The Awakening Aten Read online

  Occasionally, Yusuf asked questions.

  ‘The captain used willow branches?’ ‘Are you sure it was an ostrich?’ ‘The bird snares were yours?’ ‘You sat on the tree? Are you certain?’

  Each time his questions were answered, the frowns on Yusuf’s forehead deepened.

  Kha was mystified, thinking there could be no sensible meaning to this dream.

  Yusuf raised his head and looked at Perneb through moist eyes.

  ‘It’s bad isn’t it, Yusuf?’

  ‘It would betray my God if I lied. I can’t interpret everything you’ve told me, as there are some contradictions, but I see one clear meaning. I’m afraid it won’t make pleasant listening.’

  He paused.

  ‘Please, tell me.’

  ‘Eating the sycomore fig reveals to me that your judgment is imminent, within days, perhaps tomorrow. You were the helmsman on the ship, this is a sign that your destiny was of your own making and you’ll be found guilty of the crimes which brought you here.’ Yusuf paused again, giving time for his words to be absorbed. ‘The actions of the ostrich signify a great harm will befall you.’ More hesitation. Yusuf tightened his hold on the man’s hands. ‘All these visions together indicate you will be sentenced to death.’

  Kha gasped. Perneb’s head slumped.

  ‘This is the gravest of the meanings but it’s not everything. The snaring of the birds, in your own traps, indicates all your possessions will be forfeited. The captain, using willow branches to strike you, foretells that there will be no-one to mourn for you when you die.’

  ‘A god given gift or a burden?’ thought Kha.

  ‘I’m sorry, Perneb, this is what I see,’ continued Yusuf. ‘The last omen I can tell you isn’t true, for I’ll mourn for you, if what I’ve seen comes to pass.’

  Eyes open wide, Perneb jumped up, body trembling, legs unsteady. Kha rushed to get up from the straw to help him, support him. Perneb spoke to Yusuf, his voice struggling to form the words he wanted to say.

  ‘I feared for the outcome. I can’t argue I didn’t do the things I’m accused of. The captain was probably symbolic of all those people I stole from, leaving many with nothing. Even though I’m sorry for what I did, I don’t think the weighing of my heart will go in my favour, but at least if I do have to face my judgment tomorrow, I’ll be prepared.’

  ‘It’s not certain, Perneb, that what you now fear will happen. There’s always hope. In your dream there was a great inconsistency. I didn’t see your death. I only saw your sentencing. You sat on the tree to eat the fig. This normally portends a long life.’

  Perneb breathed deeply to gain composure.

  ‘I can’t have false hopes, Yusuf. I need to be ready to face the gods. Is it possible for you to petition the guards and ask if I can visit the prison shrine of Amun? I want to honour him and I need to make my peace. I’ll also pray that my death will be as quick as the bustard’s in my dream.’

  *

  Yusuf did what was asked of him. The guards allowed Perneb to spend an hour at the small shrine, giving him incense to burn. There was another favour, this time at Kha’s bidding, also granted.

  As Perneb was praying to his god, a troubled Kha spoke to Yusuf.

  ‘We live our lives concerned about the weight of our hearts when we journey to the underworld,’ he said.

  Yusuf smiled at his companion. This was not the first time the two had talked of this and it was apparent, they could never agree on a view of the afterlife.

  ‘I don’t believe that after death there will be a ceremony whereby my heart is weighed to attest if I’ve led a virtuous life.’

  ‘But Yusuf, you must believe, for the sake of your eternal life, you must believe.’

  Kha, a tomb painter, was an ardent, passionate follower of the ancient religion.

  ‘Feather versus heart on the scales, I can’t bear to think of my heart weighing more than the feather, with the goddess, Ammut ‘The Devourer’, waiting to consume it, ending my journey.’

  ‘My beliefs are not so different to your own Kha, just simpler. They don’t involve foul creatures hungering for my heart. For me there’s only one God, who judges, not my heart, but my soul.’

  ‘Soul?’

