“I do, my King, and I declare my readiness to die in his cause,” I replied without hesitation.
“You will be chief of police,” he said calmly, “and no one will ask you to lay down your life.”
I was prepared to fight the priests, even though I had been taught to love and respect them since I was a young boy. Yet for all the time I worked in Akhenaten's forces, I never struck at anyone-except once, and then I acted without his permission.
“From now on,” he said to me the day of my appointment, “let your weapon be like an ornament. Discipline people with love, the way I taught you. Remember, what love cannot cure, fear will not correct.”
Whenever we captured a thief we simply retrieved what he had stolen. Then, we sent him to work on the plantations and taught him the words of love and peace. When we caught someone who had killed, we sent him to work in the mines. There, too, they learned about the new religion, when they were not working. Many times we were betrayed in return for our generosity, but Akhenaten never lost heart. “Soon you will see the tree of love heavy with fruit,” he insisted.
Akhenaten spent his day praying in solitude, and singing his hymns at the temple. Then he spoke to the people from the terrace of his palace. He and Nefertiti rode through Akhetaten in their royal carriage. They were never accompanied by guards. Sometimes they got down from the carriage to greet the masses of people that gathered around them. The old traditions that had separated the common people from the pharaohs were no longer exercised. Wherever they went, they called for the love and worship of the One and Only God.
One morning a young man in my force reported, “I heard troublesome whispers among the elite.”
It was the beginning of the end. Corruption spread among the civil servants, the peasants suffered, and rebellion swept the empire. Deception and malice flowed with the water of the Nile. I feared how grief might affect the king, but in fact the turbulence made his enthusiasm and determination grow. He was confident of victory. He never doubted that love would prevail, as though the darkness had descended only to usher in a greater light. In those dismal days, the priests sent a criminal to take the life of the king. He lurked in the darkness of Akhenaten's retreat, and would have succeeded had I not stopped him with an arrow in his chest. My King then realized the extent of the danger. He became increasingly sullen, staring into the face of the criminal as he gasped his last breath. “You did your duty, Maho,” the king said reluctantly.
“I will sacrifice my life to save my King,” I said.
“Couldn't you have captured him alive?” he asked in the same tone.
“No, my King,” I replied honestly.
He said sadly, “The priests conspired to commit a wicked crime; they failed, and we have fallen into evil.”
“Some evil can be fought only with the sword,” I replied.
“This is what they have always said, since before Menes united the two kingdoms. But did they overcome evil?” Then he cried, as though suddenly inspired, “Await the time when East and West shall be seen in one outpouring of light.”
But the light did not come. Things continued to deteriorate. Men revealed themselves to be hollow ghosts. They fell away like dried leaves yielding to the autumn winds. They had neither faith nor loyalty. They distorted the truth and held fast to falsehood until the last minute. They abandoned him under the pretense of protecting his life.
Haremhab ordered me to leave Akhenaten with my men. I was unable to dissuade him. I was not permitted to see Akhenaten once before I left, not even to say good-bye.
I returned to Thebes with a heartache that has never left me to this very day. I was relieved of my duties, as were many of his loyal men, and returned to my village to mourn him. I received news that the king was a prisoner in his palace, then that he had fallen ill and died. I was certain that they killed him.
How could such a beautiful dream end so quickly?
Why did God forsake him? What meaning is there to life now that he has left us?
Maho gave in to his grief and remained silent. I, too, sat silently, respectful of his sentiments. When a moment had passed, I asked him, “How would you describe Akhenaten in a few words?” He seemed startled by my question. “He was the pure essence of sweetness and benevolence. But I cannot say more about him than the facts I have told you.”
“And Nefertiti?”
“She was beauty and brilliance combined.”
I prompted him after a moment's hesitation. “So much has been said about her.”
“I can tell you, as chief of police, that I did not have a single incident recorded against her. I did, however, notice the lustful looks that Haremhab, Nakht, and Mae gave her. But I can assure you that she didn't encourage anyone to overstep their boundaries.”
“Why do you suppose she left him?” He seemed bewildered. “It is a mystery I have failed to understand.”
“It seems to me that you have stopped believing in your king's god.”
“I no longer believe in any god.”
Nakht
Nakht was from an old, noble family. He was in his forties, a man of average height and a fair complexion flushed with a tint of rose. He was strikingly composed, more so than any other person I have met. He was the minister of Akhenaten's chamber. He did not occupy a position in the new era, but he was summoned occasionally for his expertise. I met him in his home province, Dekma, in the middle Delta. He welcomed me, alluding to the old affiliation between our families. Then he told me the story, leaving out some of the things I already knew.
I confess that I am not a happy man. I failed to assume the responsibilities of my position. Thus I not only forfeited any chance of ascending the throne, but I also saw the empire collapse before my very eyes. I retired from political and public life, but I shall always have regrets. I often ask myself, “What kind of being was my king, Akhenaten?” Or should I say “the heretic” now?
I was one of his friends from boyhood, like Haremhab and Bek. I could speak at great length about his unusually feminine features, his feeble body, and his generally strange appearance. But despite all that, he was able to make us love him and admire his intelligence and precocious maturity.
Certainly Akhenaten had his flaws. I was the first to discover a grave defect in his character-he was not in the least concerned with the operative matters of government. Indeed they bored him greatly. He looked on ironically as his father went about the daily routine on which the traditions of the throne were based-waking up at the same hour, bathing, eating, praying, conferring with the men of his cabinet, then visiting the temple. “What enslavement,” Akhenaten said. He trifled with tradition like a spoilt child amusing himself by breaking expensive items. But when it came to mystical questions of life and death and the mysterious powers of the universe, he was very ambitious. He became more determined in pursuing these ambitions after his brother Tuthmosis died. He suffered the loss of his companion, and decided to strike mercilessly against any suffering. His exuberant imagination paved the way for him, but ultimately led him to disaster. Perhaps we all had our fanciful visions, but we knew that it was merely imagination. Akhenaten, however, wanted to make his fantasies a reality. As a result, he was accused of madness and idiocy. No. He was not mad and he was not a fool- though he was not normal either.