Akhenaten: Dweller in Truth Read online

  When he cried out “Why?” to his god, I suspected he was about to lose his faith. Then we began to receive news of the growing corruption of the public servants and merchants. The cries of hungry people grew louder. Several regions of the empire were now in a state of mutiny. Our enemies began to attack the borders. Tushratta, king of Mitanni and our strongest ally, was killed defending the country.

  “We must eradicate all the elements of corruption, and send the army to defend our borders,” I urged him desperately.

  “Love is my arms and my armor, Ay,” he said, unwavering. “You must be patient.”

  How can I possibly explain the curious events that transpired? The priests accused the pharaoh of madness. In his last days, some of Akhenaten's men came to share that opinion. Although I was admittedly rather confused, I rejected that idea completely. He was neither mad nor sane like the rest of us. He was something in between. I could never understand him.

  The queen mother, Tiye, sent word that she was preparing to visit Akhetaten. Akhenaten was so pleased that he built a palace in the southern quarter of the city specially for the occasion, and the reception held in her honor was the most magnificent celebration the city had witnessed. Shortly after her arrival, Tiye asked to see me. It amazed me to see how she had aged beyond her years.

  “Ay,” she started, “I came to have a very long talk with my son. But I thought it appropriate to pave the way by consulting you first.”

  “I have never neglected my duty as a reliable adviser,” I replied.

  “I believe you,” she continued. “Ay, I agree that we must never let go of our heritage. But I want you to tell me in all honesty, will you remain loyal to my son regardless of what happens?”

  “You must never doubt that,” I replied earnestly.

  “What would you do should something arise that relieves you of your duty to the king?”

  “I am a member of his family. I would never abandon him.”

  “I am grateful, Ay,” the Great Queen sighed in relief. “The situation is rather dangerous. Do you think the others have such strong faith in him as well?”

  I thought for a while then replied, “I can assure you that some of them, at least, are beyond doubt.”

  “I am particularly curious to hear what you have to say about Haremhab.” She seemed apprehensive.

  “He is faithful in his duties as chief of security, and has been a friend of the king since they were young lads,” I replied without hesitation.

  “It is him who worries me the most.”

  “Perhaps because of the great power at his command. In truth, however, he is as loyal to the king as Meri-Ra.”

  Like the rest of us, Tiye failed to sway the king from his position. Eventually, she packed her disappointment and returned to Thebes. There, her health deteriorated quickly and she passed away, leaving behind the tales of her wonderful life.

  Resentment escalated in the empire and all the provinces now turned against the king. We became imprisoned in Akhetaten with our One and Only God. We were all aware of the impending disaster. Except Akhenaten, who was still hopeful. “My God will never forsake me,” he insisted.

  Unbeknown to anyone, the high priest of Amun entered Akhetaten. When I learned that he was in the city, I was one of the first to visit him. I was surprised to find him disguised in the garb of a merchant.

  “You wish to conceal your identity? Why, you know that the king brings no harm upon anyone.”

  He ignored my question and commanded, “Gather all the king's men and bring them to me.”

  We met with him in the garden of the palace of the late Queen Tiye. He asked us to collaborate with him to avoid bloodshed. He seemed to be speaking to us from a position of power. He talked at length about the wrath of the gods and the fate of the empire. Then he delivered us a severe warning and left. We felt as though a snake had just brushed by our feet. I did not know how to interpret his actions; I had never trusted him in the first place. I suspected, however, that the high priest did not trust the troops in the provinces to be on his side either. He was afraid, I concluded, of a nationwide conflict that would end either in his destruction or, at best, in a very costly victory. The threat he faced was no less than that looming over Akhetaten. Nonetheless, if a civil war broke out, all of Egypt would pay the price. When the high priest left, we stayed behind to discuss the situation, hoping to come to a decision.

  At that point I had to interrupt him. “Which of the king's men were present at that meeting?” He squinted, mulling over my question for a while, then continued.

  I do not recall precisely. It has been a very long time. I do remember, however, that Haremhab and Nakht were there. In any case, Haremhab was the first to speak.

  “I am the king's friend and chief of security,” he said. He gazed at us with his honey-colored eyes for a while then continued in a calm, determined tone. “But I believe a settlement is inevitable in this situation.”

  None of us protested. We requested a council convention with the king.

  We stood before the pharaoh and the queen, saluting the throne and the empire. Akhenaten smiled serenely. Contrary to her usual bright demeanor, Nefertiti was cold and apprehensive. When the formalities were concluded, Akhenaten said, “I see troubled faces before me.”

  “My gracious King,” Haremhab started, “we are gathered here for the love of Egypt.”

  “Everything I do is for the love of Egypt and the entire world,” he replied.

  “The country is on the verge of an uncontrollable war. We must do something quickly to save it, before it is completely destroyed,” Haremhab continued.

  “What do you recommend?” the king asked.

  “Grant the people freedom of worship, and send the army to defend the borders of the empire.”

