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.”