  ‘What you call your united ba and ka. Bad deeds darken the soul and it’s only a good and clean ba which can prosper in the afterlife. You worry too much about tomorrow. Live your life today, in a way which will take care of tomorrow on its own. Obey your forty-two “Divine Laws.” I also live my life by similar values. For me it’s easier, your forty-two can be divided into eight or maybe ten rules which can act as a guide to a righteous life. Ten divine laws, showing us how to live an honourable life, are much easier to remember than forty-two.’

  Kha had never thought of reducing the sacred texts, it would be sacrilege. The words were as he had been taught, as they must be, handed down through the centuries, father to son. He considered for a few moments and began reciting the passage which tradition ordained was obligatory in all renditions of the sacred “Books of the Dead.”

  ‘Hail, to you oh judge with great strides; I have not done iniquity. Hail, to you who burns like flame, I have not robbed with violence. Hail, Lord of Bentara, I have not stolen. Hail, Lord of Brightness, I have done no murder; I have done no harm. Hail, two lions; I have not stolen offerings. Hail, Crusher of bones, I have not snatched away food.’

  ‘Please, Kha, pause there a moment,’ Yusuf interrupted. ‘Apart from telling your Lord of Brightness that you haven’t committed murder, you’re just telling the other gods that you’ve not taken anything which does not belong to you. If I’m not mistaken, there are many more incantations along similar lines. Why not just reduce it all down to ‘I have not stolen?’

  ‘The journey into the afterlife requires that the ka addresses each deity in turn, knowing his name and knowing the negative confession needed to satisfy him. This is the only way to pass through to the joys of an eternal paradise. It can’t be enough that you address the host of forty-two deities and say “I have not killed nor stolen nor blasphemed the gods and so on,” that in itself would be blasphemy,’ Kha replied.

  *

  That night, Kha didn’t sleep. After long hours, toiling by torchlight, the newly rising sun warmed his back; a narrow beam of the Aten’s light lit up the work in front of him. He was hurrying to finish the task he had set himself and was thankful for this additional help. The others began to rouse slowly. The condemned prisoner stood in silence, head bent, shuffling from side to side. Several inmates tried making conversation with him. Perneb didn’t want to talk.

  Two soldiers arrived, demanding that Perneb be brought to them. Each was dressed in a simple linen skirt. Short swords hung from belts around their waists and each held a bronze tipped spear. A band, the blue colour of mourning, tied around their foreheads and short wigs, indicated they were officers of the “Overseer of the Justice of the King.” The morose inmates stood in silence.

  ‘Sitting on the tree didn’t help after all,’ Perneb said, as Yusuf walked with him towards the gate where the guards, soldiers, and his fate, awaited him.

  ‘Have faith, Perneb, we none of us can know, with certainty, what awaits us.’

  Kha ran up to them.

  ‘Please, wait! He needs to take these with him.’

  The soldiers beckoned Kha towards them. He was carrying two items. One was a small piece of stone. He handed it to Perneb who saw his name inscribed on it.

  ‘I know,’ Kha said, ‘like me, you believe that if your name is not written in stone your ka and ba won’t be able to unite and the gods won’t be able to find you. The name stone is my parting gift to you, along with this.’

  He handed over a papyrus scroll. The soldiers and guards looked over the prisoner’s shoulder as he unrolled it.

  ‘This could have been created for royalty,’ one
said.

  The others came and huddled together, necks straining to see Kha’s funereal artwork.

  The papyrus was divided horizontally by a painted line. The top half depicted Perneb, in remarkably accurate detail, dressed in a long white linen robe. He was wearing a wig; a torch burned in his raised hand as he stepped onto a barque waiting to take him on his final journey. Around the picture were the names of all the gods, so he would know them.

  Below the line there was a similar likeness, showing the prisoner’s encounter in the Field of Reeds, with some of the twenty-one mysterious portals of the House of Osiris. The artwork was magnificent. Each portal contained its protector, a human body with a beast’s head. Sitting, knees tucked up towards its chin, holding a large knife; one had the face of a leopard, another a lion, a goat, crocodile, dog and ibis. Each guarded portal required the incantation of a spell to pass through. Kha had written the appropriate words around the portals and lintels. Perneb turned and embraced Kha – he was not afraid of showing his tears.

