‘No, Mahu,’ Queen Tiye smiled. ‘They are my people.’
I caught my breath. In the Kap I had heard the stories and rumours, of how the Magnificent One had been captivated by this young woman from Akhmin. How he had broken with custom set from time immemorial that the Pharaoh always married a foreign princess. Tiye was the exception. Oh, how we had giggled behind our hands about her presumed expertise and prowess in bed. Now the laughter seemed sour and unworthy.
‘My family come from Akhmin and soon you shall meet others from my tribe.’
The face of the Beautiful One returned.
‘But for now,’ Tiye continued, ‘we are the Sheshnu, the Apiru, tribes who wandered across Sinai from Canaan many years ago, drawn by the wealth of Egypt, the black soil of the Nile, its fertile crops and the favour of Pharaoh. We have become one with Egypt. Well,’ she shrugged quickly, ‘at least some of us have. Others stay away from the cities, tending their flocks, serving their god. My family have followed other paths. Oh yes, Mahu, I am a Priestess of Min. I have danced and cavorted in his temple before his statue but that’s only on the surface, like grass and bushes carried by the river. The customs of Egypt are like a garment I can put on and off whenever I wish.’
I sat impassive, no longer aware of my aches and pains, the soreness in my ankle, the cold wind, or the chilling sounds of the night.
‘The Egyptian word for mankind is Remeth,’ Tiye continued, ‘which is the same word for Egyptian. In the beginning, Mahu’ — she leaned forward — ‘Egyptian, Libyan and Kushite were all one, serving the same, invisible omnipotent god. The Egyptians call him Aten, my people Elohim, or Adonai, the Lord. Different names for the same being. He dwells like the air we breathe. He is in us, works through us, sustaining all life yet he is also apart, all-loving, all-creative. That was in the beginning. Since then, mankind has gone its own way and fashioned gods for itself, making them in its own image, slicing the One God like you would a piece of fruit. A God of War, Montu; a God of the River, Hapi; a God of the Earth, Geb; the Sun God, Ra.’ She gestured with her hand. ‘Mahu, this is a time to put aside childish nonsense.’
‘Mahu is not a priest,’ the Veiled One broke in. ‘He does not care for the gods, do you?’
I gazed unblinkingly back.
‘You think I worship the Aten,’ he continued, ‘and so I do. But the glorious Sun Disc is only the symbol, the manifestation of my Father. My dream, Mahu, is to be Akhenaten, the Radiance of the Aten. It’s not only my dream, it’s my destiny.’
‘One other god amongst many,’ I argued back. ‘Even the Divine One pays homage to the Aten.’
‘Ah, yes.’ The Veiled One raised a hand, like a teacher in a hall of learning. ‘We worship the Aten and pay deference to the rest because that is the way things have to be, at least for a while.’ He bowed his head. ‘I know what you are thinking, Mahu.’ His voice became muffled, mouth hidden behind the folds of the cloak. ‘The Temple of Amun-Ra has thousands of priests. Its Houses of Silver are filled with precious stones, gold, silver, amethyst and jasper. The priests own estates and property from the Delta to beyond the Third Cataract. The temples have their own troops, chariot squadrons, scribes, a kingdom within a kingdom, Mahu. The priests determine the rituals and calendars of the year. They dominate every aspect of life. That is true of the temples of Karnak and Luxor. And what about the others — Anubis, Isis, and Ptah in the white-walled city of Memphis?’ He gestured with his hand. ‘Can you imagine, Mahu, what would happen if these temples united against the power of Pharaoh? Think of the wealth they conceal. Legions of priests with a finger in everyone’s pot, feeding the populace from their granaries and stores, the bribes they offer, the people they can buy. They must be checked.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘The night is passing,’ he murmured. ‘You have been given a glimpse of the future, Mahu, and that future will happen.’ He grasped his cane, rose unsteadily to his feet and helped his mother up. ‘That is why we brought you out to the desert, Mahu. To make certain of you, to bind you closer so you can participate in the sacrifice.’
They left me alone for a while. People came and went in the darkness. More food was brought. I fell asleep, slouching forward. I was shaken roughly awake; the sky was already lighter though the wind was still cold. On a small hillock not far away I glimpsed an altar, fashioned roughly out of stones heaped together, now ringed by those who had brought me here. Queen Tiye and the Veiled One were already before the altar, faces towards the rising sun. My guards gestured that I join them. I was allowed through the circle of men and climbed the hillock. A strange experience: it was unlike any sanctuary or temple court I had ever entered before. No coloured pillars or frescoes, just a sandy, pebble-strewn hill on the edge of the desert. The altar table was a slab of rock resting on others. At each end glowed pots of incense. In the middle stood bread, wine, and a flask of oil, next to a freshly slaughtered kid, its throat cut, the blood already crusted and dried around the gaping wound.
One of the Shemsou pulled the carcass into the centre of the altar. Queen Tiye crumbled incense over it. The Veiled One grasped the flask of oil and sprinkled it liberally, covering every inch. A firebrand was brought; Queen Tiye held it up. She and her son, eyes on the Far Horizon, watched the glow of pink turn a fiery red. The flame of the torch danced in the wind. For the first time in my life I felt I was in the presence, not of something holy, but eerie, strange. These two people standing so fixedly in that silent ring of men. The Sun Disc appeared, a brilliant red glow on the horizon, its light racing out over the desert. Tiye lowered the flame and the offering was consumed in a blaze of fire, smoke billowing towards the sky. The air turned rich with the smell of incense, oil and burning meat. Once the sacrifice was lit, Tiye broke into a paean of praise: her son joined in and the refrain was taken up by the circle of men. A powerful song, it seemed to follow the smoke and flames as they rose to the sky.
The sun was rising fast, turning the cold air warm; the breeze, the breath of Amun blowing from the North, faded in the light and heat of the day. On the makeshift altar the fire began to die. The incense pot and what was left of the oil were poured over it. We stood back until nothing was left but charred, blackened remains, and the magic, the mystery, died with it. We were out on the edge of the desert under the strengthening sun about to face the searing heat of the day. I felt exhausted. Tiye was now issuing orders. The altar was dismantled, the stones being cast aside, the fires doused and, escorted by our retinue, cloaked and hooded, we made our way down to the rich pasturelands and back across the Nile.
On our journey home both the Queen and my master remained silent. We entered the palace grounds by a side gate. Our retinue with the carts disappeared, leaving the Queen, the Veiled One and myself to walk alone through the deserted gardens. We passed through guard posts; the Queen, armed with the imperial seal, was not checked or stopped, but given every deference. As we passed the House of Residence, the place where I had been raised, I paused in astonishment: the gates had now been removed from their hinges, the walls widened to allow the builders’ carts in. Stacks of timber lay next to slabs of masonry and builder’s tools. Already the masons, sleepy-eyed, were gathering. I hadn’t been there for some time. I’d heard vague rumours about refurbishment and rebuilding.
‘You are surprised, Mahu?’ The Veiled One took off his striped robe, throwing it over his arm. He stood like a hunting dog sniffing the breeze.
‘All things change, Mahu. This is going to form a new residence for me and my bride.’
‘You are to marry, Master?’
‘The bride is already chosen. My Cousin Nefertiti.’
‘The Beautiful One!’ The words slipped out of my mouth before I could bite my tongue.