A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's) by Jodi Taylor Page A

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    This was Egypt and so every flat wall had some sort of mural or depiction painted upon it and the combination of paint and carving was spectacular. Vivid images leaped from the walls. Giant Pharaohs trampled their fallen enemies. Horse-drawn chariots flew across the desert plain. Hunters stalked their prey through giant beds of papyrus. The gods walked among us. Jackal-headed Anubis, weighing the hearts of the dead against a feather and finding them wanting. Sobek, the crocodile-headed god, graciously accepting offerings from his acolytes. The magic eye of Horus was everywhere, watching over the city and its inhabitants.
    We didn’t enter the main part of the city. The festival would be held in the temple of Gem-pa-Aten. They didn’t allow the peasants into the sacred enclosure, but the wide gates were thrown open and we had a good view. Akhenaten wanted everyone to witness this ceremony. His first step to dismantling the power of the god, Amun-Re, and his over-mighty priests.
    I wriggled and squirmed my way through the garlic-smelling populace until we had a reasonable view.
    The festival was obviously well into its ten-day cycle. Looking at the markers carefully placed around the open court, I suspected this was the day Akhenaten symbolically paced out the length and breadth of his kingdom; to assert his power and dedicate his land to the Aten. Around the courtyard, portable shrines contained other gods, invited to witness the ceremony. They all had their own retinues of priests, but Aten took precedence. No one looked very happy.
    We had to wait some time. Ceremonies don’t always go according to plan. Someone would have lost a sacred wreath or an important official would have gone missing, but it wasn’t a problem because there was so much to look at.
    It wasn’t just the buildings that were adorned. Wealthy Egyptians, standing under sunshades manhandled by sweating slaves, wore wonderful golden jewellery, heavy with turquoise and lapis lazuli. Even the poorer people wore cheap beads and feathers. Their appearance was very important to them. Rich and poor alike always wanted to present themselves as young and beautiful, which made Akhenaten’s strange depictions of himself even more baffling. I couldn’t wait to see how accurate they were.
    Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people waited quietly outside the temple for a glimpse of their Pharaoh. Their god on earth.
    Actually, they were waiting very quietly. There was no buzz of anticipation. No craning of necks from people anxious for what might be their only sight of the Pharaoh in their entire lifetime. I dropped back down off tiptoe and glanced up at Leon, who was looking thoughtful.
    He said quietly, ‘I don’t like the feel of this. Is there any chance of violence?’
    ‘I don’t think so. They’re not happy, but it will be years before rebellion actually occurs. They’re not a spontaneous people.’
    We stood patiently under the warm sun. It wasn’t unpleasant. I looked around me. People looked well fed and reasonably content. Egypt was prosperous and, for the next couple of years, relatively stable. If we were looking for a long-term refuge, there were worse places to settle. I resolved to mention it to Leon when we had a moment to discuss it.
    The sun was dropping in the sky when, finally, the horns sounded, and Akhenaten and Nefertiti made their appearance from the temple.
    The crowd cheered but not with wild enthusiasm.
    I jumped about a little. I was actually witnessing the first stages of one of the most remarkable events in Egypt’s long history. Akhenaten’s doomed attempts at monotheism and modernisation. I craned my neck to see him. I absolutely had to know what he looked like.
    He wore the crown of Upper Egypt and a long robe of what might have been golden feathers. I wasn’t close enough to see. Accompanied by his priests, he made an offering on the altar of the Aten. A priest removed this crown and another brought him the crown of