyal allies were being massacred by the enemies of the empire. Though they cried for help, they received none, and eventually the empire was lost, Egypt was destroyed, the temples were empty, and the people famished. That was the heretic who called himself Akhenaten.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of his memories, the high priest was silent for a while. I waited patiently, until at last he laced his fingers and rested his hands in his lap.

I first received reports about Akhenaten when he was still a young boy. I had my eyes in the palace, men who had dedicated themselves to the service of Amun and the country. They told me that the crown prince nurtured a suspicious affinity for Aten, favoring him over Amun, master of all deities. I learned that every day at dawn the boy went to a secluded spot on the Nile bank to greet the sunrise in solitude. I foresaw in his strange practices a future laden with trouble. I went to the palace, where I confessed my fears to the king and queen.

“My son is still young,” Amenhotep III smiled.

“But the young boy will grow, and he will retain within him the ideas of his childhood.”

“He is but an innocent child seeking wisdom wherever he thinks he might find it,” Tiye said.

“Soon he will begin his military training and learn his true calling,” the pharaoh added.

“We have no need of more countries to add to our empire. What we need is the wisdom to keep what we already have,” Tiye said.

“My glorious Queen,” I argued, “the safety of the empire relies on the blessings of Amun and the exercise of power.”

“I am surprised that a wise man like yourself should undervalue the role of wisdom in such a manner,” said the cunning queen.

“I do not deny the importance of wisdom,” I insisted, “but without power, wisdom is nothing but chatter.”

“In this palace,” the pharaoh interjected, “there is no question that Amun is the master of all deities.”

“But the prince has stopped visiting the temple,” I said anxiously.

“Be patient,” the king replied. “Soon my son will fulfill all his obligations as crown prince.”

I returned from the palace with no solace. Indeed, after hearing the king and queen come to the prince's defense, my fears were even stronger. Then I heard about a conversation the crown prince had with his parents and I became convinced that within the prince's frail body was an abyss of evil power. One day one of my men asked to see me. “Even the sun is no longer a god,” he said. I queried him and he continued, “There are rumors that a new god has revealed himself to the
crown prince, claiming to be the one and only true god and that all other deities are spurious.”

The news stunned me. The fate of the older brother who died was more merciful than the madness that had descended upon the crown prince. The tragedy had reached its climax.

“Are you certain of what you say?”

“I am merely reporting what everyone says.”

“How did this so-called god reveal himself to the prince?”

“He heard his voice.”

“No sun? No star? No idols?”

“Nothing at all.”

“How can he worship what he cannot see?”

“He believes that his god is the only power capable of creation.”

“He has lost his mind.”

The chanter priest, Toto, said, “The prince has gone mad and is no longer fit to take the throne when the time comes.”

“Quiet,” I said. “That the prince is an infidel does not change the fact that Amun and our gods will remain the only deities worshiped by the people in the empire.”

“How can a heretic take the throne and rule the empire?” Toto asked angrily.

“Let us not be hasty. We will wait until the truth is clear, then we will discuss the matter with the king,” I continued, my heart heavy with gloom. “It will be the first confrontation of its kind in history.”

When the crown prince married Nefertiti, the eldest
daughter of the sage Ay, I held by the last of all hopes— that in marriage, the prince would return to his senses. I summoned Ay to the temple. As we talked, it became clear to me that the sage was extremely cautious in what he said. He was certainly in a predicament, and I sympathized with him, saying nothing about the prince's unbelief. Before he left, I asked him to arrange for me a private conference with his daughter.

Nefertiti arrived promptly. I looked at her keenly, and saw beyond her captivating beauty a roaring torrent of strength and power. I was instantly reminded of the Great Queen Tiye, and hoped this power would work with us and not against us.

“I grant you my blessing, my daughter.”

She expressed her gratitude in a sweet, pleasing voice.

“I have no doubt that you are fully aware of your duties as the wife of the crown prince. But it is also my duty to remind you that the throne of the empire is founded on three fundamentals: Amun, the master of all deities; the pharaoh; and the queen.”

“Indeed. I am fortunate to be granted the honor of your wisdom.”

“A sensible queen must bear with the king the burden of protecting the empire.”

“Dear Holy Priest,” she said firmly, “my heart is filled with love and loyalty.”

“Egypt is a country of timeless traditions, and women are the sacred guardians of this heritage.”

“Duty, too, dwells within me.”

Nefertiti remained wary and reserved throughout her
visit. She spoke, but revealed nothing. She was like a mysterious carving with no inscription to explain it. I could extract no information from her words, nor could I express my fears directly. Yet her wariness meant that she knew everything and that she was not on our side. Her position did not surprise me in the least. By a stroke of luck capable of turning the strongest head in the country Nefertiti had found herself a future queen. Her primary concern was neither Amun nor indeed any of the deities—she craved only the power of the throne. I said a prayer of mourning with the other priests in the holy of holies, then related to them the proceedings of my meeting with Nefertiti.

“Soon there will be nothing but darkness,” said Toto the chanter. When all the other priests had left, Toto said, “Perhaps you can discuss the matter with Chief Commander Mae.”

“Toto,” I replied earnestly, recognizing the danger in his allusion, “we cannot defy King Amenhotep III and the Great Queen Tiye.”

