Akhenaten seemed to have it all under his control. After all, he had proclaimed himself the incarnation of the god. Now he was going to have to prove it.
We passed through one great court, under the burning eye of the sun, through the deep darkness of another pylon, and out again between its banners into another court of even more enormous dimensions, like a jubilee field, with a large altar and feast offerings laid out on tables at its centre. Here waited hundreds more people in carefully rehearsed rows; and at the centre of the first row was Meryra, surrounded by members of his court, family and friends. He was wearing a long white gown with a decorated sash, its end held by a kneeling manservant. Behind him was his private retinue. Rows of officials held scrolls and reed pens-scribes to record the announcements and speeches. Medjay officers stood behind them carrying batons. And for each person there was a servant holding a sunshade against the harshness of the sun.
‘I hear it’s not all love between Meryra and Ramose,’ I said to Parennefer.
‘Well, you’ll have noticed that Ramose is not here. It is a public blow for him. People are saying that Meryra has been promoted precisely to balance Ramose’s extensive influence. There are key areas of disagreement.’
‘About what?’
‘Financial control. Foreign policy. And hidden within that is another struggle about the whole direction of the Great Estate.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘Not now. Later. Watch.’
Akhenaten’s palanquin had come to a halt and was placed on supports beside the altar. An absolute silence fell. Even the swallows seemed to settle down. Akhenaten and Meretaten stepped up to the high altar. He raised his hands to the sun, holding up on high a bowl of something-of light, it seemed, for the beaten metal shone as if he were holding up the dish of creation to the Aten for it to sip at. And every single person followed him. Thousands and thousands of hands reaching out to receive the gift of the light. Lightland, our world of light. ‘Light, light, light!’ they cried out.
I loathed the cries, the stupid conformity; but it struck me forcibly how clever Akhenaten had been. He had brought the god out of darkness and mystery into the light of day. This was not some secret figure hidden in a dark shrine, accessible only by the intercession of the Priests, but an overwhelming god of heat and light, the first fire without which there could be no life, no world, no songs, no crops, nothing. I raised my hands like everyone else, reluctantly and without, I hope, the moronic expression of devotion I observed with contempt on those around me. Yet I must confess I almost felt the quiver of belief. Here was something I could see and feel rather than something I was called upon to believe in on the authority of tradition. I felt for a moment as if I too could be drawn into this great story, this boundless wonder of the god and the word, the divine being who grants us life.
But I pulled myself together. After all, this great being, source of light and life, needed no worship from me. And I have seen this god’s darker works, the ones that do not belong in songs and chants and prayers and poems. And, if I might risk heresy, he did not need it either from all these men, their hands raised in worship not because they believed in the religion, but because they believed they must be seen to do this in order to survive. No. The person who needed such worship was the strange man at the heart of all this ceremony, the one I had seen wincing with pain.
We stood for some time like madmen in the blazing light of midday. Eventually Akhenaten lowered the bowl, and suddenly there was action. Fan bearers and sunshade bearers came forward, and Priests led on an ox, its horns decorated with a blaze of coloured plumes, a woven garland around his neck. The Priests offered up the prayer, then one of them came forward with a knife. The calm beast understood nothing of what was about to happen to it. The blade was raised high, flashing, and then it swung down quickly, slicing through the beast’s strong white neck, showing the butcher’s world beneath. A shower of crimson blood spattered onto the hot stones and splashed into the offering bowl. The animal’s expression seemed troubled rather than devastated. Then, with a bellow and a sigh of complaint, it slipped and skittered in its own blood and the fallen petals, and collapsed. Quickly, other Priests got to work. What had been a living being just moments before was jointed and hacked into body parts carried forward to be offered on the tables. Blood and flowers-the gods’ delights. I thought of Tjenry, and his mutilated remains.
