11
To visit my old friend Nakht at his country house is to pass from the hot, dusty chaos of the city into a different, calmer and more rational world. He has used his great wealth to make his life as luxurious and pleasant as possible, by creating his own little kingdom of art and knowledge in his walled estate outside the city. His fame as a cultivator of flowers and bees there has earned him an unusual new title: ‘Overseer of the Gardeners of Amun.’ All the thousands of bouquets that decorate the temples at festivals, and those presented to the Gods themselves- to remind them of the afterlife-are grown under Nakht’s supervision.
I walked out of the suburbs, through the southern gateway, and continued along the path towards his house. The sun crowned the sky, and the land shimmered in the heat of midday. I had not brought a sunshade, but the palms that lined the way provided enough protection. As I walked I observed the bountiful crops in their carefully tilled rows, which spread out in every direction. Here and there the glimmer of the water canals, overflowing from the inundation, reflected in lines the clear blue-white of the sky. I passed few people, for all the labourers were taking their midday meal and beer, or sleeping in neat rows in any shade they could find, under carts, palm trees, or at the side of houses and grain barns, with their headscarves over their faces. High above us all, falcons spread their wide dark bronze wings in the thermals, drifting and wheeling as they gazed down at the world. I have often wondered what the world looks like from their high vantage that no man, condemned to walk the earth on his two legs, can ever share. I imagine the glittering serpent of the Great River, continuing from one end of the world to the other; and fanned out on either side the green and yellow patterns of the cultivation. Beyond that, the infinity of the Red Land, where the royal families build their tombs of eternal stone, and their attendant temples, on the margins of the wilderness, the desert, the place of great solitude. Perhaps they could see what we could not: what happens to the Sun when it sets beyond the unreachable horizon of the visible world. Is there truly a vast and perilous dark ocean, populated with gods and monsters, in that great beyond, where the Sun sails its nightly course on its barque, through the perils of the night? Is that what those birds of prey were telling us, with their sharp, high shrieks that sounded like cries of warning?
I entered the first courtyard of Nakht’s long, low villa. His servant Minmose came running out to greet me, and hurried me inside, holding a sunshade solicitously over my head.
‘Your brain will bake in your skull like a duck’s egg, master, in the heat of this hour of the day. I would have sent a servant with a sunshade to accompany you, if I had known you were going to grace us with a visit.’
‘This is an impromptu call,’ I said.
He bowed.
‘My master is working with his hives at the far end of the garden,’ he said.
He offered to escort me-keen, I knew, to hear any news of the city; for even at this short distance, the country feels as remote as another world. But I know this place well, for I have come here alone, or with the girls, for many years. He slipped away, quietly as always, to the kitchen to prepare refreshments, and I walked out through the second courtyard, and paused for a moment to enjoy the glorious vista before me. In the city, we are crammed together like animals. Here, with the luxury of space, and between the high walls that secure the property, all is peaceful; it is like finding oneself walking through a living papyrus scroll depicting the good life of the afterlife.
I walked along the tree-shaded length of a long, stone-lined pool; full of white and blue lotus flowers, it provides water for the flower beds and vegetable plots, as well as containing Nakht’s collection of ornamental fish. Cheerful gardeners, old and young, devotedly and calmly attended to the plants and trees, watering and weeding, trimming and pruning; obviously happy in their dedicated work. Creeping vines extended their curling shade along the pergolas. Unusual and exotic plants flourished exuberantly. Birds felt free to take advantage of everything, and they sang with pleasure. Waterfowl dipped and thrived in the cool shade of the papyrus plants that grew in the long pool. It was almost ridiculously beautiful, so distant did it seem from the city’s grandeur and grime and poverty.
I found Nakht among his hives, smoking out the bees from their clay cylinders. I kept my distance, being no devotee of bees or their stings, and sat on a stool in the shade of a tree to amuse myself at his expense; for he looked like the crazed priest of a desert cult as he moved about, dancing and wafting the smoke at the fuzzy cloud of demented insects. He carefully decanted the combs into storage pots, and soon he had many of them, laid out on a tray.
Then he stepped away, lifted his protective hood, and saw me watching him. He waved and came over, offering a pot of the honey.
‘For the children.’
We embraced.
A servant brought him a bowl and cloth, and then Minmose arrived with wine and snacks, which he set out on a low table. Nakht washed his sweaty but always elegant face. Then we sat together on stools in the shade, and he poured me some wine. I knew it would be excellent.
‘What brings you here on a working day?’ he asked.
‘I’m working.’
He eyed me carefully, then saluted the Gods and took a long draught of his wine.
‘On what? Not that incident at the festival?’
‘Partly.’
He looked intrigued.
‘I imagine the palace must be going crazier than my bees…’
‘Someone is certainly poking a stick into the royal hive…’
He nodded.
‘So what did you make of it? A court conspiracy, perhaps?’ he asked, enthusiastically.
‘Probably not. I think it’s an aberration. At worst, someone within the hierarchies has encouraged a bunch of foolish young people into an act of naively irresponsible violence.’
He looked almost disappointed.
‘Maybe so, but still it’s had a surprisingly powerful effect. Everyone is talking about it. It seems to have catalysed the dissent that’s been bubbling under the surface of everything for years now. People are even whispering about a possible coup…’
‘And who would command such a thing?’ I countered.
‘There is only one man. General Horemheb,’ he said with some satisfaction.
I sighed.
‘That would be no improvement on the present regime,’ I said.
‘It would definitely be much worse, for Horemheb’s vision of the world is governed by his life in the army. He has no humanity at all,’ he replied. ‘But in any case, we are in trouble, for this has made the King look vulnerable. And what king can afford to look vulnerable? He has never been one of the warrior kings. It’s as if the dynasty has grown weaker and stranger with every generation. And now he is powerless…’
‘And more and more vulnerable to other influences,’ I said.
Nakht nodded. ‘He’s never really been able to assert any of his own authority, partly because after Akhenaten no one would countenance it, and partly because he’s grown up under the dire shadow of Ay. And what a tyrant he turned out to be. No wonder the boy can’t exercise his own power.’
We enjoyed sharing our private, but profound loathing of the Regent.
‘I went to see Ay this morning,’ I said, watching Nakht’s face.
He looked amazed.
‘Why on earth would you do such a thing?’
‘Not because he asked for me, but because I had to.’
‘How curious,’ said my friend, leaning forward and pouring me more of the excellent wine.
‘I met Ankhesenamun last night,’ I said, after a suitably dramatic pause.
‘Ah…’
He nodded slowly, beginning to piece together the evidence I was carefully feeding him.
‘She sent one of her people to fetch me.’
