‘Take great care, Mahu. My Beloved is in your hands.’
I had done my best or at least tried to. The Festival of Opet had been a long exhausting procession of public festivities as the God Amun-Ra, his wife Mut and their son Khonsu were taken from their darkened shrines at Karnak and carried the one and a half miles to the riverside Temple of Luxor and back. Processions by road, processions by river. The imperial barges, resplendent in their paintwork, prows carved in the shape of hawks’ heads, moved slowly up and down the river surrounded by a myriad of craft. At night banquets and receptions by torchlight and oil lamps took place, sacrifices offered amidst clouds of incense. The array of troops and the solemn parade of priests and officials seemed endless. It was a feast of colour, song, music, dancing, eating and drinking, which exhausted even the most experienced courtier.
If Akhenaten was meant to tire, to appear gauche or clumsy, he’d survived the test well. He always walked carefully, his ungainly body poised, his face set in a permanent smile. Nefertiti had taught him well. Both Ay and myself were always nearby. Court officials and flunkies, their rudeness hidden under cold politeness, tried to separate us whenever they could. During the evening feasts, Akhenaten was placed close to his father — but the Magnificent One seemed to be unaware of his existence, not even exchanging glances, never mind a word. Tuthmosis and his sisters, however, were fussed, touched and even anointed by their father, particularly the dark-eyed, pretty-faced Sitamun, Amenhotep’s fourteen-year-old daughter, a luscious little thing in her tight-fitting sheath dress and braided perfumed wig. During one feast she was even allowed to sit on her father’s lap, head resting against his chest as he fed her sweetmeats from the table.
Akhenaten never complained. In fact, he hardly spoke either to us or anyone else, but accepted his lot with a faint smile and a twist of his lips. At night we often tried to draw him into conversation but again the smile, the shake of the head. Only once did he reveal his feelings with a quotation from a poem:
Akhenaten had drunk the dregs, now the festival was ending with that solemn procession from Luxor to Karnak. Eventually we left the avenue with its long line of impenetrable sphinxes and went into the temple concourse.
We passed the glittering lakes and crossed a courtyard with its hundreds of black granite statues of Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess who had devoured the first men. We were now about to enter the heart of the great Temple of Karnak. Trumpets and horns sounded, the blue, white and gold pennants tied on flagpoles above the gates danced and fluttered like pinioned birds. More trumpets and horns brayed and the huge bronze-coloured doors of Lebanese cedar swung slowly open on their brass pivots. We entered the sacred precincts of Amun-Ra, a vast forest of granite and stone, comprising temples, colonnades, statues and columns. More crowds were gathered here: notables and diplomats were given preferential treatment and so it was in the different squares and courtyards we passed.
In the central courtyard the procession came to a halt. The imperial palanquin was lowered amidst a swarm of shaven heads. The priests of Amun-Ra, divine fathers, priests of the secrets, lectors, stewards, chapel priests and their host of helpers clustered about. Trumpets sounded, drums were beaten and flower petals whirled through the air, mixing with the clouds of incense and the fragrance from the myriad baskets of flowers placed around the courtyard. A group of musicians and dancers came down the steps leading from the temple proper, a moving mass of music and revelry to greet the Divine One’s arrival. Amenhotep remained in his palanquin, as did Queen Tiye, whilst the lead singer of the choir intoned a paean of glory to him:
Once the hymn was ended Amenhotep was to make the formal reply. Only this time he turned and whispered to a fan-bearer, his herald. The man stepped forward. I heard a low hum and, glancing back at the steps, saw Shishnak the High Priest of Amun come slowly down and process across the courtyard. A thin, angular man with bloodless lips and dark penetrating eyes, Shishnak was used to the drama of the temple liturgy and able to exploit it for his own purposes. Either side of him walked two acolyte priests swinging golden censers and, behind them, a Standard Bearer. The latter carried a large ornamental fan, shaped like a half-moon at the top of a long golden pole, displaying the insignia of the temple — a ram’s head with golden horns, jewels as its eyes, the face and muzzle of cobalt blue.
Shishnak stopped in front of the imperial palanquin and gave the sketchiest of bows. Amenhotep returned this, a slight movement of the head but a gesture which spoke eloquently of the power and wealth of this High Priest, this supreme arbiter of religious affairs. Both priest and Pharaoh remained motionless. The herald was about to turn when I heard a gasp and looked up. Three black crows, birds of ill-omen, circled the courtyard. One came down to perch on the head of a statue, the other two joined it on the ground nearby, malevolent-looking with their cruel beaks and raucous cawing. A priest ran up waving a fan and the birds flew off, splitting the air with their hideous squawking. Ay, beside me, was all tense. He muttered something under his breath. The herald, however, unperturbed by what had happened, loudly proclaimed, ‘His Majesty is pleased to enter the sacred precincts of his Father’s temple. His speech of thanks will be delivered by his dearest son Prince Amenhotep.’
That was the only time my master’s name had been proclaimed officially. The herald’s declaration was greeted with gasps of surprise. Ay was cursing under his breath: ‘First the birds of ill-omen and now this. He is unprepared — he will stutter, falter.’
I made to go forward but Ay seized my arm. ‘Don’t be a fool; we are only here by grace and favour,’ he hissed.
The Magnificent One had plotted and trapped his son. He had been paraded in public, his entry to the temple arranged to coincide with those birds of ill-omen and now, untrained and inexperienced, either in public office or public speaking, he had to deliver a speech in the presence of Pharaoh and all the might of Egypt. Akhenaten leaned on his cane. I could tell from his posture how tense he had become but then he turned and looked up at the sun. His face was calm and he smiled, that dazzling smile which could captivate and disarm you.