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

place them on me. And by now Tuthmose should be here.
    I clap my hands sharply, a slave leaps forward, I say:
    “Bring me the Councilor Aye.”
    Grave and dignified as always, that good man who is his sister’s equal and his brother’s infinite superior comes. I know that he is deeply concerned that his own dear wife, Hebmet, also lies in labor in the compound of Malkata. But his thought now is all for me.
    “Has the young ibis reached the nest?” I ask, in the simple code we use.
    “Not yet, Son of the Sun,” he says, the worry in his eyes determinedly hidden, but clear to me.
    “There is no word of his flight?”
    “It was good as of last night’s reporting,” he says. “But I have had no word today.”
    “We must leave in ten minutes,” I note. “My mother is already on the water. Sitamon and Gilukhipa leave in a moment. You are next.”
    “Then we must go,” he says calmly; and steps forward, with a familiarity I permit only him, and places a hand lightly on my arm. “The ceremony must go forward,” he says, softly so that the attendants and priests, who have fallen back at his approach, cannot hear. “Do not worry.”
    “Easy words,” I say, more sharply than I intend, for a fear is beginning to grow in my heart, as in his.
    “He will come,” he says gently, though I can see he too is beginning to imagine the unimaginable. He bows formally, raises his voice, says firmly, “Majesty, I will see you in the temple,” and backs out, to go to the landing and board his barge.
    Silently I pray for a moment—to Hathor, to Ptah, to Thoth and Geb and Nut and Ra-Herakhty and Isis and Harmakis and Buto and Sekh-met, to all the human-bird-and-animal-headed deities who surround me; and finally, in a desperation whose irony even in that moment does not escape me, to Amon-Ra himself, to his wife Mut and his son Khons, for my son who comes from Memphis, and who should by now be here.
    I hear the roar of greeting, enthusiastic but respectful, that greets Aye. I know it is time for me to leave. I stand back, survey myself in the full-length mirror held before me by two slaves; find all in order; grasp the crook and flail firmly, compose my face into the pleasantly smiling, serenely untroubled expression it must carry always in public; and proceed, in the midst of slaves, priests and attendants, to the dock, and so into the state barge, which today of necessity is not Radiance of the Aten but its sister vessel, All Is Pleasing to Amon.
    All down the river I barely hear, barely see, the hundreds of thousands who roar their greetings as I pass. Aanen stands at my shoulder. Our eyes have met once, as I stepped aboard. His were expressionless and fathomless. So do I hope mine seemed to him. He bowed very low and assumed his post slightly behind and to the left of the throne; we have not exchanged word or look since.
    Confident, satisfied, happy and serene—for so they must believe me to be—I move slowly down the river before my people. In my mind I am desperately praying—for my son who is coming from Memphis, and for my son who is coming from the womb. No word comes as yet from either. Yet it must from both: it must. And from both it must be good.
    It must.
    It must.
    ***

Aanen
    He worries, my arrogant brother-in-law: something in the set of his shoulders, which only I can see as I stand behind the throne while we move slowly down the river past the screaming throngs, tells me so.
    He worries, and so he should.…
    He is not alone.
    To tell you the truth, so do I.
    It is no small task to challenge Pharaoh, not something to be undertaken lightly. Death, instant and cruel, may await us all—if he lets impulse rule where only the cold and careful mind can be of any help. He may do so, for he is spoiled beyond his twenty-two years, heir to all the hard-won empire of ancestors stronger than he. Hatshepsut, the Tuth-mosids, his grandfather, Amonhotep II (life, health, prosperity to them all!), have left him a mighty