Akhenaten
(life, health, prosperity!)
“Brother,” he says nervously, standing close by the window in the South Palace, peering to the north across the low jumbled roofs of the city, “I see a little group of torches moving this way. They come quickly, as if on horses or chariots. I think they come our way.”
“So?” I inquire dryly, for you and I have learned, Father Aten, that this is the way to calm this simple child who is Co-Regent, King and Pharaoh of the Two Lands as I am, yet at many moments is still just my worried and uncertain little brother in need of my comforting. “So? Are the Lords of the Two Lands to tremble like women thereby?”
“I do not tremble like a woman!” he says, half indignant but turning to smile at me. “It is just”—his expression changes abruptly again to one of nervousness and concern—“that I do not like the thought of having to do battle with our mother.”
“There will be no battle,” I say, raising myself awkwardly from my throne, hobbling carefully down the steps of the dais, shuffling over to stand beside him, my arm reassuringly around his waist.
“She is the Great Wife,” he says uncertainly, leaning close against me as if for protection.
“And I am Nefer-Kheperu-Ra Akhenaten, King of the North and South, Living Horus, Son of the Sun, Great Bull, King and Pharaoh of the Two Lands, He Who Has Lived Long, Living in Truth—and all the rest of it,” I say, trying to josh him from his mood. “And not even the Great Wife, I warrant you, will dare to attack me.”
“But I am not these things,” he says with a little shiver I can feel run through his body. “I was not born so, I am not so, save by your grace.”
“Or if I should die,” I say, still lightly. “Then you would be all this by full right, for it is all yours by blood as next in line, should I no longer be here.”
He gives me a long, searching, sidelong glance, his face completely serious, determined, young.
“I will never let anyone harm you,” he assures me solemnly.
“And I,” I respond, my voice croaking suddenly with emotion, “will never let anyone harm you, either.”
Suddenly we kiss, not lingeringly and lovingly as we often do, but with a terrible desperation.
Yet why should we both be afraid, Father Aten? We are under your protection, and all we do is guarded by love.
Below the guards come jangling to attention. Horses’ hoofs ring on pavement, the sweating animals snort and puff. Bustle fills the corridors, shouts and sounds of arrival echo through the South Palace.
Reluctantly we release one another and he assists me back to the dais. Leaning heavily on his strong right arm, yet still having to drag myself painfully and by sheer force of will, as I must increasingly do in these recent months when my body seems to weary along with my mind, I remount the throne.
“Her Majesty the Great Wife, the Divine Father-in-law and Councilor Aye, the General Horemheb, the Sage Amonhotep, Son of Hapu!” the Guardian of the King’s Own Room shouts from beyond the door.
“In a moment!” I call back sharply. “When the Good God is ready!”
Quickly Smenkhkara hands me the crook and flail, adjusts the pleated kilt over my knees, settles the golden headdress more gracefully about my shoulders, adjusts the towering blue linen Double Crown more firmly on my head, makes sure the uplifted cobra head of the uraeus is centered exactly above my forehead. Then he quickly adjusts his own regalia, exactly similar to mine, and takes his seat on the throne at my right hand.
Then, and only then, when all is ready, do I raise my voice and, aided by your loving strength, O Aten, and his, call out in a strong and commanding voice that miraculously does not fail me but sounds strong and steady:
“Bid those enter who wish audience with the Kings of the Two Lands!”
***