Return to Thebes (33 page)
Authors: Allen Drury
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Historical, #Mythology & Folk Tales, #Historical Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy, #fairy tales
“Go!” she cries, drawing herself to her full height. “
Go!
”
“No, I shall not go,” he says quietly, “nor will anyone here be able to force me to. We will have this out now, for I have waited long and the years will soon be no kinder to me than they are to him. Father!” he says loudly, turning to Aye, who huddles back against Tey, his bewildered old eyes now wide with fear. “Give me your blessing to marry my sister! And let me help you as Co-Regent with all those duties you are no longer able to perform yourself!”
It is then so hushed in the room that it seems we hardly breathe; yet that tortured, worried, gasping sound must be coming from somewhere, and I suppose it is from all of us, though we are concentrating so hard upon His Majesty that we are hardly conscious of it.
For a long time Aye looks from face to face. At first he continues to seem bewildered and afraid; then gradually his eyes clear, his expression changes, a strange, almost unearthly calm and serenity begin to surround him. His mind is lucid and he has made it up. Even before he speaks, I for one know what he will say. Aye the survivor, the balance wheel and our rock, is about to perform his last service for the Two Lands.
“You will forgive me, Granddaughter,” he whispers carefully, ignoring her sudden anguished cry of protest, “if I say to you that what he says makes much sense for Kemet. You will forgive me if I admit what he tells me, and what the gods also tell me every waking moment of every day—that soon I will awake no longer, but will go to lie with the others beneath the Western Peak. Sixty years and more have I served this House, this Dynasty, this kingdom; but now the gods beckon me and I can do no more. Soon, very soon, I must respond and go with them. What, then, of our beloved kingdom?
“It is true, my dearest granddaughter, that you have not yet had children for Kemet, and are very like not to before I go. It is true that this means that the legitimate right to the Double Crown will very soon pass to Mutnedjmet. It is true that what he has wanted for so long will very soon come to pass: the gods, too, wish Horemheb to be the Living Horus. And so he will be.”
Again Ankhesenamon cries, “
No!
”
Horemheb gives her a single sharp look, then his face becomes impassive. He can afford to be magnanimous in this moment of triumph, but I do not think he will be magnanimous for long. Already my mind is racing with what I must do.
“Therefore,” Aye goes on, his voice becoming even more of a whisper as he imposes this long but necessary strain upon it, “it is fitting that I should now appoint him Co-Regent, which I hereby do and charge you all to proclaim it and honor it; and it is fitting that he should be married to his sister so that his right to the throne can never be challenged. To do else would be to bring new troubles and uncertainties to Kemet—and Kemet,” he says with a sudden heavy sigh, “has had troubles and uncertainties enough in these last unhappy years. This is the only way to make the transition easy and secure for the Two Lands; and now, as always, that is my only concern.”
He pauses and looks at Horemheb, a long, searching look that Horemheb returns unflinching.
“My son,” he says, “you soon will have what you have long wanted. There will be no need for you to be harsh or cruel or unkind to anyone. That is all over now: let the past go. This kingdom needs charity and generosity and a loving hand from Pharaoh. I charge you to give it these, for soon you will have absolute power and no one can restrain you. Let Horemheb not be remembered as a vengeful man: let him be remembered as a Good God who sought always to bring peace and happiness to the Two Lands.”
“So have I always sought to do, Father,” Horemheb says, very low—but this time Aye seems to hear very well. Again he holds him in a long and searching look.
“So do you do hereafter!” he says, and for all that it is a whisper, it is an order: though it comes from a dying man and will be obeyed or ignored as his heir may choose.
“Daughter,” he says to Mutnedjmet, whose face wears now a defiant and obstinate pout, “I wish you to be married to your brother at once. You may live as you please thereafter, and no doubt”—the last faint ghost of a smile touches his lips—“and no doubt you will. But you are to go through the ceremonies and confer upon him the legitimate right to the Double Crown so the people may know that he is their true and lawful ruler. This you will do this night, so that I may know it has been done.”
