When we were alone again, I dared to ask Ptahor about Aten, for I was not aware that Amenhotep III had built a temple for such a god in Thebes. Ptahor explained that Ra-Horakhty was the god of the house of Amenhotep, because the greatest of the warrior Kings, the first Thutmose, had seen a dream by the Sphinx in the desert where this god manifested to him and foretold how he would carry the crowns of both kingdoms on his head, even though there seemed no chance at that time he’d ever be the sovereign. So many others were in line to the throne before him. This was true, since Ptahor had in the days of his youth and madness travelled to the pyramids and seen with his own eyes the Temple built by Thutmose between the paws of the Sphinx to commemorate this event and there the tablet in which the King told about his vision. Ever since, the family had favoured Ra-Horakhty, who lived in Iunu in the Lower Kingdom, Aten as his manifestation. This Aten was an ancient god, older than Amun, but already forgotten until the great royal consort bore a son after visiting Iunu and praying to Aten there. Therefore a temple for Aten was built also in Thebes, but only the royal family ever visited it, and Aten was displayed there as an ox carrying the sun in its horns, and Horus was there as well, in the form of a hawk.
“It is said that the present heir to the throne is the divine son of this Aten,” went on Ptahor. He took a draught of wine. “It was in the Temple of Ra- Horakhty that the royal consort saw her vision, after which she bore a son. She took with her a very ambitious priest whom she favoured. His name was Ay, and he saw to it that his wife was engaged as wet nurse to the heir. He also has a daughter whose name is Nefertiti, and she drank milk from the same breasts as the prince and played with him in the palace like a sister, so you may fancy what will come of that.” Ptahor drank again, sighed and said, “Ah, for an old man there is nothing more delightful than drinking wine and gossiping about what does not concern him. If you but knew, Sinuhe, how many secrets lie buried behind the forehead of this old skull opener. Perhaps there are kingly secrets among them. Many wonder why it is that no son has ever been born alive in the women’s wing of the palace, for that is against all
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medical law; and he who is lying there with the opened skull was no milksop either, in the days of his strength and joy. He was a great hunter, and during the days of his life he brought down a thousand lions and five hundred wild oxen — and not even the chaperon of the house of women can tell how many young women he had under the shadow of his canopy — but a son he only had with Tiye.”
I became uneasy, for I had drunk wine. I sighed and looked at the green stone on my finger. But Ptahor went on mercilessly:
“He found his royal consort on a hunting trip, he who is lying down. They say Tiye was the daughter of some fowler and dwelt among the reeds of the Nile, but that the King made her his equal because of her wisdom; he venerated her parents too, and filled their tomb with the costliest of gifts. Tiye had nothing against his pleasures so long as the women of the harem bore no male children. In this, she had wonderfully good fortune, such as one could hardly believe possible if it had not happened. Although he who is lying down held the crook and the whip in his hands, it was the great royal consort who held the hand and the arm. When the King, for political reasons, married the daughter of the King of Mitanni to get rid of war forever in the land of Naharin, the land of rivers running upstream, it was Tiye who made him believe that the princess had a goat’s hoof where men’s interests lie and that she smelled like a goat too, so they say, and the princess later became mad.”
Ptahor looked sideways at me and glancing round said quickly, “But, Sinuhe, don’t believe these stories for they are only rumours told by ill-natured people, and everyone knows how gentle the great royal consort is and how wise and what a gift she has for gathering useful men about her and the throne. So it is.”
Ptahor poured a sip of wine on the floor and raised his head piously. Then he glanced to his side and burst in laughter. “Hello there, the bearer of the swatter,” he shouted. “Is that you? Come on in to sit and drink with us. We have not met for ages.”
I jumped on my feet and bowed to the floor touching it with my hands, because the carrier of the royal spectre on the right side of the King, the Keeper of the Seal, had stepped in to honour us with his presence. He came alone with the signs of power looking grimly solemn
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