  ‘May the gods bless you, Kha, you’ve given my ba a chance of an eternal life, which I had not dared hope for.’

  ‘I wanted the gods to know you, for you to be able to call their names,’ Kha said, his voice cracking. He turned to the soldiers. ‘I beg you, please make sure the papyrus is wrapped in his shroud. The stone must be left outside his place of burial.’

  The two soldiers nodded their agreement, turned, and marched the prisoner away.

  ‘May Osiris help you on your journey,’ Kha shouted after them. He prayed the guards, soldiers and the gods, would do as he asked.

  chapter two

  Ra ascended. The Aten spanned the sky. Ra-Atum disappeared below the akhet. There were godly battles to win before the new dawn. Still no sign of Yusuf. No news of Perneb. It had all happened so quickly. Kha was anxious.

  The soldiers had come unannounced; they were accompanied by Ipuki, a stocky man with a bulbous nose and red stained tunic. It was at dawn, the day after Perneb had been taken away, that Yusuf too was escorted from the prison.

  ‘What will we do if Yusuf doesn’t return?’ Kha asked. ‘It’s only his presence amongst us that makes life bearable in here. Already there’s a change in the attitude of the guards.’

  ‘When people leave here we rarely hear of them again, unless we smell their rotting flesh on the poles on the far side of that wall. Concentrate on yourself,’ said Khety. ‘Are you any nearer finishing the senet board?’

  Kha held a whittling knife in his hand. He was shaping a small conical piece of wood.

  ‘I’m nearly done. I’m afraid, that with Yusuf gone, the guards will take away my tools.’

  Kha was making a senet box, serving as a board for two games. On the bottom, the thirty squares of the senet game; on the top, the simpler game of ‘twenty squares,’ its playing surface matching the game’s name. Kha also crafted a drawer for holding the playing pieces, two different shapes, one of which he tossed towards Khety.

  ‘Who was that man who came with the guards?’ asked Kha.

  ‘The king’s wine servant; he used to be a prisoner here,’ replied Khety.

  Kha thought of the last words Yusuf had said to him as he left, flanked by the elegantly attired soldiers. They wore sandals, their weapons ornate, the sun’s rays sparkling off the tips of their spears. With wigs bounded by red bands, these were no ordinary Palace guards, these were a part of the King’s elite escort, his Braves.

  ‘Don’t worry, Kha. This may be good news and, if it isn’t, my God has no need for spells or ceremony. He knows how to find my soul even if my name is not engraved in stone. You and I will meet again. Don’t be afraid’.

  The words brought no comfort. Kha was both worried and afraid. Worried for himself, his wife Merit and their young son Djoser, as well as those left here. Afraid of what might become of Yusuf.

  Khety picked up the senet box, admiring what Kha had been able to do with a few remnants of wood and meagre tools the guards had given him at Yusuf’s request.

  ‘It’s finished. You two can now play.’

  ‘No, Kha. It’s only fair that you play the first game, you’ve made it after all.’

  ‘I couldn’t concentrate, I’m worried about Yusuf. You go ahead.’

  ‘Stay positive. The guards said King Amenhotep wanted to see him personally. I can’t believe the King would want to settle Yusuf’s punishment himself. To the King, he’s a mere slave. Also, Ipuki came with the soldiers. What would the winemaker have to do with Yusuf’s fate?’ said Khety.

  Khety and Addaya sat down with the game board between them. Carefully placing the pieces, they started to play.

  The prisoners took turns competing against each other. Kha didn’t join in. Sitting alone in a corner, he fretted about Yusuf, he brooded about his family. He worried about himself and the other prisoners. The guards had given this group lenient treatment. With Yusuf gone things could not remain the same.

  Kha’s mind wandered to the events which had brought him to this place. When he appeared before the official responsible for hearing his case, he’d pleaded his innocence.

  ‘My Lord, I was obeying the instructions of my master,’ he’d said. ‘It was he who asked me to carry the sack from his home to his tomb and told me it contained items he wished to be placed there. I never looked in the sack, I had no idea what it contained.’

