of their office, they walked up the avenue lined by their servants, some of whom held banners while others carried trumpets; still others bore cloth-covered baskets on their heads. As the delegation approached the low, whitewashed walls of the city, the trumpeters began to sound loud, rousing blasts on their instruments, heralding the arrival of their masters.
Arthur and Benedict, as guests of Anen, walked directly behind. Workers in the fields outside the city walls paused to watch the procession as it passed. At the gates they halted and waited while the guards hurried to push open the huge cedar trunks that formed the entrance; bound in iron and painted red, each of the two enormous doors took five men, straining at the rings, to open.
Once the way was clear, the parade resumed its stately progress. The stone-paved streets of the new city were wide and straight, the buildings low. The inhabitants on the streets paused to watch the spectacle; others came out of their dwellings to see what was happening. The streets were soon lined with curious onlookers.
As the priests made their way deeper into the new city, it became obvious that construction was still at an early stage: most of the structures, while roughed out in mud brick and plaster, had yet to be finished in stone. Only the temples-of which there were several of varying sizes-were complete; even the royal family’s residence waited to receive its gleaming white facade.
Nevertheless, work seemed to be hastening on. Builders swarmed the various construction sites-hundreds of them, organised in gangs, each with an overseer. The squat, swarthy labourers were all stripped to the waist, oozing sweat as they chiselled or plastered or carried bricks to and fro, with a cloth headdress the only concession to the pitiless sun. The appearance of the workers was so unlike that of the taller, more graceful Egyptians, Benedict guessed that these must be the Habiru that Anen had mentioned.
That they were skilled masons and artisans was clearly seen in the reliefs and statues and paintings that appeared at regular intervals along the streets of the royal city. Everywhere Benedict looked, there was an image of Pharaoh: Akhenaten with his wife, the beautiful Nefertiri; Akhenaten with his children; Akhenaten receiving the life-giving rays of the sun; Akhenaten mediating his god’s justice to the people of Egypt. Some of the statues appeared grotesque and misshapen-Akhenaten with big, blubbery lips, a round pot belly, and spindly bowed legs- absurd caricatures of the strictly codified official portraits.
“Look there,” he said, nudging his father with a discreet elbow. “The pharaoh’s face looks like a camel. Did they do that on purpose?”
“Apparently,” Arthur whispered back. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“Is he sick?”
“Perhaps, but I think we’ll soon find out.” He nodded past the priests leading the parade as into the street ahead swept a chariot with a phalanx of spear-carrying soldiers trotting easily behind. Drawn by two white horses with ostrich-plume headdresses, the chariot gleamed golden in the bright sunlight.
The procession halted as the speeding vehicle came hurtling headlong towards them, its iron-rimmed wheels clattering on the pavement. The driver lashed the horses to greater speed and drove on, his long black hair streaming in the wind.
As the vehicle closed on them, the leading line of priests broke ranks and moved aside. At the point of collision, the servants threw down their banners and ran. Suddenly the decorous procession was a mad scramble as priests fought to get out of the way. Arthur and Benedict, some little distance apart, beat a quick retreat to one side and watched the mayhem. With a clatter of hooves and a whirl of dust, the chariot skidded to a stop. The priests, outraged at their treatment, began shouting and calling down curses upon the belligerent driver-who merely put back his head and laughed, his teeth a flash of white behind the rich black of his braided beard.
The soldiers came pounding in, their heavy sandals slapping the stones. The commander, an imposing fellow in a plumed helmet of gleaming bronze and a chest plate made of overlapping leaves of bronze scales, called an order, and the soldiers formed up, coming to attention with a smart crack of their spears on the pavement.
“This is an outrage!” shouted one of the senior priests, shoving forward, his robe in disarray and smudged with dust. “A curse on your house!”
