No shouts of welcome greeted the barge as it floated along the canal and bumped the water steps. Pasi’s command to dock echoed lonely and clear against the pillars of the audience hall beyond the crowded courtyard. Pharaoh began to descend the ramp, Tiye behind him with head high, the disk and plumes glittering. The crush of people swayed and went to the ground, still in an ominous silence. Ay and Nefertiti bowed and stood waiting. Meeting her niece’s eye, Tiye read gray hatred in them. Steadily she approached, determined to see Nefertiti give way, and she had the satisfaction of seeing the girl’s gaze falter and drop. Tiye had known that this second would set the pattern of their relationship, and breathed an inward sigh of relief. Pharaoh was looking about with a benign, vague smile. “You may all rise,” he called shrilly. “Nefertiti, let me hold Meritaten. My little baby has grown since I have been away.” He cuddled the child and moved on, his retinue forming around him, his monkeys gibbering with pleasure and leaping for the trees, his cats, released from their cages, bolting for the shade. Tiye felt a twinge of jealousy as he smilingly beckoned Nefertiti to walk with him, but she suppressed it quickly as she turned away and signaled Ptahhotep.
“High Priest, attend me in my hall in one hour.” She turned to Ay. “Come with me.”
Trailed by the Keeper of the Royal Regalia, her fan-bearers, and other members of her retinue, she walked into her husband’s private quarters. Taking the crown from her head, she handed it to the keeper and ordered the servants out and then strode briskly to the throne and mounted it. Ay stood in a hostile silence until the last servant had backed away and closed the doors. When Tiye motioned for him to speak, he almost ran to the foot of the throne.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” he said through clenched teeth, arms clamped to his sides. “Have you gone mad? Is it true?”
She regarded him coldly. “Yes, it is true.”
“The whole palace erupted when the edict was read. People falling over one another in the halls, shouting the news from office to office … Why, Tiye, why? Ptahhotep has boated across from Karnak every day, almost incoherent with worry.”
“I will deal with Ptahhotep shortly. Do not shout at me, Ay. I stopped being your little sister a long time ago. I wouldn’t care to answer for what Pharaoh’s actions would have been had I not accepted the crown.”
“You could have taken some discreet princeling to your bed,” he sneered. “The court would have thought nothing of it. But your own son…”
“If you do not stop shouting at me, I will have you whipped! I am empress! I am goddess! I will not be addressed in this fashion!”
He glared at her, breathing hard, then bowed shortly. “I am sorry.” But he did not look sorry. Tiye saw how color had leaped into his cheeks, and his large hands clenched as he tried to control himself.
“Nothing will be gained if we shout at each other,” she said crisply. “I need your acumen, Ay, not your ridiculous judgment. In a few days the court’s outrage will have turned to titillation, as it did over my husband’s boy.”
“I hope you are right. You risk loss of face over this, and with it will go a dangerous weakening of power.”
“I believed I had to take the chance.” She told him what had happened at Memphis, and Ay, his anger forgotten, listened thoughtfully.
“All the same,” he said when she had finished, “it was an irreparable act carried out in haste. You could have waited until you returned, discussed it with me.”
“Perhaps. But I did consider this carefully. If Amunhotep is wrong, or merely deluded, then all I will have done is to scandalize the palace, distress the priests, and break a law of Ma’at. Scandal is soon forgotten. But if I had refused him, and his claims are justified…”
“Our first concerns have always been our own security and the safety of the empire, in that order,” he broke in. “Both are bound up in the person of Pharaoh. It is becoming obvious that Amunhotep will not rule unless his religious needs are satisfied, and if he does not rule well, we and the empire will suffer.”
Tiye was offended. “Do you think that I am one of his religious needs?”
Ay smiled at her sadly. “I think so, Tiye. More is involved, of course, but that is his main reason for this marriage. For Egypt’s sake and your own, I hope you remember that.”
“I will try,” she said sarcastically and dismissed him.