  The king shook his head, adorned with the crown of the Two Lands, and said, “That would mean a return to the darkness of heathen ways. I have no right to issue any decrees unless the Creator commands me.”

  “Your Imperial Grace,” Haremhab continued, “you have every right to keep your faith, but you must then renounce the throne.”

  “Never will I commit such treachery against my worshiped God. I will not forsake his throne.” His eyes gleamed like rays of the sun. Then he shifted his gaze to me and I felt as though I had been thrown into the netherworld.

  “It is the only way to protect you and your faith,” I said.

  “Go in peace,” he said sadly.

  “You have some time to reflect on our proposition.”

  As we left the grand hall of the throne, I felt as though needles were pricking my heart, mercilessly. That feeling has never left me to this very day.

  Grave events followed our confrontation with the king. Nefertiti left the royal palace and moved to her private palace in northern Akhetaten. I visited her, not sure of her intentions. “I shall not leave my palace until death takes me.” She refused to say more. Akhenaten declared his brother Smenkhkare co-ruler on the throne of the empire. The priests denied Smenkhkare and Akhenaten the throne, and entrusted it to Tutankhamun. There was no choice but to yield or to face war. At the end of the period we gave Akhenaten to consider our counsel, Haremhab visited the palace.

  “I will not betray my Creator, nor will He forsake me. I will remain firm in my position even if everyone else leaves,” said the pharaoh.

  “My King,” Haremhab said, “we ask your permission to leave Akhetaten and return to Thebes so that the country may be reunified. Not one of us wishes to leave your city, but we must if Egypt is to be spared destruction. I will see to it that you are never harmed.”

  “Do as you please.” Akhenaten was determined, even enthusiastic. “I am in no need of anyone's protection.

  God is on my side and he shall not forsake me.”

  We carried out our orders and left Akhetaten weighed down with sadness. Soon after, the citizens did likewise, until there was no one left but Akhenaten in his palace, Nefertiti in hers, and a few guards a
nd slaves. Akhenaten, who had never been sick since childhood, fell ill and died alone. I learned that even in the throes of death, he prayed to his god:

  You create the germ of life

  Within a woman, the seed of man.

  You grant us the bounty of living

  Before we see the light of your land.

  Should you choose to cease your giving

  The earth shall be in darkness,

  In the silence of death.

  Ay was silent. When he recovered from the memories that overwhelmed him, he turned toward me, his eyes filled with compassion, and said, “This is the story of Akhenaten, the pharaoh whose only name today is the heretic. I cannot deny the woes he brought upon the country. Egypt lost its empire and was torn by conflict. But I must admit I cannot rid my heart of his love, nor can I stop admiring him. Let the final word be that of Osiris, the ruler of eternal life, before whom we shall all stand to be judged.”

  As I left the palace of the sage, it occurred to me that the final word on Ay will not be pronounced until he, too, stands before Osiris.

  Haremhab

  Haremhab was well built, moderately tall, with a strong, trustworthy demeanor. He was a descendant of an old religious family from Memphis, a family that had produced renowned physicians, priests, and army officials. Haremhab's father was the first in his family to be elevated to the ruling class when he was appointed chief of horsemen during the life of Amenhotep III. Haremhab was the only one of Akhenaten's men who kept his position as chief of security in the new era. His main duty at that time was to eradicate the corruption that had spread in the country and to restore peace. He was so successful that in the critical period of transition from Akhenaten's rule, Haremhab was regarded as a hero. The high priest of Amun gave him a glowing testimony, and Ay, the sage, confirmed it. He received me in the visitors' hall by the palace garden.

  Akhenaten was my companion and friend from boyhood, long before he was my king. From the time I first knew him, until we parted, he thought of nothing but religion. I gave him the respect that was due to him from the beginning, for I was raised to worship duty and to place everything in that context, regardless of any personal emotions or attachments. Akhenaten was the crown prince, I was one of his subjects. I owed him respect. In my heart, however, I despised him for his weakness and his feminine appearance. I could not picture myself a friend of his. But the fact is, he won me and I became his true friend. I still wonder how it all happened. Perhaps I was unable to resist his tender, delicate emotions and his charm. He possessed an amazing ability to capture people's hearts. He even had the entire country applaud him as he called upon them to renounce the deities of their forefathers.

  Akhenaten and I were opposites. But that did not stop us from developing a very firm friendship that withstood several trials, until finally it was crushed by a mountain of contradiction. I can still see his smile as he said, “Haremhab, my bloodthirsty, monstrous friend, I love you.” I searched in vain for something we might have in common. I invited him several times to join me in my favorite sport, hunting. He would always reply, “Beware and do not defile the loving heart of nature.” He disliked military training, even the uniform. One time he stared at my helmet and my sword and said, “Is it not strange that decent people like yourself are trained to become professional executioners?”

  “What would your great-grandfather, Tuthmosis III, say if he heard you?”

  “My great-grand father!” he cried. “He established his greatness on a pyramid of poor people's corpses. Did you not see his pictures on the walls of the temples? Making offerings of slaves to Amun? What great-grandfather, what bloodthirsty god?”