Music and dance followed swiftly. The dancers moved back and forth dressed in their veils and linen robes, shaking their sistra and their breasts, while a troupe of blind singers and a harpist, their faces turned considerately away from the Lord, beat their palms on the ground to keep time. Old and bald, with folds of fat hanging from their comfortable bellies, their sightless faces entranced by the power of the music. Alas, to my ears these venerable gentlemen sounded more like a pack of sincere but tone-deaf dogs.
Then Meryra came forward, attended by three subordinates and three Priests, and slowly ascended the steps to kneel down, his arms still lifted in salutation, his collars glistening in the sun, at the feet of Akhenaten, who leaned down towards him and placed another collar around his neck, this one finer and larger than the others. Meryra remained where he was as Akhenaten spoke.
‘I, Lord of the Two Lands, let the Commander of the Treasury, the High Priest of the Aten in the Temple of Akhetaten, receive gold on his neck and his feet for his obedience to the House of the King. I, who live by the Truth, Lord of the Two Lands, say: I make you, Meryra, High Priest of the Aten in the Temple of the Aten in Akhetaten. And I say: my servant who hears the Teaching, my heart is satisfied with you, and you shall enjoy the Gifts of the King in the Temple of the Aten.’
More silence. Then Meryra made his answer. ‘Life, prosperity, health to the Great Son of the Aten. Grant that He endure for ever and ever. Abundant are the gifts which the Aten knows to give, pleasing his heart, the Living and the Great Aten, Lord of the Orbit, Lord of Heaven, Lord of Earth, within the Temple of the Aten in Akhetaten.’
And then there were other, lesser speeches from other, lesser figures. Eventually even Parennefer looked bored and hot, even though he seemed to love this kind of thing. As if reading my mind he leaned over and whispered, ‘Ceremonies are the glory of any civilization, but will this
Eventually it was over. The heat was disastrous, and the older men in particular were suffering. I looked along the rows; most were surreptitiously trying to mop their brows, or inch a little deeper into whatever shade they could find. Several were swaying dangerously, others were being propped up by their servants. And then I felt the hair bristle on the back of my neck. A pair of topaz eyes glittered out of the shade opposite me. That compact, cropped grey hair. The fine, shining gold draped around his shoulders. Mahu. On seeing me his expression did not alter in the slightest.
Parennefer, clever Parennefer, picked up on my reaction. He immediately saw the cause. He pretended to be making some pious comment to me, but he whispered, ‘What is going on between you two?’
‘Well, he would much prefer my absence to my presence, by whatever means necessary.’
‘He is a rather powerful man, you know. It would be better not to annoy him.’
‘It seems I annoy him just by being here.’
Parennefer, clever Parennefer, had no reply to that.
The ceremony concluded, and Akhenaten and Meretaten processed back out of the temple courtyard, back under the pylons, back across the bridge. Everyone followed. It took ages. Mahu was ahead of me, taking his due place right behind Akhenaten. I kept my eyes on his metallic hair, his powerful shoulders and back. I knew he was alert to everything that was happening, his gaze roving ceaselessly across the crowd and the high walls, in the habit of surveillance. And I’m sure I could feel him staring at me through the back of his skull.
We slowed down and let the vast crowd move ahead of us. Sweepers were already attempting to clean up after the sacrifice, and to lay the troubled dust of the courtyard to rest again with their deftly sprinkled handfuls of water, so that it would not unduly besmirch the dignitaries left behind.
‘What are you doing next?’ Parennefer asked.
‘I have interviews, before sunset, with the Queen Mother and the royal children.’
‘Oh, do you?’ He went oddly quiet.
‘What can you not say?’
‘Nothing. Oh-just be very careful with her.’ He leaned closer, turning his back to the crowd, and whispered like an actor in a comedy: ‘She’s absolutely ghastly.’ He smiled, pleased with his courage in transgressing the rules of politeness. I saw Khety nod, as if to say: I told you so. ‘But of course later you must attend the party,’ Parennefer added.
I looked blank.
‘The celebration at Meryra’s villa, of course. By invitation only. I thought you would like to attend.’