For the rest of the morning she gave audience to Ptahhotep, striving to reassure him that a transgression against Ma’at did not threaten and never had threatened the stability of the country or the supremacy of Amun. She dwelt on her own long rule with a pharaoh who had pursued his pleasures and had left Egypt in her hands, giving Ptahhotep the deliberate impression that under her son’s kingship nothing had changed. She knew better than to flatter or fawn on him, and when he left, he was mollified. I would do well to believe my own words, she thought as she walked to her bedchamber to rest during the unbearable early afternoon hours. I have exchanged one pharaoh for another. I am still ruler and empress.
But as she lay under the moving fans in her darkened room, her mind filled with images of her son’s mouth closing over her own, kissing her body with gentle purpose, his eyes meeting hers as he mounted her, and she could not sleep. When Piha came to raise the hangings and the late sun, still hot and stifling, flooded the room, she sent for Kheruef.
“Go across the river into the city,” she ordered. “Buy me a Declaration of Innocence. Do not send a servant, Kheruef. Do this yourself.”
“Majesty,” he told her, his face impassive, “may I have the temerity to remind you that you are counted as one among the gods, and the gods do not need the declaration.”
“Kheruef, I have never in my life left anything to chance. You are my steward. Do as you are told.” He bowed and went out. She had intended to busy herself with other matters until he returned but could settle down to nothing. This guilt is different from the guilt I felt over the murder of Nebet-nuhe, she thought, standing in the middle of the bedchamber with arms folded and head down, different from the guilt I used to feel over the manipulations of the audience chamber, the whippings, banishments, and punishments I have decreed. Why?
Kheruef did not return until sunset, and although he had obviously taken the time to retire to his own quarters and hurriedly wash and change his linen, a smudge of dust still clung to his cheek. Tiye smiled tightly at him.
“You are still dirty, Kheruef.”
“I wrapped myself in the coarse apparel of the fellahin and went into the public forecourts on foot, Majesty,” he replied primly. “I did not think you would wish to pay as much for the declaration as a man in fine linen and smelling of the gods would be forced to pay.”
“That is why you are my steward,” she answered. “Read it to me.”
He unrolled the scroll and, sinking to the floor in the attitude of the scribe he had once been, began to read, “Hail Usekh-nemtet Long of Strides, I have not done iniquity. Hail Hept-seshet Embraced by Flame, I have not robbed with violence. Hail Neha-hra Foul of Face, I have slain neither man nor woman. Hail Ta-ret Fiery Foot, I have not eaten my heart. Hail Hetch-abehu Shining of Teeth, I have invaded no man’s land. Hail Am-senef, Eater of Blood, I have not slaughtered animals which are the possessions of the god.” His voice droned on in the quiet singsong monotone reserved for prayers, spells, and the conjuring of spirits, and Tiye listened without betraying her agitation. “Hail Seshet-kheru, Orderer of Speech, I have not made myself deaf unto the words of right and truth.” No, Tiye thought, I have not done that. I am trying not to do that, but the question remains: Does Amunhotep speak the words of right and truth, or not? “Hail Maaant-f, Seer of What Is Brought to Him, I have not lain with the wife of a man. Hail Tututef, I have not committed fornication, I have not committed sodomy, I have not turned back the generative power.” As Kheruef’s voice momentarily faltered, Tiye felt the words insinuate themselves under her skin and run gentle, accusatory fingers along the back of her neck. “I have not tu
rned back the generative power.” But surely, she reasoned, these things do not apply to those responsible for matters of state, to whom the breaking of laws is often a necessity.
She heard Kheruef through to the end, not facing him until the scroll rustled shut. “Give me pen and ink,” she said. “I will sign it myself.” He set a palette and the scroll on the table by the bed, placed a wet pen in her hand, and indicated the place reserved for a signature. Twice she inscribed her names and all her titles. Then she let the scroll roll up and tucked it under her headrest. “That is all, you can go,” she said, handing him the pen.
He took it, replaced it on the palette and, hesitating, fell to his knees before her, grasping her feet with both hands and kissing them.
Tiye stepped back. “What is it, Kheruef?” she asked, astonished. “Get up!”
