At Lunch With Ramases I In Thebes, 1

My predecessor, the Late Horemheb,

spent decades to extract Kem from the web

of misbelief spun by that heretic

whose dirty name is never given mention

(by law decreed, and by social convention).

His strange devotion to that single god,

Aten (who is a god, but knows his place

among our deities) was rather odd.

And what his reign did to all Kem was sick:

a god that treats each man the very same,

regardless of exalted or low stations;

as with men, so with surrounding nations---

that all of our achievements, here in Kem,

does not make us superior to them.

But what Egyptian god would make a claim

like that, or try to prove such a sad case?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

During the writing of the poems in this series, I have assumed the historical accuracy of two artistic sources---the novel, The Egyptian, by Mika Waltari; and Cecil B. De Mille's epic film, The Ten Commandments.  Of course, I have also used other sources that contradict these two main sources (as in, for example, Horemheb's childlessness).

 

 

 

Horemheb is deemed, by some scholars, to be the last Pharaoh of the 18th dynasty; by others, the first Pharaoh of the 19th.  He presided over the final, and perhaps most efficient, attempt to remove all traces of the previous Aten presence from both the land of Egypt and is monuments, including altering the list of the royal succession between himself and Amenhotep III, whose son proclaimed Aten the sole god in Egypt, and in the world.

 

 

 

Horemheb died childless and appointed as his successor the Pharaoh we know as Ramases I.  Ramases had served both as Horemheb's commander in chief of the army, and as the High Priest of Amun (chief priest of Egypt).  

View s74rw4rd's Full Portfolio
EventHorizon's picture

I love Egyptian lore. Thanks 

I love Egyptian lore. Thanks 

S74rw4rd's picture

My pleasure.  Thanks for the

My pleasure.  Thanks for the comment and, I, too, love ancient Egypt's history.  I first read of Tutankhamun in the pages of National Geographic in the summer of 1964, when I was all of six years old.


Starward