I watched those faces closely. What would they do now? Then, almost as one, led ostentatiously by Ay, the thousands gathered in the temple precinct sank to their knees and prostrated themselves seven times in loyalty. Nefertiti and her daughters turned and raised their hands to the offerings of the rays of the sun. The multitudes followed suit. The musicians took up the song again, and the trumpets blasted their fanfares.
I looked at her up there, the woman with whom I had talked, played senet, and argued, and she was now very far away, in a different world. She had restored maat, stability and order, to the world, while also assuming power. And I felt too that my task was complete, if accomplished in a way I could never have anticipated. I had, at the very least, returned the Queen to her family, and the Two Lands. I consoled myself that I could now turn away from this labyrinth of power, this city of shadows, and go home.
But then the wind, which had been subdued like a charmed and invisible monster at the feet of the Queen, stirred, tugging at the ceremonial gowns and the fine embroidered linens of the dignitaries, and wafting the incense smoke angrily. Women reached to readjust their hair and clothes, men shaded their eyes, and everyone turned to look up at the sky whose perpetual blue was challenged now by a thick grey-red cloud as if a thunderous army were approaching blown up by Seth, god of storms and desert lands. Countless tiny specks of grit began to sting our faces and eyes. A sudden strong gust blew through the precinct and a huge pile of pomegranates collapsed from an offering table with a thundering sound and scattered across the floor. People shielded their faces with their robes and began uncertainly to back away, huddling together for protection as the wind grew fiercer, more volatile, casting its handfuls of scouring sand and overwhelming dust against the walls of the temple and the high facades of the pylons. The temple banners streamed out now, lashing and kicking at the crazed air, as if to fend it off. And the Glory of the Aten, to whom this city and its whole enterprise was dedicated, suddenly dimmed and diminished to a faint white-edged red disc, its power failing on the very day of the great Festival of Light, at the very moment of triumph, before the shadowy might of Chaos.
I knew what was coming. I had seen sandstorms many times before and should have taken the early warning signs more seriously. We had little time if we were not to be overwhelmed. Nefertiti, the girls and Akhenaten were still standing on the ramp. He looked baffled, but her face was alert with anxiety. She understood the peril, grasped the girls’ hands and hurried down to meet me. All around us the crowd was breaking apart, stampeding towards the only exit through the narrow pylon gates. The fallen pomegranates were squashed to a red pulp; people slipped and fell in the sticky mess.
But it was hopeless: the gates were far too narrow to allow such a vast crowd to pass, and quickly the terrible tide bunched up, everyone shoving and pushing, demented with panic and fear. Guards shouted and tried to hold back the crowd, but they failed to impose any kind of order, and soon they too were struggling over everyone else to escape. Cries and calls for help mixed in with the whipping sound of the wind, and I saw frailer people vanishing under trampling feet.
I looked around for another way out, or at least for protection. And then I saw Horemheb gesturing furiously to the soldiers stationed around the perimeter to advance towards the royal family-whether protectively or aggressively I could not tell. I did not want to stay to find out. I saw a look on his smooth face-the look of a man grasping an unexpected opportunity. I did not like it.
‘Is there another way out?’ I shouted to the Queen over the noise.
She nodded, and we set off against the current of the crowd. The sand was thicker in the air now, and we tried to shelter the girls with our own bodies. I looked back to check on Horemheb and his soldiers and saw them gathered around him while he gestured at our receding figures. And then, to make things worse, among the rushing people driven by the tremendous gusts of wind I noticed a single figure standing as still as a statue, as if immune to the chaos which churned around him, observing us. Ay. Something like a smile played upon his face, as if to say: so this is what happens next. And then he disappeared from view.
I had no time to concern myself with him now. My immediate duty was to take the family to some kind of shelter, away from Horemheb, and then consider the next move. I glanced at Senet, who was carrying the baby Setepenra. Her face was stricken. She was looking in the direction where Ay had been standing. What was he to her? Then Khety appeared at my side and picked up Nefernefrure, I grabbed Ankhesenpaaten and Nefernefruaten, and, pulling Senet along with us, we ran against the force of the wind and the grit towards the further pylon. Nefertiti followed with Meretaten and Meketaten, pulling Akhenaten by the hand. He was struggling to hold his crown on his head as he hobbled against the storm that had brought him and his new world low.
We made it to the lee side of the eastern pylon. The storm had driven everyone else to the western end of the temple; the soldiers, too, had abandoned their positions and fled. But Khety and I could see shapes and silhouettes among the grey blur of the dust-armed figures advancing towards us, pushing aside the few aged or lost souls still stumbling about in utter confusion and despair, blinded by the violence of the dirty wind. I attempted to look around the corner, and saw that the worst was yet to come: the great wave of the storm was poised over the city. We were trapped.
‘How do we get out?’ I yelled over the screams of the wind.
‘Inside the sanctuary!’ Nefertiti shouted back.
I looked again and saw, running through the storm and pushing aside all who stood in his way, a familiar, hulking outline, with a close-cropped head of tight curls. Mahu. He would reach us in a very short time.
We ran into the forbidden interior of the sanctuary. At a point in the stone wall where a figure of herself was painted, Nefertiti pushed open a narrow, low door which I would never have seen. I looked back and saw Mahu enter the sanctuary; he called out but I could not hear his words. I had no intention of asking him to repeat them. I hurried everyone inside and closed the double door behind me, sliding across the strong wooden bolt to secure it. Suddenly the pandemonium of the storm seemed muffled. The glorious golden regalia of the royal family now looked fake, shoddy, something from a dressing-up box. Akhenaten had transformed into a confused old man, unable to look anyone in the eye. The girls were frightened, coughing and clinging to their mother, who smoothed their hair and kissed their dusty eyes. Outside, the wind and Mahu rattled, banged and shouted, trying to get in. Khety and I allowed ourselves the luxury of a quick grin at the thought of the chief of police hammering furiously on the other side.
There was almost no light at all. My head swam with dizzy constellations. Then someone was pulling a flint, and there was a spark. The little light hesitated, then leaped to life. We huddled around the flame. Akhenaten glanced at Nefertiti with fury. He was about to speak when she raised her fingers to her lips. Even now she was in control.
A newly lit lamp revealed steps disappearing down into darkness. Nefertiti, this woman of passageways and underworlds, led us down and we followed, grateful to be moving, glad of direction. No-one spoke, and when one of the girls started to cry with fatigue, Nefertiti calmed her. Where the passage divided she unerringly chose her direction. After what seemed a long time, we found another set of stone steps, half buried in sand, leading up to a wooden trap door. I pushed at the door, but it gave barely an inch. I tried again, struggling against some unexpected weight. It must be the sand, deposited above us: whole landscapes could change overnight after such storms, becoming unrecognizable. It was possible we would not be able to escape the Otherworld here. I looked at the lamp flame. It was diminishing. Khety joined me under the door; we both heaved our shoulders into place and pushed hard. The thing moved perhaps a cubit, then a torrent of cold sand poured in. We spluttered and coughed as the door slammed back down. We pushed again, grunting and groaning like performing strong men, and the trap door creaked over our heads and gave way, bit by bit, as more sand poured over our heads.