Again there is a silence while she looks first at him, then at Horemheb, then back to him, then back to Horemheb. Finally, fixing her glance firmly on her brother, she says calmly:
“Very well, Father. For you, for Kemet, I shall do it: not for him.” Her voice fills with a savage sarcasm. “As for you, Brother! See to it that you do not come near me after our ceremony, ever again, because those two little guardians you despise so much are always at my door. They do truly cackle like geese, as you say. That is why they have always been there and always will be—to protect me from the various madnesses of the House of Thebes. They will cackle if you come for me. And I shall also have always by my side armed guards, loyal only to me, for I shall constantly re-examine them to be sure that they are. And they will strike you dead, be you Living Horus or no that day. So beware, Brother. Keep far from me!”
I think for a second that he would like to strike
her
dead right there; but the stakes are too high and he cannot. I doubt, in fact, that he ever will. They are two of a kind. I suspect that Mutnedjmet, Ipy and Senna will live out their lives quite happily and safely, coming and going as they please, to the eternal annoyance and eternal frustration of the mighty Living Horus.
Now Aye falters, his eyes begin to acquire again their wandering look; the long strain is starting to tell. He sighs heavily.
“Go now,” he whispers. “Granddaughter, give me a last kiss, for I may not see you again. I commend you to your cousin, who will be kind and gentle to you, for now he has no need to be other.”
On that point we all have reservations; so after she has kissed him, weeping bitterly, and after Nakht-Min, Mutnedjmet and I have left Horemheb to talk a little longer with one who has very evidently forgotten us by the time we reach the door, I begin at once upon the plan I have devised while Pharaoh has been talking. Not to my surprise, Mutnedjmet joins in entirely.
“Call on me for anything,” she whispers fiercely as the four of us stand for a moment in the corridor, clustered together away from the guards, Ankhesenamon still weeping as though her heart would break, as perhaps it finally has. “I shall always help. Sitamon?—”
“Yes,” I whisper back. “I am prepared. Come, Ankhesenamon! Come, Nakht-Min! He may die tonight. Come with me!”
As I reach the far end of the corridor Pharaoh’s door opens again and Horemheb comes out. Mutnedjmet has gone, Ankhesenamon and Nakht-Min have hurried ahead of me out of sight. Only he and I can see one another. We both stop. We exchange a long, unyielding stare. Neither of us gives ground. We are truly enemies now, though I, like Mutnedjmet, know I am safe. So are those I have taken under my care, if there is but time for my plan to succeed.
I incline my head, a slight, ironic bow. He makes no response. I leave him staring there, turn on my heel and hurry away. He does not follow for the moment, but he will: he will. He is the son of Aye, is Horemheb, and very, very thorough. I have until morning to do what I intend. It may just be enough.
***
Ankhesenamon
Ahead of us in her beautiful gilded barge goes the Queen-Princess Sitamon, traveling to visit her estates in the Delta. Following in this second barge come her household servants. Disguised among them are her new serving maid, Mutnofret, and the latest addition to her household guard, Seneptah. Them she intends to leave at her favorite farm near Tanis, where, she tells them, they will find an old friend she has hidden and protected all these years, with whom they will be safe to live out their lives, as they wish to do, together.
Kia!
Dear Kia!
Nakht-Min and I had thought her dead these many years. And all the time my aunt was hiding her near Tanis and keeping her safe, as now she will keep us safe! It is but one more of the many great kindnesses she has performed in this world: surely she will live happily forever in the afterworld! She tells us she will visit us quite often in Tanis. We hope so, for it will be a strange life for us at best; bearable, with Kia, but not really happy without Sitamon—and Mutnedjmet, who tells us she, too, will visit as often as she can.
When we left my grandfather’s room that night a week ago, both Nakht-Min and I thought we would be dead within a day. I do not believe Horemheb knows that I am pregnant, but the possibility that I could be would have been a constant threat to him: he would have had to kill me or he never would have rested easy on the throne. There would always be the chance of a counterclaimant; and if Horemheb is the kind of Pharaoh we all think he is going to be, a counterclaimant would find much support among the people and even the priesthood—because if Amon thinks he is not going to feel a strong hand, too, Amon is mistaken. The Two Lands are in for cold times as the new Living Horus seeks to bring all once more within the iron bounds of
ma’at
—as he sees it; and order—as he sees it; and justice—as he sees it. His brother and I are well out of it to be hidden away in Tanis. Even if he let us live at Court, it would be a cheerless world.
