permissions and, with them, certain protections.’
‘Such as?’ he snapped.
‘I would like to interview the Queen Mother. And your daughters.’
‘Why? Do you think my own mother has kidnapped my wife?’
I pushed my argument. It was all I could do. ‘I need to speak to everyone who may know something, or may have noticed something which they did not think to be important. I am trying to trace the tracks of our mystery in the dust of the past. All clues are vital.’
He pondered this for a moment, then made up his mind decisively. ‘I will grant this. But remember my promise to you. Fail, and you and your family will suffer accordingly. For the last time I say to you: your time is running out.’
I was saved from having to reply by a light
Akhenaten nodded coolly at the boy, who gazed at us both then swung himself away with a practised confidence and elegance that implied a small lifetime of infirmity. I could hear the crutch counting out his steps as he moved away into the echoey chamber beyond. Akhenaten made no comment on this strange appearance.
‘I will give you your permissions,’ he reiterated. ‘You may meet the Queen Mother and my girls this evening. And I will make one suggestion.’ I waited. ‘I have created many alliances and many friendships, but inevitably I also have many enemies. You can imagine who they are. Disaffected Priests from the redundant cults. The old Karnak families. Theban nobles whose corrupt fortunes are diverted now towards this city’s meaningful vision. And if I have these enemies, imagine how much more they must hate the Queen. A powerful man in command of the world is one thing; a powerful woman is quite another. And now I must move on. I would like you to attend the presentation of Meryra in the Great Temple. To see how far we have come in the direction of truth. He is a most trusted servant and the only Priest besides ourselves who is granted the honour of interceding between the world and the god. All will see him honoured.’
My heart sank. I accompanied him back inside, and there waiting for us was Parennefer. Charming, chatty, powerful Parennefer. He bowed low to Akhenaten, who instructed him to accompany me to the presentation and left without uttering a farewell. We remained with our heads bowed respectfully for several moments.
‘Well,’ said Parennefer laconically, ‘I hear you’ve been a busy man.’
21
Parennefer took Khety and me back to the main open courtyard, where we waited for the royal procession to gather and organize itself. The last servants and late officials hurried into their places, the guards took their positions, and then, with a beating of the drums and a skirl of reed pipes, the whole group made its way back across the courtyard and up the stairs to the Window of Appearances between the palace and the Great Temple. In the road below, a great crowd was waiting and chanting in the sun. Akhenaten, dressed now in a glorious sash embroidered with cobra-heads and fringed in a multitude of colours, passed down gifts of collars and dishes rings to the lesser members and dignitaries of the gathered population. There was a young girl with him, dressed in similar clothes. ‘That is Meretaten, the oldest princess. She takes her mother’s place today.’ Parennefer nodded meaningfully.
From beyond the Window, Akhenaten’s appearance must have seemed strong, bold, secure. From my vantage, I could see how hard it was, physically, for him to maintain that impression. In fact, while he appeared from below to be standing, he was supported on a kind of palanquin, invisible to the crowd. Around him were gathered, in the fortunate shade of the bridge, a frieze of faces-the Empire illustrated-all intent on the enactments of the ceremony but also glancing at one another continually as if testing and judging everything, and their place within it. Those on the outer edges peered carefully over the shoulders of those closer to the heart of things, as if looking into a glorious light, touches of envy and anticipation illuminating their faces. And what faces they were: not just Theban and Memphis men, but also the handsome, powerfully composed faces of Nubian royalty, Arzawis and Hittites, Assyrian princes and Babylonian diplomats.
Parennefer nudged me and whispered again into my ear. ‘So you see how complex the world is in our time. Everything is connected to everything else. Our cities are growing at a tremendous rate. And with the new building programmes and the influx of foreign workers, the kingdom has become a hungry monster with a vast appetite that must be fed on more and more of the world. Hence-well, everything.’
I nodded as if I agreed. Which was a mistake, because he just carried on.
‘We have the Great River, but without it what are we but sand in the wind? We cannot dine on sand. No, if we want our fine linens, and our incense, and our rare timbers for our floors and our festivals, and our trinkets from Punt, and our gold from those remote Nubian mines, we must make pacts and terms around the world. Look, even here, those men-a delegation of Alashiyan traders and dealers, I believe. Their little island is vital for copper and timber. And of course they all send their girls as brides, and their sons as hostages of loyalty to be educated here. Well, they should be so lucky! Yes, they are separated from their own worlds when they’re young, but look how they gain a new and infinitely greater one. There is a nursery in the palace. Such a confusion of languages, but when they’re that young they very swiftly learn our speech and soon they are yelling at each other quite fluently. My own son’s best friend is a Kushite. Imagine.’
His great monologue ceased for a moment, and before it could find a new course I couldn’t stop myself asking, ‘And what is it that we give these people in return for the tribute of the riches of their lands?’
He looked at me incredulously. ‘Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it? Status and security. Of course they need gold to shore up their own power, and troops and the threat of our intervention to support it when challenged. But what they need most is to shine to their own people and to each other with some of our reflected glory. It behoves them to serve us well. They will not bite the hand that feeds. For instance, when there is trouble between the city lords in, say, Palestine, Megiddo, Taanach, Gath, and so on, and they start getting up on their hind legs and playing stupid games, that creates a problem with the routes of trade. We have an economic problem. So how do we deal with it?’
I shrugged, annoyed by his smugness.
‘By letting the locals do the heavy lifting! We tell them they need to put their houses in order, and get together to deal with the problem. Or else! So they do, because they know if they don’t-no more gold! No more friendly international relations! No more invitations to the Great House! Sometimes they complain, or make pleas for help-recently quite desperate-but often it is their little local problem and we cannot and should not interfere. Now I know there are exceptions, and these people we call our enemies! And of course we do not spare them. No. We turn our other harsher face to them, and kill them in large quantities.’ He laughed, pleased with his bleak joke.
There was a call of praise from the crowd, and the retinue rose. Akhenaten was assisted from the Window by hands that everyone pretended were invisible, and the procession moved on, across the bridge and down into the Great Temple. ‘Come,’ said Parennefer, ‘time for the show.’
And what a show it was. As we reached the end of the enclosed bridge, wide steps descended into the main courtyard of the temple, affording us a panoramic view. There were thousands and thousands of people waiting in attendance, who called out the formulas of praise to the King; national and international parties and delegations all waiting to join the procession, everyone shuffling and pushing surreptitiously to maintain or improve their positions while simultaneously sustaining their dignity. For all this power gathered in one place, it was not an edifying sight. I was suddenly overcome with a wish to walk away, fast.
The open area was vast, at least twenty times the size of the Karnak Temple courts. First went an advance group who were greeted by the temple guards. Then came standard bearers from all around the Empire: a Nubian with feathers in his hair, a bearded Hittite carrying a spear, a Libyan with the traditional short hair and long side- locks, and others carrying insignia: square tablets held high on papyrus staffs, and a model sacred barque, its ribbons and plumes fluttering as they moved through the overheated air. At the heart of it all was Akhenaten, high up on a palanquin, with runners, grooms and attendants beside him. I have seen smaller ceremonies in Thebes, where the ancient mutual antagonism between Priesthood and royal authority was very clear. Not so here.