Although he straightened, he remained on his knees. “Majesty Goddess, I ask you humbly to relieve me of my duties to you and to the harem. I wish to retire.”
“Nonsense! Why?”
“I have grown old in your service. My children are strangers to me, my wives are lonely.” His eyes refused to meet hers.
“You liar, Kheruef,” she said evenly. “You are my eyes and ears, my mouth in the harem, and my rod among the servants. I know you better than I know myself. If you insult me so, I will become angry.”
“Very well.” He took a deep breath. “Majesty, this thing that you have done with Pharaoh is evil, a pollution. I cannot serve you any longer because of it.”
“How do you know that we have not simply made a political arrangement?”
He managed a smile. “Am I not your eyes, your ears? Is it not my duty to bring you every rumor? The servants of Memphis are not tongueless.”
“I do not understand this sudden self-righteousness.” Her tone was biting. “You came from Akhmin with me when I entered the harem as a child. You have carried out every command without question.” Their eyes met, and she knew that her reference to the poisoning of Nebetnuhe had not been lost on him.
“This is different,” he resisted quietly.
“How?” She lashed out at him bitterly, already mourning him.
“I cannot say, Divine One.”
“‘Foolish as the words of a woman,’” she said, quoting the ancient proverb to him sarcastically, and then capitulated quickly for fear she should begin to beg. “I will accept your resignation. You have earned my gratitude. Give Huya your badge and staff of office and go home, Kheruef.”
He rose without joy. “I love you, my queen, my goddess.”
“I love you also. My father did right when he gave you to me. May your name live forever.”
“Dismiss me.” He was crying.
“Go.”
But my dear Tiye, the gods do not suffer hurt, she heard the mocking voice of her husband say as she listened to Kheruef’s footsteps recede down the passage. Well, it will not hurt for long, she told herself determinedly. I am no stranger to betrayal. She called for Piha to bring wine and music, and sat by the couch as the quick melodies filled the room and wafted out over the darkening garden.
Amunhotep came to her that night, painted and dressed in transparent blue linen, and she met his mild lust with a passion she had not felt since the Mighty Bull had died. It is what I want, she vowed silently as they threshed and muttered together, and I will show my omnipotence to the world.
10
As Tiye had predicted, the scandal of her marriage soon became an item of conversation only for courtiers too bored to discuss anything else. The resistance of the priests gradually relaxed when they saw Pharaoh perform, albeit carelessly, the duties Amun required of him. Tiye looked back on the anguish of her decision at Memphis with an indulgent inner smile. She had been right to trust her instincts. Had not the governing of the country, the life at court, the relationships within the royal family fallen into perfectly acceptable patterns? A new pharaoh always faced a period of difficult adjustments.
As though to emphasize the return to normalcy, the river began to rise on the day the priests of Isis had predicted, and with it men’s spirits. At Malkatta the feeling was generally that a new age was under way, and the most visible symbol of rebirth was Pharaoh himself. His coupling with Tiye seemed to release Amunhotep from his spiritual prison. The impotence that had plagued him had disappeared, and while he would never have the complex sexual appetites of his father, he no longer spent his nights cowering in a bedchamber bright with lamps and torches. The dark hours were shared with his empress or his queen, and even secondary wife Tadukhipa at last left the years of her virginity behind.
It was during this period also that Amunhotep began his Teaching. What had started years earlier as religious discussions between himself and the priests from On in the garden now became an almost daily discourse in Pharaoh’s public audience hall. He would sit on the throne, sometimes in the white helmets he used to prefer but more often in loose bag wigs, the crook and the flail in his wide lap, his voice carrying thin and high over the restless crowd. The On priests and guards sat around him under the gold baldachin, watching the listeners. Nefertiti was always there, her small face haughty under the crystal glitter of the cobra coronet, and little Kia often had her chair placed at his feet. Although his audience was initially made up of only his own household staff and a few curious courtiers, before long those same courtiers made it understood in the palace that the favor of Pharaoh depended on one’s attendance in the hall to hear him speak.
