Nick Drake - Nefertiti.he book of the dead

He was delighted with this make-believe world, but for me it was proof that his perfect city of paint and mud and light and shadow was just an illusion. I had seen the wrong side of it, I had seen how it worked, and I understood above all that it was built not for beauty or even for power, but for fear.

'This is not all, there is more,' he said, taking me by the arm, his eyes brimming like a lonely old man in an asylum.

The chamber opened on to a secret green world: a park full of fruit trees, plants and water channels. Like the Otherworld, it seemed to have no beginning and no end. In a penned area, young gazelles waited by long, carved feeding troughs. The troughs were empty. No-one was feeding these abandoned animals now. I found a store of grain and quickly filled the troughs, although to what purpose I had no idea. Surely these beasts would not survive for much longer amid this dereliction. I watched Akhenaten stroke the feeding animals with some deep need, talking to them quietly.

We moved deeper into his green world, and with his gold staff he pointed out all the beasts and the birds, reciting their names as if he were their creator. Then, suddenly, he was furious. 'I created this world,' he shouted. 'This city, this garden! And now they will destroy everything!' I nodded. There was nothing to be said.

The sun was moving into the House of the Day. I bade him farewell. He gripped my arm, stared me in the eye, and said, 'May you breathe the sweet wind of the north and go forth into the sky on the arms of the Living Light, the Aten, your body protected and your heart content, for ever and ever.' It was a blessing from his heart, and I was moved, more than I expected. Then he waved me away and disappeared slowly into his green world. That was the last I ever saw of him.

Nefertiti rode ahead in her chariot of gold. The older princesses rode behind her in their own smaller chariots. Their red and gold scarves flared out, fluttering like rare birds in the soft morning breeze. Khety and I followed them, flanked still by Ay's guards and their silver arrows. The day, paradoxically, was exceptionally beautiful, as if the storm had polished the natural world, restoring it to its pristine state. The waters sparkled and the birds sang. The river glittered here and there beyond the trees. But as we moved onwards through the city, the human world looked very different. Fires had destroyed sections of the suburbs, leaving charred ruins. One area of storage buildings was still ablaze. People wandered aimlessly, their faces grey with ash. Dead bodies lay untended in passageways. I saw soldiers throwing corpses on carts, one on top of the other, without care or respect.

A troop of Horemheb's soldiers controlled access to the central city, and had set up barriers across the way. But when they saw the Queen, and Ay's men, they stepped aside, and we passed unchallenged.

Along the Royal Road, small crowds began to accumulate. People stopped what they were doing – sweeping up debris, or tending im-provised little fires around which they had gathered against the terror and darkness of the night hours – to stare blankly at the sight of the Queen in her chariot. As she passed, some rose and made profound gestures of respect and worship; others cried out in desperation, their hands clenched in supplication. She acknowledged them.

As we approached the temples of the central city we saw Horemheb's troops in their uniforms standing guard on all corners, while others herded straggling groups of people – the uncertain remains of visiting parties from all over the Empire – from one place to another. Improvised encampments had grown up literally overnight. A well had been cleared, and long lines of people holding jugs and jars waited to receive fresh supplies. Some bread stalls were selling, no doubt at inflated prices, to orderly queues of people. Everywhere, people looked shocked and terrified, unsure about what was happen-ing to their world, amazed and daunted by the swift changes of fortune. They stumbled about, or suddenly stopped walking, as if they had forgotten where they were going, and why.

But when they saw Nefertiti passing on her chariot, everyone's faces lightened, as if here at last was something they could believe in; something they had lost and now found again. She slowed her chariot and acknowledged the cries and calls of support and approval as they grew. The people, forgetting their fear of the soldiers, now pushed and surged to line the sides of the Royal Road. Theirs was not the well-orchestrated and insincere enthusiasm that had greeted Akhenaten in worship; their cheers were cries from the heart. Something in the Queen's spirit rose to meet their call. I too believed, at that moment, that she could, after all, save something from this. My spirits lightened a little. What surely lay ahead suddenly seemed less intractable.

To the overwhelming accompaniment of roars and prayers of support in a chaos of languages, and a fanfare of trumpets from the assembled troops, we turned through the gate and into the vast courtyard of the Great Palace. It had been swept and restored to order. The great stone statues of Nefertiti and Akhenaten lined the huge open space, which was now packed to the walls with waiting digni-taries, ambassadors and leaders, their scribes and attendants, servants and fan holders and parasol holders, all of whom turned to observe the Queen's arrival. It seemed they had been waiting for some time. Everything suddenly went very quiet. All I could hear was the rustle of several thousand of the finest linens in the world as the gathering rose to its feet, waiting to witness the next move in the game of power. There was no sign of Horemheb or Ay.

Nefertiti came to a halt and, still holding the reins of her team of horses and looking magnificent in the double crown, addressed the people from her gold chariot.

'This night has been long and dark,' she said. 'But now a new sun has risen upon a new day. We are gathered together in witness and in celebration. The shade of our Great Palace offers protection, and comfort, and security, to all of you. We return to it. We invite you to join us.'

She was acknowledging, without saying so explicitly, that the cult of the Aten was finished; that Akhenaten was absent but that she was present and there had been a shift in power. She was the embodiment of this political change. She was the new sun. She was the new day.

There was silence for a long moment. Then, gradually, a slow murmur of approval and appreciation began to spread through the crowd. Men nodded, and turned to each other in agreement. This was what they had wanted and needed to hear. Applause and calls of praise began to ring out, growing from tentative beginnings into a long, loud, strong affirmation. So far so good.

Nefertiti descended from the chariot, gathered the princesses around her, and strode into the main building as if to say: we are a dynasty of strong women; we are in charge. The crowd of men followed her inside. I tried to keep up with her as we all struggled along the palace's overwhelmed corridors. Despite the clamour and activity, the petitions and prayers and calls for her attention, she was still able to make discreet acknowledgements of the respects paid by the waiting scribes, administrators, palace officials and overseers -fathers and sons standing together to witness her return – as she passed down the corridors.

Finally we entered a great hall, near the water's edge. I had never seen a chamber with so many graceful columns, hundreds of them, surmounted by red, blue and white chevrons, holding up a ceiling of heavenly stars. It seemed ironic to me now that the dirty business of power and politics required such beautiful chambers.

The hall was soon overflowing with dignitaries, and there were many more people crowding into the side passages and antechambers. Nefertiti, accompanied by her daughters, entered the Window of Appearances, turned, and looked out over the gathering.