"This is only as it should be," Tutu said at the end. "Aziru is merely reclaiming his patrimony. He has your anointing. Aziru also writes to you and promises to rebuild Sumura."
Akhenaten remembered Aziru. Years ago they had stood shoulder to shoulder in Thebes among the youths of the Royal Academy while Nebmaatre held court. Akhenaten remembered a quiet, crafty boy, good at games of chance. Like Aziru, many of the rulers in Nubia, Canaan and Syria had grown up like brothers to Akhenaten, hostage princes in Egypt. Fight amongst themselves though they did, they all swore loyalty to Egypt. It was best this way, Nebmaatre had said: a fragmented Syria and Canaan could not effectively rebel.
But how each fragment warred with the other, overwatched by the Aten! How could this be pleasing to the god who had given life to each in the womb?
"Everyone wants troops from me today," Akhenaten said, "just as they wanted them from my father yesterday. Is there even one among you who does not want soldiers?"
Of all the men assembled below, only one came forward. Akhenaten knew him welclass="underline" Keliya, Tushratta's trusted ambassador. "The Great King of Mitanni asks for no troops, your majesty."
Tutu snorted. "No, not troops!"
"Years ago, your majesty," said Keliya, "your father promised Tushratta-who loves you as he loved Nebmaatre-two statues of solid gold. I saw them before your father died. They are very fine."
Tutu said, "My lord, it is always the same from Tushratta, with you or with your father: 'Gold is like dirt in your country, as plentiful as dust, he says, and it is! But a house may be swept clean."
Keliya implored, "Your father himself promised this gold! How has Tushratta, my lord, failed you, O King of Egypt, to cause you to deny him this gift? Tell us, for we know of nothing!"
"How has he failed?" Akhenaten pointed the royal flail at Keliya and shook it so it rattled. "Keliya, you are no fool. You know that Nebmaatre became unhappy with Tushratta and withheld those statues for good cause. Tushratta cannot even hold together his own country. Your vassals rebel and make peace with the vile Hittites. It was because of Tushratta that the Hittites captured my father's vassal Shutarna of Kadesh and his son Aitakama and brought them as hostages to Hatte. For ten years Tushratta has slept like a lion in his den while dogs scavenge Syria!"
Keliya pressed his forehead to the floor. "Have there never been troubles in Egypt? Has your majesty never sent soldiers out into your own countryside to make things right?"
"Don't listen to the man of Mitanni!" A Canaanite man flanked by two Nubian spearmen broke from the ranks of Asiatics. "I am Ilumilku and I speak for Abimilki of Tyre who is your loyal servant! I kept my tongue, your majesty, because like everyone else here I have come to beg for soldiers. I'll not deny it, but listen to me, your majesty. You wrote to Abimilki asking what he has heard. He himself would have come here to tell you, but Zimreda of Sidon covets our mainland and plots against us with Aziru. Your good servant Horemheb saved us from Zimreda and dispatched Nubians from his garrison to guard my caravan, so important is what Abimilki sent me to tell you." Ilumilku dropped to his knees but raised his voice: "Half of the palace in Ugarit was burned by Hittite troops! And Aitakama has become prince of Kadesh."
A shadow passed over the Window, as if darkness hovered before its appointed hour. Aitakama, long a hostage of the Hittites, had returned to Syria? Akhenaten remembered Aitakama in the Royal Academy, too.
Tutu stood over the prostrate Keliya. "Aitakama in Kadesh! The Hittites at Ugarit! And to think that Tushratta would claim to guard our interests in Syria against the Hittites! He has brought them to our threshold!"
Against this Keliya said nothing.
The King asked, "And who would do better, Chamberlain?"
"Aziru of Amurru, your majesty. His capture of Sumura and the other cities speaks well for his competence. He pledges loyalty to you and will rebuild the city."
Keliya sat back on his heels. "The goodwill of Mitanni goes forth to every loyal vassal of Egypt, may they prosper from your generosity. Even as Tushratta sent the statue of Ishtar of Nineveh with blessings for Nebmaatre, would it not be in the spirit of goodwill and kindness for Nebmaatre's son to send these two gold statues to bless Tushratta?"
Akhenaten said, "Your king made a gesture without substance. There are no blessings but from the Aten."
"And do gifts from the King's hands account for nothing?" Keliya pressed his belly hard to the floor. He rolled over onto his back, arms outstretched. "May the Son of the Sun grant blessings upon Mitanni!"
Blessings, indeed. The statues would pay for Tushratta's chariotry and infantry. They would inspire fear in the hearts of Mitanni's restless vassals. Such a gift from Egypt would renew Mitanni's standing in the world, but what good would it do Egypt? Gold had gone to Tushratta before, and what did Egypt get in return? Hittites in Syria.
"I will take the matter under advisement."
The King stood, Nefertiti and their daughters following. The crowd prostrated itself.
"Let us give thanks to the cause of all being, and let us pray for Righteousness."
And he brought them all out into the sun.
But my brother has not sent the statues of solid gold… You have sent ones of gilded wood.
Akhenaten presented two statues to Keliya for his lord Tushratta. Finely gilded cedar they were, well appointed with colored stone, rock crystal, and glass, but they were wood nonetheless. Keliya, under Egyptian guard, accepted them. He had no choice.
"The statues that your father had made," Nefertiti asked, "what have you done with the gold?"
"In the beginning of time, Re said that gold was his flesh. Gold is as dust in Egypt, my beloved," Akhenaten replied. "The world will see."
May the King come forth as his ancestors did!
Akhenaten did not deny the truth of what Keliya had said: the army was everywhere in Egypt. Since the death of Nebmaatre, temples had been stripped of gold and silver and every precious thing, their estates had been seized, their ships had been confiscated. Everything now belonged to the Aten and to the King. Everywhere the name of the Hidden One occurred, wherever gods were written of, such was hacked out. Even in the birth-name of Nebmaatre it was not spared.
As if pursuing some lingering shadow of the Hidden One, Akhenaten drove every weakness from the backs and limbs of his soldiers, hardened them with labor, sparing neither prince born to the chariot nor conscripted peasant boy.
Daily they quarried stone and trimmed it and expanded Akhet-Aten. Under the watchful gaze of Ay, Master of the Horse, Akhenaten's young brother Smenkhkare and the other youths of the Royal Academy-noble Egyptian boys and hostage sons from Asia and Nubia alike-drilled to perfection in their chariots. Soldiers paraded and wrestled and fenced before their commanders. Under the scorching sun they stood to worship the Aten, the King, and the Queen.
In time, commanders, standard-bearers, the chariotry, the infantry and all the army scribes converged at harbors and riverbanks, in Upper and Lower Egypt alike.
Since the days of Akhenaten's grandfather, some fifty years ago, a king had not stirred from Egypt into Asia. But that was yesterday.
This was today.
And soon tomorrow would dawn at Byblos.
Horemheb remembers his astonishment when he learned that the King was in Byblos at the head of an army. At last, the King of Egypt was doing what his father never properly did! The army would be effective. How Horemheb had prayed for that.