  His strange ideas, I thought, may not stand in the way of his friendships, but what would happen if he took them to the throne? I was unable to imagine him as a pharaoh, like all the great pharaohs of Egypt. My feeling never changed, even during the merriest and most blissful times. Indeed during those times he seemed even further from the gravity and glory of the pharaohs.

  Once, during his father's rule, I was deputed to discipline some rebels in a far corner of the empire. I set out in charge of an armed raid for the first time. My mission was carried out successfully and I returned with plenty of loot and captives. King Amenhotep III was impressed and honored me generously. When the prince congratulated me on my safe return, I invited him to see the captives. They stood before him shackled and half naked. As he gazed at them, their eyes begged for sympathy, as if they sensed his weakness. A cloud of gloom came over his face.

  “Rest in peace,” he said tenderly, “you shall not be harmed.”

  I became quite agitated, for I had vowed to punish them severely until they were willing to renounce chaos and submit to order.

  “Haremhab,” he asked as we left together, “are you proud of what you did?”

  “My Prince,” I replied, “I have earned this pride.”

  “What a pity,” he mumbled, then continued teasingly, “you are just a sophisticated bandit.”

  That was Akhenaten, the crown prince who would in time take the throne and rule the empire. Nonetheless, I was intrigued and craved more of the strange fruit of his mind. It never affected my own ideas though. It was like listening to a voice from another world, intriguing yet incomprehensible. How did we become friends? How did my heart become filled with love for him? These are questions I cannot answer.

  I recall a discussion we had about religion one time. We were resting near his private place in the palace garden.

  “Haremhab,” he asked, “why do you pray in the temple of Amun?”

  I was taken aback. I had no answer that would satisfy him or me. I remained silent.

  “Do you really believe in Amun, and all you were taught about him?”

  I thought about the question for a short while then replied, “Not in the same way that other people believe in him.”

  “Either you believe or you do not. There is no middle way.”

  “I only care about religion as one of the oldest traditions in Egypt,” I said in all honesty.

  “You worship only yourself, Haremhab,” he said with provoking confidence.

  “Let us say that I worship Egypt.”

  “Have you ever been tempted to ask what is the secret of life and existence?”

  “I know how to eliminate such temptations when they arise,” I replied.

  “How unfortunate. And what have you done for your soul then?”

  “Duty is what I hold sacred.” I was growing weary of his pressing questions. “And I have built myself a tomb for the hereafter.”

  He sighed. “I hope one day you will savor the sweetness of intimacy.”

  “Intimacy?”

  “Intimacy with the one creator of the universe.”

  “Why one creator only?” I questioned, somewhat impassive.

  “Because he is too great to have an equal,” he replied serenely.

  Akhenaten! A feeble shadow wandering aimlessly in the palace garden, flirting with flowers and birds, singing like a girl. I could swear he was meant to be born female, and at the last minute nature changed its course. A grave misfortune for Egypt. The first time Nefertiti made an appearance in the royal palace was in the Sed festival, the thirtieth jubilee of the pharaoh's reign. She stunned everyone with her beauty and spirit. She danced with the daughters of the honorables, and charmed us all with her sensuous voice:

  O brother of mine,

  Come to the sweet spring.

  Watch me

  As I bathe before your eyes,

  My flowing robe, wet, clinging,

  Lustrous under the light.

  Come watch me,

  Brother of mine.

  Her parents, Ay and Tey, must have prepared her for such an impressive display; they had paved the way for her to sit on the throne of Egypt. Bear in mind that Ay was the crown prince's teacher. No doubt he had every chance to influence Akhenaten's shaky character, and to lead him by the hand to the snare that he had set w
ith his daughter. In any event, Nefertiti won the affection of both the prince and his mother at the Sed festival. Not too long after, she was married to the crown prince.

  During the wedding celebrations, the high priest of Amun said to me, “Perhaps in marriage the prince will mature and put aside his foolish ideas.”

  “A common woman like her,” I replied, pointing at Nefertiti, “probably never dreamed of the throne. She will not jeopardize it by angering her husband.”

  I have often wondered if she would have taken him as her husband if he was not crown prince. You see, it is hard to imagine Akhenaten as the knight of any girl's dream, even if she was a simple peasant.

  Marriage did not calm him. On the contrary he became more defiant. In time I learned about his peculiar claim: a new god, revealed to him through a voice and no vision. The future, I thought then, would be grim. After a while, news came that Amenhotep III was so angry with the prince that he had sent him on a long tour of the empire.

  Haremhab went on to tell me in detail about Akhenaten's talks with the people of the empire, when he called on them to join his new religion and promised them love and joy and equal treatment. He added nothing to what I had heard from Ay.

  Despite our friendship and my loyalty to the prince, I wished then, for the first time, to kill him with my own sword before he drowned us all in his destruction. You must understand however that my desire to kill him was not at all inspired by spite.

  Amenhotep III died, and the prince was summoned to the throne. When he became pharaoh, he invited all his men to join his new religion. Then it was my turn.