‘And now all will be well again!’ I retorted. ‘The lotus will bloom, the papyrus will grow, the sun will shine, the rains will come and all will be well in paradise.’
‘Something like that.’ Ay glanced out of the corner of his eye. ‘But you don’t believe it, do you, Mahu?’
I didn’t reply but rose, bowed and left. The last days had begun. Akhenaten and Nefertiti could smile and coo. Pharaoh might send presents with the word ‘forever’ written in hieroglyphics on a piece of papyrus: a cobra, a bread loaf and a strip of land, but the bread was stale, the land was as hard and the cobra was dangerous. I suspected Akhenaten was now drugged and drunk, soft clay in the hands of Ay who portrayed himself as his saviour. That mongoose of a man was now playing the most dangerous of games, a fervent Atenist who secretly plotted the return of the old ways. Or was it the other way round? I could never really decide what was the truth.
This great change was publicised by processions, Akhenaten and Nefertiti in their gorgeously decorated chariot, harness gleaming, ostrich plumes dancing, clouds of incense billowing about. They were escorted by the nobles in their multi-coloured robes and exotic sandals, guarded by soldiers armed with shields, spears, battle-axes and bows. It was all a dream. He and Nefertiti, dressed alike in war-kilt, jackal tail and the blue War Crown of Egypt, sacrificed white bulls with garlands round their necks. Nothing but show. They stood at the Window of Appearances in beautiful robes bound by red sashes and presented necklaces and gifts to the clash of cymbals. It was all an illusion. Akhenaten was more like a wooden idol from one of the temples he despised, brought out for public display. The real power lay in the hands of Ay and Nefertiti who now rejoiced in her new throne name of Smenkhkare.
They both worked feverishly to restore the damage done. Writs, proclamations, declarations and public promises streamed from the palace. The double doors of the Great House were thrown open to petitioners and supplicants from every city in Egypt but Smenkhkare’s cartouche appeared on the bottom of these documents. ‘Smenkhkare’ assumed the full regalia of the Empire. It was she who sat in grandeur and glory speaking with true voice and issuing writs whilst Meritaten appeared as her escort. So developed was the illusion that Nefertiti became more and more like a man, her daughter assuming the role of Queen.
Djarka and I were kept busy as if we were being deliberately distracted from the affairs of the Empire by the conditions of the city. We were instructed to search out wrongdoers, apprehend thieves, pursue robbers into the Red Lands. Only twice did I meet Nefertiti in her new role and she was as cold and hard as the flesh of a dead man. The last time was in the Great Writing Office where she dismissed her scribes. Only her Captain of Mercenaries remained, a Canaanite called Manetho, a grizzled, scarred man with a bushy moustache and beard who followed her every movement with all the blind affection and loyalty of a dog. Nefertiti-Smenkhkare had summoned me to deliver a lecture about the need for greater law and order at night in the city streets. She even hinted at my possible removal and sat in the high-backed chair like a judge delivering his verdict on a guilty man. She was still beautiful though her body was corpulent, her face fatter, the cheeks not so smooth, the mouth rather droopy, but her blue eyes still blazed with light and life. She dismissed me as if I was a dog.
The end came not in some dramatic form. Another summons to the palace, this time in the presence of Ay. Nefertiti-Smenkhkare sat on her throne at the far end of the Great Room with Meritaten on a stool on her right and Ankhespaaten on her left. Manetho, armed and helmeted, stood behind the throne. As I swept up towards her, I noticed members of Manetho’s corps standing in the alcoves, the oil lamps glittering in the reflection of their drawn swords. The room was as beautiful as ever, perfume-filled with baskets of flowers, well-lit, but there was no hiding the air of menace, of silent threat. We knelt on the cushions on the floor and made obeisance. Meryre standing in the shadows ordered us to sit back and we did so. Ay was relaxed, he knew exactly what was about to happen. Like a master of music, he was directing every movement. From another room in the palace I heard the strains of singing as the royal choir rehearsed. For a moment I thought this was Akhenaten’s Orchestra of the Sun but most of these had died during the great pestilence; their music would be heard no more.
‘You are pleased to look upon my face, Mahu?’
‘The light of your face, O Divine One,’ I spoke the ritual, ‘refreshes my limbs and gladdens my heart. I bask in the joy of your favour and seek your protection.’
‘Then know this, Mahu, son of Seostris. Proclamations are to be issued in my name only for I am Pharaoh, Lord of the Two Lands, Smenkhkare-Ankhkeperure.’ Nefertiti stared coldly, waiting for my response.
‘The Divine One?’ I asked.
‘Beloved Pharaoh Akhenaten-Waenre is no more.’
‘He has died, Your Majesty?’
‘He lives still,’ came the reply. ‘He has journeyed back to his Father. He and his Father are now one.’
My heart teemed with questions. I opened my mouth to speak but Ay’s soft cough and Nefertiti’s look of implacable majesty kept me silent. Nefertiti then proceeded, under her new name and titles, to issue edicts of how the news was to be announced in the city as well as be carried to every corner of the Empire. After that I was dismissed. Of course I questioned Ay. I demanded the truth, to see the corpse. ‘What preparations have been made for his burial?’ I asked. ‘In which tomb will he be buried?’ Ay shrugged and fended these questions off.
‘The tombs in the eastern cliffs,’ he declared, ‘are full of coffins and sarcophagi, the work of the plague.’
I sat in that small antechamber as the full realisation of what Nefertiti had said dawned on me. Memories came flooding back. The Veiled One in his pavilion or walking with me in the gardens, discussing his vision, chattering about this and that. Now he was gone, his death dismissed as if he was some peasant, some person of low repute. Ay, apart from his casual remark about the tombs on the eastern cliffs, sat in a chair watching me intently.
‘I know why I am here.’ I wafted away a buzzing fly.
‘Why are you here, Mahu?’
‘You are using me, as you would a measure, to test gold or silver.’
‘What do you mean?’ He narrowed his eyes.
‘Do you think, God’s Father Ay,’ I retorted, ‘that’s how it will end? Akhenaten is dead. Long live Smenkhkare who is not really Smenkhkare but your daughter Nefertiti? Do you really believe people will accept this? That Great Pharaoh has gone but no one knows where?’
‘But nobody does.’ He pressed his fingers against my lips. ‘Mahu, I speak with true voice. Three weeks ago, the Divine One, Akhenaten, simply disappeared.’
‘You mean he was murdered?’
Something in Ay’s face made me regret the question. A passing look, a rare one of genuine hurt.
‘Mahu, he disappeared! He was in his quarters and then the next morning, when the servants entered his bedchamber’ — Ay spread his hands — ‘it was empty. Immediately we began a search of the palace grounds and the city.’
His words struck a chord in my memory. How Djarka had reported just under a month ago about mercenaries from Manetho’s corps searching the city, of chariot squadrons being despatched into the Red Lands. At the time I thought it was some military matter, a reflection of Ay and Nefertiti’s desire for security.
‘But where? How? Why?’ I demanded.
‘I don’t know, Mahu. Akhenaten had become a recluse; more and more he demanded to be by himself. On occasion he would request a chariot, and horses from the stable to be harnessed, then he’d drive out to his tomb, and on into the Red Lands. He would go garbed like a common courtier or petty official, his face and head concealed in a hood. Sometimes he even wore a veil over his face as he used to when he was a boy.’