  The official was not unsympathetic, but the theft of royal property was the highest of offences and punishable by death. Impaled alive was the favoured method. No other artefacts had been found at Kha’s home, but the noble’s mansion had obviously been a clearing house for stolen treasures. The noble involved had disappeared and, until he could be found, Kha would have to wait in prison for his fate to be decided.

  *

  Yusuf woke on a small, comfortable bed in the servants’ quarters at the Royal Palace. It was all so strange to him. He’d been taken out of the prison, brought to the outer Palace, and ushered to the bathing house. He was cleansed, oiled, kohled and dressed in a new linen tunic, all the time watched over by a young serving girl.

  Then an audience with the High Priest of Amun, who handed him a papyrus.

  ‘I presume you can’t read so it’s pointless giving you this, but the King insists.’

  ‘I read, your exulted holiness,’ replied Yusuf. ‘My master was kind and generous. His tutors taught me well.’

  ‘A waste on a slave; then how did you repay him? Rape his wife?’

  Yusuf wanted to insist on his innocence, but he knew it would do no good. He lowered his eyes.

  ‘This is taking up too much of my time,’ the Priest continued. ‘My own experts cannot give meaning to this vision. How can a heqa slave know better than they?’

  ‘Interpretation is a gift given to us by someone much more powerful than we. When and how He distributes such power is in His hands,’ replied Yusuf. ‘I can’t say if I will be able to give meaning to this mystery, but if I am, it doesn’t mean I’m greater than your priests, or those from other temples who spend their lives in study of dreams. It would mean simply, that on this occasion, I have been given the eyes to see when others have not. Tomorrow that might be reversed. Give me time to analyse this papyrus. I’ll see if I can interpret it.’

  ‘The King is anxious for an answer – tell my scribe when you’re ready.’

  Yusuf spent the day in the temple library analysing the information he was given; the smell of old papyrus from the shelves surrounded him. Priests passed by, curiously eying the foreigner. The servant girl, who was ordered to look after him, brought him food and wine. They talked while he ate.

  ‘I’m the daughter of a priest from Iunu,’ she told him. ‘I’m here as a handmaid to one of the King’s wives. I was ordered to care for you, as Iunu, with its sun temple, is regarded as most closely connected to your people.’

  ‘Your nam
e is unusual – where does ‘Asenath’ come from?’

  The girl giggled. ‘My real name is Ahmose-Nefertari, like the great Queen from history, but now my friends and family, and everyone in the Palace, use my childhood pet name. When I first learned to speak, I said my name like this and it has stayed with me.’

  ‘It suits you, Asenath. I like it.’

  Yusuf continued with his scrutiny and, by late the following afternoon, decided he had deciphered the meaning. He sent a message to the Priest’s scribe, and eventually received a response.

  ‘The King is absent, but returning later. He will meet with you after his morning adoration. Be ready by dawn; he does not like to be kept waiting.’

  That evening Yusuf relaxed with Asenath and the King’s wine servant, Ipuki. Her father, who was visiting the Palace from Iunu, joined them for a short while, then took his daughter away so they could spend time alone, or maybe it was to prevent her being too long in the company of the handsome foreigner.

  Yusuf woke before the lightening sky flowed over the akhet. He bathed and dressed. Asenath came and carefully kohled his eyes.

  ‘Will you come with me?’ Yusuf asked.

  ‘Are you afraid to go alone? she replied.

  ‘Every man should be afraid when summoned before the King, but no Asenath, I don’t feel fear, perhaps apprehension or nervousness. I know I’d feel much happier with you there beside me.’

  They walked together until they stood in an open courtyard. Here they had been instructed to wait for the royal audience. A covered walkway, with papyrus-shaped pillars surrounded them. The floors, walls and ceilings were tiled, red, blue, gold, green. Servants, soldiers, children, women, milling and running around everywhere. Yusuf rocked nervously from side to side. Asenath laughed at him.

  The King’s pompous steward came through a large ornate door.