commander of the temple guard. “He should be dealing with this breach of the peace.”
“Commander Tutmose is out there,” explained the nearest priest. He turned and saw that it was Anen who addressed him. He bowed low. “My master, I did not know-”
“Outside the gates?” he said, cutting off his subordinate’s instinctive apology.
“He went out to talk to them,” said the priest. “To find out why they are doing this and demand that they leave us in peace.”
Anen cocked his head to one side, listening to the hubbub of voices from over the wall. “Tell the commander I wish to see him as soon as he returns. I will await him in my chamber.”
The priest bowed low, and Anen took his leave, returning to his rooms in the palatial Prophet’s House. He bathed and dressed in a clean robe, then lay down on his bed. He had just closed his eyes when he heard swift footsteps in the corridor outside his sleeping chamber. His housemaster came padding into the room an instant later, saying, “Loath as I am to disturb you, my master, Commander Tutmose has returned with word of the uprising.”
“Bid him enter.” Anen rose and stood ready to receive the chief of the guards.
“The wisdom of Amun Ascendant be yours, master,” said Tutmose, entering on the heels of the servant. He bowed and waited to be addressed.
“What news?” said Anen impatiently. “Come, man. Speak.”
“We are besieged by a rabble of common labourers from Akhenaten’s city,” said Tutmose. “They are demanding that the temple be closed.”
Anen stared at his commander. “Impossible! Are they insane?”
“It is likely,” affirmed Tutmose. “But they say they possess an edict from Pharaoh himself.”
Anen gaped in astonishment. “Such a thing has never been known.”
“I do not say it is true,” Tutmose added, “only tell you what they themselves have told me.”
Anen gazed at his chief of guards and saw that he was bleeding from a cut on the side of his face; blood also trickled down his leg from a gash in his thigh. “You are injured, commander,” he observed. “They did this to you?”
“They refused to show this decree to anyone but you, master. They demand an audience at once.”
“Do they!” sneered Anen. He drew himself up. “I will speak to them. But by the power of Horus, I will not have them run riot on holy ground. Tell them, ‘Thus says Anen, Second Prophet of Amun, you are to choose four from among your number to represent you. These four representatives and these alone will be admitted to the temple courtyard after morning prayers. We shall sit down with the High Priest and discuss this matter like civilised men.’ This is what I have decided.”
“So shall it be done, master.” Tutmose bowed and hurried away to deliver Anen’s message.
Before Anen could return to his rest, the commander was back with word that the workers refused to enter the temple precinct because they considered it an unclean place. “They insist that you come out to them,” Tutmose reported.
The demand was so audacious, Anen could only stare in disbelief at his commander. That this should come to pass so swiftly after their confrontation with the workers at Akhetaten could not be a coincidence. It was a deliberate act of aggression. But why send mere labourers? It made no sense. Pharaoh commanded armies; he had only to whisper a word, and his royal bodyguard would march into the sea at his behest. Either the mob was lying about the edict- which seemed only too likely-or there was some darker purpose at work that he did not yet perceive.
“My master?” asked Tutmose, stirring him from his thoughts. “What is your will?”
“This rebellion must end. I will go out and speak to them.”
Tutmose inclined his head. “The temple guard stands ready to attend you.”
“No,” countered Anen. “I go out alone. They should not feel threatened by a solitary priest. Return to your troops and see they are armed and stand ready behind the gates. If anything should happen to me, you are to march on them.” He began removing his robe and collar. “Go.”
A few moments later Anen emerged, dressed in the simple shendyt and belt of an ordinary priest. At his approach those gathered at the gate bowed. “Open the door,” he commanded.
The gatemen pulled, and the gates swung slowly open. Anen stepped forward and was instantly confronted by a crowd of swarthy men who, at sight of him, began shaking fists and tools and shouting abuse. He held up his hands to quiet them and waited to be heard. After a moment a grudging silence came upon the throng, and he said, “Who speaks for you? Who among you is leader?”
A long-haired fellow moved out from the rabble; bearded in the Habiru fashion, dark from long hours in the sun, muscled arms crossed over his massive chest, he carried a hammer in his thick hands. “I speak for my people and carry the demands of Pharaoh that this temple be closed and the priests dispersed. The stones of these walls and buildings are to be carried off to Akhetaten.”
Anen regarded the fellow with a dubious expression. He paused to let his gaze travel around the close- packed ring of angry faces. “If that is so, how is it that I have heard nothing of this until now?”
“I bring an edict from Pharaoh,” the labourer proclaimed loudly, glancing around at his men, some of whom shouted in support of this assertion.
“May I see this edict of yours?”
The man nodded to one of those behind him. A papyrus scroll was passed forward into the hands of the priest.
Anen calmly unrolled the papyrus and read the contents. What he saw there brought the blood to his head. It was much as the Habiru labourer had said-by decree of Akhenaten, the temple was to be dismantled and used for building stone at Akhetaten, Pharaoh’s new city. Anen took a deep breath and forced himself to answer calmly, “If this is truly from Pharaoh’s own hand, it will have to be studied and verified. I will take possession of it and begin an inquiry.”
The belligerent fellow snatched back the scroll. “We have come to begin the work of tearing down this temple.”
“That is over-hasty and premature,” Anen told him, his voice flat. “No one will be permitted to begin anything until we have made petition for clarification and received confirmation from Pharaoh’s own lips.” He paused and added, “For all I know, that is a false document-a fraud and a forgery.”
“By the Living God!” swore the labourer. His fellows muttered dangerously, “You dare accuse us so?”
“I make no accusations,” Anen replied coolly. “I only state a simple fact. Since I was not present when Pharaoh made this proclamation, I cannot be certain it carries his true intent.”
This argument might have continued some considerable time, but the mob, having heard enough, began shouting that the temple must be pulled down at once. Someone threw a stone, striking Anen high on the chest. The priest staggered back, bleeding from a gash below his collarbone. The angry crowd surged forward.
The commander of the guard, having seen enough, drew his sword and dashed to Anen’s side. Raising his shield, he thrust his master behind him and backed away as the crowd began hurling paving stones ripped from the street with picks and pry bars. “Close the gates!” shouted Tutmose, and the gatemen leapt to obey as the stones smashed against the massive timbers.
“What will you have us do, my master?” asked Tutmose as soon as the doors were sealed and barred once more.
“If any of them should try to get inside the temple precinct,” said Anen, “they are to be resisted-by force, if necessary.” He hurried off to have his wound dressed. Halfway across the courtyard he paused, changed direction, and proceeded to the guest lodge instead.
Benedict was asleep, but lightly, and woke when the priest came bustling into his room. “Trouble has come to the temple,” Anen announced, knowing the youth could not understand him. He gestured for Benedict to rise and follow him; once outside, he cupped a hand to his ear and said, “Listen.”
The young man heard the sound of voices raised and paving cobbles rattling the gate beams.
“We must get you safely away from here,” said the priest; he pointed to Benedict and mimed the action of a bird flying away.
Benedict caught the meaning on the second repetition and replied, “I understand. It would be best for me to leave.” He mimed the birdflying motion, nodded, and pointed to himself. “I am ready.”
Anen turned and called for one of his senior priests to attend him. “You must take our guest from here by
