A God Against the Gods by Allen Drury Read Free Book Online

priest’s leopard skin, is his other brother-in-law, Aanen, younger brother of Aye, older brother of Queen Tiye, Second Priest of Amon in the temple at Karnak—second only to Pharaoh himself as ruler of the priests of Amon whose temples and holdings, fanning out up and down the river the length and breadth of Kemet, in farms, granaries, thousands of cattle, hundreds of smaller temples, minerals, gold, all kinds of wealth, equal in some ways the power and influence of Pharaoh himself.
    What does Aanen think, too, and what does it mean to stand in such a place? He is not the man his brother is, and yet he holds great power.
    Gently the barge touches land. As if by magic all sound stops. The ears still ring with it in the great hush that descends as Aanen steps first ashore, exchanges grave greetings with Ramose, turns and bows almost to the ground. With a stately slowness Pharaoh rises from his throne, hands to Aanen his crook and flail, steps ashore, reclaims them, crosses them again upon his chest; bows gravely to Ramose, also almost prostrate before him; and then proceeds, not looking to right or left in the absolute silence, to follow Aanen with slow and measured tread into the dark, mysterious entrance of the temple.
    Once again comes that curious, quivering tremulous exhalation, as of a whole people breathing its soul in one great all-embracing sigh, which followed in lesser degree his mother. And then behind the soldiers the crowds begin to move, swirl, change. Voices break out, children cry, dogs bark; all becomes happiness and chatter as the people prepare to settle themselves more comfortably to await the return procession. None wish to leave, for all pray with Pharaoh for the safe deliverance of a strong son pleasing to Amon; and besides, now the pomp is over for an hour or so. It is time for picnic, before they must silence themselves to greet again, in suitable love and reverence, the Good God.
    Amonhotep the Scribe asks me to hold his place for him while he goes and relieves himself in the public place behind the temple. I promise lightly: if he will return the favor. Being closer to the Palace, we are both still a little more under the spell of Pharaoh’s passing than the amiable crowds. We laugh but we are still moved, still thoughtful; our minds still race with many speculations, many things.
    As I watch his compact little figure go scurrying off on nature’s business—the crowds making way for him respectfully, for it is well known that Amonhotep the Scribe, Son of Hapu, is a favorite of the God and exercises much influence in the Palace—I think about the pageant I have seen.
    In this first great public ceremony I have attended in Thebes, I have been moved, touched, stirred: the mystique of the God has reached me, I will not deny it. Yet still the cold little machine inside keeps wondering: What lies behind, what does it all mean, what does it add up to? If the Two Lands are really well ruled by this solid little figure in the golden clothes, what means the unease in the Palace of Malkata?
    I have seen him pass, glittering, glittering, and I wonder what he thinks.
    I know what I think, though I take much care to conceal all trace of it when Amonhotep returns refreshed to keep his part of the bargain and release me so that I, too, may hurry back to stand in place another hour to see the golden figure go.
    I think that I care more already, in my heart and mind, for the land of Kemet than he does. I do not know how I sense this, but I do. And I wonder if I will ever have the chance to give to her the devotion and the prudent husbanding which she deserves.
    ***

Amonhotep III
(life, health, prosperity!)
    I pass them, exuberant and welcoming along the river and in the streets, or solemn and respectful as I come to worship in the temples, and I wonder what they think.
    Do they think? Do they have any comprehension at all of the world I live in? But quickly I answer my own question: of course not, how could