13
The reception was held by Ramose, Vizier to Akhenaten. Those considered influential and important enough to be invited from across the Empire had travelled for many weeks, by land and water, to make sure of their place and accommodations in the new city. Most had not made the mistake of leaving it too late to set out on their long journeys, fraught, even in our times, with danger and uncertainty. I could well imagine the preparations of the previous months: the slow exchange of letters and invitations, the negotiations about retinues and accommodations, the exquisite problems of hierarchy and status.
No-one who was anyone-and in this city being ‘someone’ seemed to be all that mattered-arrived on foot at the reception. And this, Khety told me, included ourselves, so we arrived in the ramshackle chariot. Its poor quality and condition was even more marked by the shameful contrast with the magnificent vehicles that thronged the packed thoroughfares and crowded ways, all of which made our progress excruciatingly slow; and as we neared the house we became trapped in a foul-mannered and angry logjam of chariots, sedan chairs and travelling thrones. Very important people, officials, servants and slaves shouted insults, commands and demands; everyone shoved for superiority. The noise, the heat, the sheer fury of it all was astonishing. The porters, verbally abused by their passengers, wrestled to free the poles of their carriages from those of competing chairs while also desperately trying not to risk a scratch on the immaculately buffed surfaces of their expensive vehicles. Horses whinnied as they struggled in their ebony traps; under their elaborate trappings they sweated, and their eyes swivelled, alarmed. Several wore the white-feathered plumes of high office, and some of the big men they were carrying stared malevolently out from their elevated chairs over the crowd. I had no idea who was who, and in the crazy jostling of the travelling lamps, faces and profiles appeared and vanished again before I could get a good look. It was like being at sea in an angry storm of fashion and vanity.
It seemed the other half of the city had also turned out to gaze at the silly, extravagant spectacle: men, women and children gawked like fools across the Royal Road from where they stood packed tightly in a great swelling crowd held back behind a single security rope, calling out prayers and requests, pointing out important figures, eating sugar cakes and swigging from beer jugs as if this was a show-which, clearly, it was. The elite in all their fashions, parading for their audience.
Finally our chariot drew up at, or rather was shoved up to, the raised platform. Khety shrugged. ‘Shall we?’ So we stepped out onto the carpeted reception area, lit by great hammered bowls of flaming oil. I was glad I had brought with me a spare pair of smart sandals and at least one decent change of clothes, but even the general level of refinery was extraordinary.
‘I feel conspicuously unfashionable, Khety.’
‘You look fine, sir.’
‘I want to meet the key players. Make sure you introduce me. Especially Ramose.’
A worried look passed over his face. ‘I can’t introduce you to him. It wouldn’t be appropriate.’
I would walk up to him myself then.
We passed through the stampede of the guard gate, our names having been checked, and emerged into a great colonnaded reception hall, open to the moon and the stars, crowded not only with thousands of people but also with great statues of Akhenaten and Nefertiti making offerings. Their icons looked down seemingly benevolently upon this society gathered in their honour. The noise was incredible. Musicians were mangling some sophisticated setting and competing with the roar of people trying to make themselves heard. Servants passed with sly hostility through the tangled thickets of elbows and shoulders and faces, offering complicated drinks and tiny refined dishes on trays. Khety snapped his fingers, but none of the servants took much notice, pretending not to have heard. Then a servant girl lilted past, her dress as insubstantial as smoke, and I grabbed two drinks in exchange for a brief smile. I handed one to Khety.
We were sipping these much too fast when an impressively rotund, competent-looking person with a large curious head, like a parrot pretending to be an eagle, emerged from the sea of figures, approached and offered a formal greeting. Khety stood back deferentially.
‘I am Parennefer.’ He smiled.
I smiled back. ‘Rahotep.’
‘Welcome to the Great City of Akhetaten. I know who you are. I am Overseer of all the Works in the House of Akhenaten. And I am delighted to meet you. I was informed of your presence here tonight, and I want to offer my assistance.’
‘I didn’t realize anyone knew I was here.’
‘Everyone knows,’ he said casually.
I introduced Khety as my Medjay associate and assistant. Parennefer nodded briefly, and Khety bowed his head.
‘Let us find a quieter spot to talk,’ he suggested with a little gesture.
‘How about as far away from the musicians as possible?’
‘You do not like music?’
‘I like
Parennefer admired my little joke with the superficial enthusiasm of a host at a party. We settled on leather benches. More drinks and little dishes were brought instantly and set down with flowers on a serving table. I reminded myself to drink slowly.
‘So, what impression has our city made upon you so far?’ he asked.
This called for diplomacy. If he was Overseer of the Works then he was responsible for the design of the buildings and the plan of the city. I did my best.
‘It’s quite a place. The architecture seems to me to respond beautifully to the possibilities of the light, and the space.’
He was carefully delighted. He clapped his many-ringed hands. ‘God of the sun, a Medjay officer who appreciates buildings. You flatter me. It is the first time
‘Time is running short, I suppose, to have everything ready for the Festival?’
Suddenly his feathers looked ruffled. ‘Not at all. Everything will be perfect.’ And then he smiled deliberately, as if smiling would make it so.
I did not say: it seems to me you need another year to finish building the vision.
‘I was at the Queen’s Palace this morning. It seems she also has a vision. The construction seemed very unusual. I’ve never seen a house like it. Did you work on the design?’
‘Yes! Oh, it was a marvellous commission, although the truth is she knows exactly what she wants, so it’s a case of working out how to make possible the ideas she has. She’s very radical, you know. She wanted it all to flow, and the roofs to float. She said to me, “Parennefer, we shall defy the laws of nature.” Those were her words…very characteristic.’
The woman, it seemed, was perfect indeed.
‘I have heard many fine speeches in praise of her qualities.’
‘Everything you have heard is true. She is as beautiful as a poem. No, a song, for it has more expression and moves me more easily to tears. Her intelligence flows in every direction like bright water. She is not political in the way we tend to mean it these days. She understands power, but she is not in love with it. Although it is certainly in love with her. She rides her own chariot, you know. She’s a very contemporary kind of person.’
My expression must have betrayed my reservations, for a cloud passed over his face. ‘This is not sentimental praise. She really is remarkable.’
He watched my face. I tried to keep it still. We both waited. But it was my turn to speak.
‘You understand why I am here?’
Parennefer tilted his head slightly. ‘I think unfortunately everyone knows why you are here. There are few secrets within the city. Nefertiti has not appeared in public for several days. Occasions of worship, receptions for foreign dignitaries, the preparations and gatherings for the Festival-she has appeared at none of these. Her absence tonight is a cause for concern. These’-he gestured towards the crowd in the hall-‘are clever people. They pick up on everything. They notice even the slightest variations in ritual and etiquette; they can read the signs. They have little