Meanwhile in the palace, tension was rising between the mad prince and his parents. Thus King Amenhotep III issued an imperial mandate ordering the crown prince to tour the vast empire. Perhaps the pharaoh had hoped that when the prince became acquainted with his country and subjects he would see the reality of things and realize how far he had strayed from the right path. I was grateful for the king's attempt, but my deep fears continued to haunt me. Then, while the prince was still away, some grave events took place. First, Queen Tiye
gave birth to twins, Smenkhkare and Tutankhamun. Shortly after, the pharaoh's health deteriorated, and he died. Messengers from the palace carried the news to the prince, for him to return and take the throne.

I discussed the future of the country with the priests of Amun, and we came to an agreement. Immediately I took action, and asked to meet the queen despite the mourning and her preoccupation with mummifying her husband's body. Even in her grief, the queen was powerful and enduring. I was determined to speak out at any cost.

“My Queen, I came to speak my mind to the rightful matriarch of the empire.” I could tell by the way she looked at me that she knew what I was about to say.

“My gracious Queen, it is well known now that the crown prince does not respect our deities.”

“Do not believe everything you hear,” she replied.

“I am prepared to believe all that you say, Your Majesty,” I said readily.

“He is a poet,” she said. I was not satisfied with her answer but remained silent until she added, firmly, “He will fulfill all his duties.”

I mustered up all the courage I had within me and said, “My Queen is surely aware of the consequences that would befall the throne if the gods were offended.”

“Your fears are unfounded,” she replied irritably.

“If necessity calls we can entrust the throne to one of your younger sons; you will be the guardian regent.”

“Amenhotep IV will rule the empire. He is the crown prince.”

Thus did the wise queen yield to the mother and lover
in her. She wasted the last chance for reparation, and armed destiny with the weapon that dealt us a fatal blow. The mad, effeminate crown prince returned in time for the royal entombment.

Soon afterward, I was summoned to appear before him in his formal capacity as the future pharaoh. It was the first time I had seen him closely. He was rather dark, with dreamy eyes and a thin, frail figure, noticeably feminine. His features were grotesque and disturbing. He was a despicable creature, unworthy of the throne, so weak he could not challenge an insect, let alone the Master Deity. I was disgusted but revealed nothing; instead I called to mind the words of wise men and great poets, words that inspired me to keep my patience. He fixed his gaze on me, a look neither hostile nor friendly.

I was so distracted by his appearance that I could not utter a word.

“I have had so many tedious arguments with my parents because of you,” he began.

I was finally able to speak. “My only concern in this life,” I said, “is the service of Amun, the throne, and the empire.”

“You have something to tell me, no doubt,” he said.

“My King,” I replied, anticipating a battle, “I heard disturbing news, but I did not believe it.”

“What you heard is the truth,” he said, seemingly quite unconcerned. I was startled, but he continued, “I am the only man of faith in this heathen country.”

“I cannot believe what I hear.”

“You must believe it. There is no god but the One and Only God.”

“Amun will not forgive this blasphemy.” I was so enraged that I no longer cared about the consequences of what I said; my only concern was to defend Amun and our deities.

“No one but the One and Only God can grant forgiveness,” he replied, smiling.

“Nonsense!” I said, shuddering with anger.

“He is the whole meaning of this world. He is the creator. He is the power. He is love, peace, and happiness.” Then he threw me a piercing look that seemed out of keeping with his fragile appearance, and continued, “I call upon you to believe in him.”

“Beware of the wrath of Amun,” I said furiously. “He creates, and He destroys. He grants and dispossesses, aids and forsakes. Fear his vengeance for it shall haunt you to your last descendant, and destroy your throne and the empire.”

“I am but a child in the vast expanse of the One and Only, a budding flower in his garden, and a servant at his command. He granted me his gracious love and revealed himself to my soul. He filled me with brilliant light and beautiful music. That is all that matters to me.”

“A prince does not become a pharaoh until he is crowned in the temple of Amun.”

“I shall be crowned in the open land under the sunlight, with the blessing of the creator.”

We parted on the poorest terms. On my side there was Amun and his followers. Akhenaten had the heritage of his great family, the holiness with which the subjects regarded their pharaohs, and his madness. I prepared myself for holy war, and was ready to sacrifice
everything for the sake of Amun and my country. I put myself to work without delay.

“The new pharaoh is a heretic,” I told the priests. “You must know that, and let everyone in the country be informed.”

I too was furious, but I thought it best to channel Toto's anger. I proposed that he should pretend to join the heretic, to become our eyes in the palace. As for the king, he, too, lost no time. He was crowned with the blessings of his so-called god. He even built a temple for him in Thebes, the city of Amun. He proclaimed his new religion to the candidates for his chamber, and consequently the finest men of Egypt declared their faith in the new god. Their particular motives may have varied, but the goal was one—to fulfill their ambition and attain power. Perhaps if they had renounced his religion, things would have taken a different course. But they sold themselves like whores. Take the sage Ay, for instance. He thought himself a part of the pharaoh's family and was blinded by glory. Haremhab, a courageous warrior, was another one. He was a man of no true faith; for him it was simply a matter of substituting one name for another. All the others, too, they were nothing but a band of hypocrites, hungry for wealth and power. Had they not renounced their sinful ways and repented at the critical moment, they would have deserved to die. In the event, they won their lives back, but I have no respect for any of them.