Amunhotep beamed on the ever-enlarging crowds, speaking with a kind condescension of the universal supremacy of Ra as manifested in his visible shape as the Aten Disk. He never mentioned Amun, and Tiye, who came to listen to him occasionally when she was not busy with more pressing matters, wondered whether the omission was deliberate or whether her son simply regarded Amun as so insignificant that he forgot to mention the god at all. The content of these speeches inevitably bored Tiye, but she often remained for their duration, held in her place by the note of confidence in her son’s voice that was never present at any other time. His eyes would light, and his long hands would take on life as they gesticulated gracefully. To her surprise, his words struck answering chords in some courtiers, and speaking to them later, jealously alert for any indication of insincerity, she saw nothing but the dawning of speculation in their eyes. She and Ay sometimes discussed the possible consequences of Amunhotep’s strange convictions taking hold at Malkatta and decided they would be insignificant. The days when religious belief was a living force in the lives of the nobles were long gone, and little but the outward manifestations of piety—household shrines, incense, and token observance—remained.
Her complacency regarding the harmlessness of the Teaching was shaken one day, however, when Ptahhotep appeared at the hour of formal audience with one of his young priests. She had earlier caught sight of him waiting far back in the hall, and something in his stance, arms tensely folded over the priestly leopard skin that hung across his chest, shaven head lowered, made her uneasy. The young priest beside him was fidgeting, moving from one leather-sandaled foot to the other, fingering the white ribbons that encircled his head. Not a we’eb, she thought. Perhaps a Master of Mysteries, but I cannot see his arm band. She had to wait through three more ministerial speeches, her scribe’s pen scratching diligently at her feet, before Ptahhotep and the younger priest approached the throne and made their reverence. The hall was now almost empty, and Tiye’s stomach reminded her that it was past the time of the noon meal.
Ptahhotep came closer, hesitated, and Tiye motioned her herald and bodyguard out of his way.
“You may speak, High Priest.”
He stepped to the foot of the throne. “Majesty and Goddess, I do not know how to put this carefully. Since Great Horus began his Teaching, there has been increasing unrest at Karnak. No priest had neglected his daily observances, but among the younger men there have been arguments, discussions, even quarrels, and the peace and orderliness of the cells is threate
ned. My phylarchs tell me that the young priests do not always sleep at night. They creep into one another’s cells, they take scrolls from the temple library, suddenly little animosities are breaking out. Everywhere but in the holiest of holiest itself, the priests whisper of Ra-Harakhti. Others even question the omnipotence of Amun himself. Myself, Si-Mut, the older men know that this is but a small eddy soon dissipated, but others are not so patient.”
“We have discussed this before. Pharaoh means no disrespect to Amun. Has he not ordered you to continue to make the sacrifices each day on his behalf? Control your priests yourself, Ptahhotep, and do not look to me to do it.”
“Majesty, the question is not one of my control,” he replied, offended, “but of this priest.” He indicated the shamefaced young man at his elbow. “He has requested permission to leave Amun’s service and join the ranks of the Aten priests preparing to serve in Pharaoh’s new temple. If I let him go, will there be others? Do I discipline him, command him to go home to his family in disgrace, command him to stay?”
“Really, Ptahhotep, I…” Tiye began but then stopped herself. The decision was not an easy one. Several courtiers had recently closed their Amun shrines, ordering new shrines to the Aten from their goldsmiths, but for them it was a new game to play. Before her now was the first stirring of something deeper, the first priest with the conviction to act. Tiye had sometimes seen priestly linens among those who gathered to hear Pharaoh teach. If she ordered Ptahhotep to discipline this man or to send him home, it would be admitting that his priests served under coercion. If he were released to the Aten, he might start a mass desertion. “You,” she said, turning to the young priest, “what is your name and station?”
The young man bowed. “I am Meryra, Master of Mysteries in the House of the Ben-Ben of Amun.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to be released from the service of Amun. He is a great god, Egypt’s salvation in the days of Hyksos domination, but I no longer believe that he is almighty. It is the Aten who shines on all the world.”
The Twelfth Transforming Page 18
