not know exactly when I began to realize this; one day, I believe, in a conversation with Tiye, who keeps me company in all things and possesses, in that small round head I love to cradle in the hollow of my arm, ten times the wisdom of most men. Tiye is my delight and my great good fortune, the one adviser above all others whom I trust, admire, respect and listen to. The shy ten-year-old boy who found himself being married to the shy ten-year-old girl from the house of Yuya and Tuya has grown up to find himself the husband of the perfect wife, lover, companion, friend—and equal partner, though we must maintain the outward forms of my personal supremacy, in the rule of Kemet.
To me she gives love, understanding, support, children—and advice shrewder than any I receive from anyone with the possible exception of her brother, Aye, and, lately, from Amonhotep the Scribe, Son of Hapu. These three I trust above all others, and Tiye above the other two. It is for this that I have issued a scarab, that small, gleaming beetle whose form we have transferred to jewelry and masonry and used to proclaim our worship or our praise, telling of her glories and making clear to my people that she sits at my left hand, almost as great as I. It is for this, also, that a year ago I ordered made for her in her town of Djarukha a “pleasure lake,” or basin, its length being 3700 cubits and its breadth 700 cubits. And it is for her that I issued a scarab showing myself rowing in my state barge on her lake, piercing the dikes so that the Nile might flow in and enrich the land and thus provide fine crops for her private wealth.
And it was at her urging that I named the barge Radiance of the Aten.
For Aten likes not Amon, nor does Tiye, nor do Aye and Amonhotep, nor do I.
When I first published the scarab, in fact, there was much muttering in Amon’s temple. It was led by my brother-in-law Aanen, he whom I elevated to be Second Priest of Amon in a burst of generosity (never to be reversed, once done) when at fourteen I first began to be so deeply in love with his sister, thinking it would be a kindly gesture to her family, and also give me better control of pushing priests. This was my mistake. He even dared challenge me openly one day, here in the Palace. “You pay too much tribute to the Aten,” he said, his tone carrying, as always, its sharp little edge of criticism and impatience. I shrugged. “Amon has a hundred thousand priests throughout the Two Lands and owns as much of them as I do,” I said. “The Aten has only a barge—” “And the temple you have built for him at Karnak!” he interrupted. “That little thing!” I said with an equal sharpness. “Are you comparing that to the vast halls of Amon? Come now, Brother! You make too much of too little.” “We would have preferred the barge to be named for Amon,” he said with a prim pursing of the lips. “Well, it is named for the Aten,” I said, “and published so to the people, and so it stands.” “They will be confused,” he said, his tone becoming uncertain in the face of my obvious determination. “Amon will no doubt set them right,” I said dryly. “Do not worry about such a little thing, Brother. Amon reigns, forever and ever.” And I turned and walked away, and presently the grumbling in Amon’s temples subsided, though I know they still resent it whenever I use the Aten’s barge to sail the river. But since for the time being I have done nothing further, they have perforce subsided; though they watch. Always, they watch.
Amon is the hidden essence of Ra the Sun, which is secret, forbidding, unreachable, unknown. The word “Amon,” indeed, means hidden. For this reason his sanctuary at Karnak, like his sanctuaries everywhere, is shrouded in darkness: massive, dim, mysterious, frightening. Passage leads into passage, hall into hall, secret chamber into still more secret. Far inside, in the murky depths, mystery of mysteries, holy of holies, stands
To me she gives love, understanding, support, children—and advice shrewder than any I receive from anyone with the possible exception of her brother, Aye, and, lately, from Amonhotep the Scribe, Son of Hapu. These three I trust above all others, and Tiye above the other two. It is for this that I have issued a scarab, that small, gleaming beetle whose form we have transferred to jewelry and masonry and used to proclaim our worship or our praise, telling of her glories and making clear to my people that she sits at my left hand, almost as great as I. It is for this, also, that a year ago I ordered made for her in her town of Djarukha a “pleasure lake,” or basin, its length being 3700 cubits and its breadth 700 cubits. And it is for her that I issued a scarab showing myself rowing in my state barge on her lake, piercing the dikes so that the Nile might flow in and enrich the land and thus provide fine crops for her private wealth.
And it was at her urging that I named the barge Radiance of the Aten.
For Aten likes not Amon, nor does Tiye, nor do Aye and Amonhotep, nor do I.
When I first published the scarab, in fact, there was much muttering in Amon’s temple. It was led by my brother-in-law Aanen, he whom I elevated to be Second Priest of Amon in a burst of generosity (never to be reversed, once done) when at fourteen I first began to be so deeply in love with his sister, thinking it would be a kindly gesture to her family, and also give me better control of pushing priests. This was my mistake. He even dared challenge me openly one day, here in the Palace. “You pay too much tribute to the Aten,” he said, his tone carrying, as always, its sharp little edge of criticism and impatience. I shrugged. “Amon has a hundred thousand priests throughout the Two Lands and owns as much of them as I do,” I said. “The Aten has only a barge—” “And the temple you have built for him at Karnak!” he interrupted. “That little thing!” I said with an equal sharpness. “Are you comparing that to the vast halls of Amon? Come now, Brother! You make too much of too little.” “We would have preferred the barge to be named for Amon,” he said with a prim pursing of the lips. “Well, it is named for the Aten,” I said, “and published so to the people, and so it stands.” “They will be confused,” he said, his tone becoming uncertain in the face of my obvious determination. “Amon will no doubt set them right,” I said dryly. “Do not worry about such a little thing, Brother. Amon reigns, forever and ever.” And I turned and walked away, and presently the grumbling in Amon’s temples subsided, though I know they still resent it whenever I use the Aten’s barge to sail the river. But since for the time being I have done nothing further, they have perforce subsided; though they watch. Always, they watch.
Amon is the hidden essence of Ra the Sun, which is secret, forbidding, unreachable, unknown. The word “Amon,” indeed, means hidden. For this reason his sanctuary at Karnak, like his sanctuaries everywhere, is shrouded in darkness: massive, dim, mysterious, frightening. Passage leads into passage, hall into hall, secret chamber into still more secret. Far inside, in the murky depths, mystery of mysteries, holy of holies, stands
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