The chariot driver merely gazed down, grinning through his beard. Benedict edged closer for a better look. He saw a compact, well-made man in the prime of life, clean-limbed and clear-eyed, his skin bronzed a robust hue from the sun-the symbol of the god he served. He had a high forehead, strong jaw, and fine white teeth that fairly gleamed through the dark forest of his beard.
This only served to enrage the priest all the more. Spitting with anger, he shook his fists in the air, threatening, “Your reckless behaviour and thoughtless treatment will not go unpunished! Pharaoh will hear about this!”
The charioteer laughed again, then passed the reins to his commander and climbed down from the vehicle. As he came around to face the angry priests, he raised his hand to reveal that he held a rod of gold and lapis. The mere sight of this implement brought gasps from the assembled priests, who instantly bowed from the waist, the palms of their hands extended at the knee.
“Pharaoh, I think, has already heard your complaint,” said the cheerful charioteer.
“O Mighty King, forgive your servant’s intemperance.” The priest bent low and remained in an attitude of extreme supplication. “Forgive me, my king. I did not know you.”
“You did not know your king?” wondered Pharaoh mildly. “How is that? Is not my image engraved upon your heart?”
“Great of Renown, it has been so long… ” The priest, flustered now, began backing away, mumbling as he went. “You have changed, my king. I did not… ”
Benedict’s eyes grew round. “That is Akhenaten?” he gasped under his breath.
“So it would seem,” whispered Arthur.
“What are they saying?”
“Shh! I can’t hear. Be still.”
Now the High Priest, on the arm of Anen, moved forward. The priests around him moved aside to open a way for the old man. He came to stand before the supreme king and, after the merest pause, bowed and then rose.
“Mighty Ruler of Two Houses, Supreme Son of Horus, Heavenly Warrior, Life-giver of Nations-the First Prophet of Amun greets you,” he intoned in a thin, reedy voice.
At this Akhenaten’s smile dissolved, and his features took on a stony cast. “I know who you are, old man.” He cast a glance at Anen. “Who is this?”
“Great of Glory,” said Anen, bowing nicely, “I am Anen, Second Prophet of Amun.”
“ Two prophets,” observed the king with a snide curl of his lip. “It seems I am doubly blessed today.” Gesturing to the assembled priests who had quickly gathered around, he said, “And are these all prophets of your god as well?”
“O Wonder of the Visible World, may you live in health forever-” began the High Priest.
Pharaoh cut him off with a flick of the rod in his hand. “Why are you here?” he demanded.
“Mighty King,” said Anen, “we have come with gifts for you.” He signalled to the servants carrying the baskets. They came forward to offer their gifts, but the king raised his hand and halted them.
“Do you think Pharaoh desires anything you have to give?” he demanded. “Am I one of your gods that you can placate with trinkets and sweetmeats?”
“By no means, Wisdom of Osiris,” replied Anen smoothly. “We give you but your own from the largess your enlightened rule has ordained and made manifest.”
“Humph!” sneered Akhenaten, turning away. He walked back to his chariot and climbed in. “Priests of false idols, hear me!” the king called, his voice loud in the silence. “This place is holy to the god Aten, the Only Wise Supreme Creator and Ruler of the Heavenly Realms. If you have come to forswear your worship of lesser gods, you may stay. If you have come for any other purpose, you are no longer welcome here.”
“If our presence offends you, Great One, allow us but a word, and we will depart in peace.”
“Be gone!” roared the king, gathering the reins in his hands. He levelled a cold gaze at the High Priest, who stood openmouthed in disbelief at his insolent dismissal. “Remove these people from my sight.”
Upon Pharaoh’s command the commander of the soldiers raised his spear and shouted an order to his troops. The soldiers levelled their weapons and, spear tips glinting bright in the sun, they all moved forward as one.
The priests and their attendants fell back. With much grumbling and muttering, they turned and began making their way to the city gate.
“Come, Benedict,” said Arthur; he tugged on his son’s arm, pulling him away. “Stay close to me and keep
