Free Return to Thebes by Allen Drury

friend that he thought I did indeed have “purposes” in Kemet. I was only fifteen then, newly come to Thebes and all the dazzle of the Court. I knew I possessed great brains, a stout heart, wit, charm, a lightning intelligence—and the skill to dissemble, which I did not at first employ because I did not see any particular reason why I should. But as I rose higher, I learned. My father Aye was secretly guiding me, more by example than by direct admonition. Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, as he moved more and more securely into the position he now occupies (which is really “the official Sage of Kemet,” so widely is he known, loved, listened to and revered), gave me many direct and helpful admonitions that greatly eased my way. My father’s support guaranteed me position, his example schooled me in skill and statesmanship. From Amonhotep, Son of Hapu, I received the intimate guidance and warm day-by-day friendship my father’s high position and remote austerity made impossible. I owe them both very much: and will continue to owe them much, I think, as I move closer to the destiny whose shape the gods have made clear to me beyond all doubt in these last few troubled years.
    Sitamon knows. Her shot was in the dark, but I could see she sensed instantly how shrewdly it had gone home. I do want to be Pharaoh: I, Horemheb, say it secretly to myself and not yet to any other. But the day will come when it can be proclaimed to the world. When it does, I will be ready.
    How this will come about I do not yet see, for at the moment the path to the Double Crown is not open to me, who am the illegitimate son of Aye, who is only uncle and father-in-law to the King and is not able, himself, to confer upon me any rights to the throne. He has given me the right of legitimacy, and he has given me the right to be a member of the Family. Both have been great advantages: but he cannot give me the right to the throne. Yet I feel that somehow the gods will work on my behalf, as I work secretly and shrewdly on theirs. Somehow I shall not go unrewarded—this I believe. In that belief I live and govern and do great things, though always, up to now, at the command, and in the shadow of, my strange cousin and his amiable, empty brother.
    Suppose the day comes when they are removed—yes, that too I dare say secretly to myself, though it is treason to even think it: when they are removed. What will happen then? Solemn little Tut, who used to be such a happy child before he became old enough to sense that the world of Kemet is deeply in trouble around him, will succeed. He will be married to Akhenaten’s second oldest daughter, sweetly ambitious little Ankh-e-sen-pa-aten (another Merytaten but with much smoother edges); and from his loins will no doubt spring many sons to revive the House of Thebes. And what will happen to hopeful Horemheb then? Will he succeed his father as councilor, when that good man goes? Will he continue to run the army and govern the country while Tut remains a child, and go finally to the afterworld, gray with honors, after Tut takes full command and presently permits an old and faithful servant to retire?
    This is a future most men would greatly envy: but it is not enough for Horemheb.
    Still, as I say, that is what appears to be the likely outline of the future. I see no other path logically before me. Yet I still believe the gods will come to my assistance and make me Pharaoh. How, I do not know.
    For the present, I suppose, I am not intended to know. I am intended only to play my part in the crisis that is now upon us, and to have my just share in whatever must be done to save the throne and the Two Lands, which now suffer so greatly under my cousin’s misrule. That is enough for me, right now—or so Amon and his fellow gods inform me.
    I pray often to Amon, whose statue I ordered to be recovered secretly from the Nile after Akhenaten ordered him thrown in. Hatsuret—my father—the Great Wife—Amonhotep, Son of