Yet even knowing this, it has not, of course, been easy to embark upon our new lives. I did not mind giving up my fine robes and dresses, but the jewels—the jewels! Ah, it hurt me to abandon such lovely things! But Sitamon was right: a serving maid with jewels would arouse impossible suspicion. Better to leave them for Horemheb to find and seize when he learned from Sitamon that we had “fled together in terror into the Red Land, not even taking food or water, so great was their fear of your vengeance. So let the Red Land claim them: they will not live beyond two days in that empty desolation!” I have kept only a small gold scarab ring that belonged to my mother, and it I do not wear upon my hand but upon a hidden chain beneath my peasant dress. And Nakht-Min has stripped himself of all possessions, too, keeping only a small jewel-encrusted dagger to remind him of past position, which he, too, keeps hidden beneath his peasant robe.
We miss the finery, we miss the power, we miss being waited upon. It is strange to know that great ministers of state will nevermore attend us, that we will never again be able to clap hands and have a dozen servants come running, to realize that we have no power at all and that now it is we who must come running, at least for show in the presence of others, when Sitamon or someone else of rank claps hands. It is strange not to have our food prepared and brought, our beds made soft and comfortable, our every wish attended instantly by a hundred willing souls whose only duty in the world was to make us content. It is strange to realize that armed guards no longer stand always between us and the unexpected, the threatening, the dangerous—to know that we are now alone and unprotected and, save of course for such safeguards as Sitamon can provide us, vulnerable at any time to the chance of exposure, capture, torture and inevitable death.
But I am not the daughter of Nefertiti and Akhenaten, and he the son of Aye and Tey, for nothing. We have chosen to live, and if possible to have our child live (and the others we intend to have, because we have decided that we are married now in fact if not in ceremony), and for that we have had to make our bargain. We are blessed beyond all measure that we have so kind and loving a friend as Sitamon to assist us, and nothing we can ever do for her as “serving maid” and “member of the guard at Her Majesty’s farm at Tanis” can repay her for that.
So it is with a good heart and in good spirits that the last rightful heiress of the House of Thebes has passed forever from the sight of Kemet, and that, with an equal cheerfulness, the Vizier of Upper Kemet has vanished “in terror into the Red Land.” We have each other, we have our coming child and others yet to come, we have the love of Sitamon, Kia and Mutnedjmet, we are safe from Horemheb. There is much for which to thank the gods. All of the gods—and the Sole God, who still, I believe, watches over me.
Two days ago, near noon, we passed the village of Hanis and I wept for dear loyal Amonemhet and his simple family: I never thought to bring upon them such horror and I shall remember and honor them always. And now today, just ahead of the great golden barge that precedes us, I see the river beginning to swing slowly to the east, and I know that I am come again to Akhet-Aten.
As if at a signal, the others sense it too. The oarsmen have been singing: they stop. The servants have been chattering: they stop. Only the splash of the oars, the lazy snap of a sail, the cry of Thoth the ibis along the shores, break the silence. Slowly we glide on, the river widens, the great bend appears. To my right gleam the fading towers, the crumbling palaces, the ruined houses, of my father’s capital.
Do I see you once again, dear ghosts? I think I do. I see you, Mother, I see you, Father, I see you, Great Wife and easygoing, simple Smenkhkara, I see you, dear brave Tutankhamon bright and golden in sun! I see you, all our happy times of yesterday when we all were young and happy and the Sole God ruled!
Where did you make your mistake, Father? What happened to you, Mother? We lived in love, we wanted only love! Where did it all vanish? Why did it all go wrong?
Slowly we glide on, past the empty temples, the gaping palaces, the deserted houses. On the royal landing stage, rotting away and half sagging in the water, a single peasant with a donkey stands and waves at us. Through my tears I wave back. Your Queen is passing, last citizen of Akhet-Aten! Say farewell to all that here was bright and lovely, for it will not come again. Say farewell! Say farewell!
Blindly I turn and bury my face against Nakht-Min’s loving and protective chest. He soothes me, his hand brushing tenderly across my brow.
“Do not look back any more,” he whispers. “Do not look back.”
Even if I would, my tears are so heavy that I could not see.
Where did it all vanish, where did it all go? What went wrong, Father? What went wrong, Mother? What happened to our dream?
***