But in the privacy of his bedchamber Nefertiti raged to her husband. “Who is Pharaoh, she or you?” she demanded, pacing the room as he lay on his couch and watched her. “I told you, Horus, that her interest in the Aten was a sham, and now she has proved it. She has killed a priest. How often have you said that the god is kind and gentle and needs no weapons? She uses you!”
“That may be,” he responded mildly, “but she is my empress. I am indulgent toward her lack of understanding.”
“Your indulgence is seen as weakness in the palace! Discipline her, Mighty Bull! Call her to public reprimand.”
“It cannot be proved that she was responsible for the priest’s death. It could have been brought about by Amun’s men.”
Nefertiti’s delicate red lip curled, and she strode to the couch. “Even if she is not guilty, she goes about the palace as though an invisible Double Crown sat upon her head. Surely it is time to take the government from her hands. There is no longer any need for a regent. You appointed her as such because you were ignorant of the workings of power. That was nearly four years ago. I have worked with her. I can help you.”
“And what would you have me do with Tiye?”
It was on the tip of Nefertiti’s tongue to say “Kill her,” but she restrained herself. “Retire her to Akhmin, or if that is too close, to her estates at Djarukha. She is too old to learn of new things, and in her heart Amun will always reign supreme. As long as she is seen at court, there will be trouble between the old and the new.” She had perched beside him and was interspersing her words with light kisses on his eyes, his cheeks, the softness of his full mouth, but he drew away unmoved.
“I love her,” he said simply.
The anger that had been dying in Nefertiti revived. “Do you not love me also?”
He placed a fraternal arm around her stiff shoulders. “You know that I do.”
“But not the way you are thralled by Tiye,” she said bitterly. Words were ready to tumble into the dusky stillness of the room. She is aging, she is not as beautiful as I and her ripeness is fading, she is your own mother and Egypt is still unquiet with the fear that the gods will punish, she is ugly and wily… With difficulty she forced them back. “I am your humble servant,” she said huskily. “But, Amunhotep, the time will come when you wish to rule actively, and it will be too late.”
He kept silent. Later they played sennet, and Nefertiti, her outburst forgotten, sang with him as he played his lute, turning upon him the full light of her loveliness, teasing and laughing with him. But as so often happened after one of their arguments over Tiye, he was unable to respond. Nefertiti was not disappointed. She knew by now that his periodic impotence was a sign that her attacks on the empress had found their target. She was content.
Tiye herself had hoped that her order for the unofficial execution of the Aten priest would result in the lessening of religious tension for a while, so she was dismayed when, several days later, she saw Ptahhotep at the rear of the hall of public audience, obviously waiting his turn to approach Amunhotep. Usually the throne to Tiye’s left remained vacant, for Pharaoh seldom bothered with his ministers’ complaints, but today he had taken his place directly as divine arbiter. Nefertiti sat on a cushioned stool at his feet, and the Keeper of the Royal Regalia was kneeling before him, cradling the chest containing the scimitar. The crook and flail rested loosely in his lap. He had come late to the hour of audience, trailing up to the dais with Nefertiti on his arm, but to Tiye’s relief he had offered no comments on the cases she was settling, only listening attentively and nodding occasionally as she spoke. The high priest was the last. Tiye watched him come striding forward, leopard skin flung across one shoulder, his staff bearer and acolyte to either side. The prostrations were made, and Tiye bade him speak. The scribes raised their pens in anticipation. Ptahhotep was doing his best to hide embarrassment and apprehension under the cloaks of dignity and authority.
“Goddess, pardon my effrontery, but this matter concerns Pharaoh alone,” he said to her, and turning to Amunhotep, he went on, “Mighty Horus, it is your prerogative alone to appoint or dismiss the First Prophet of Amun. I have served in that capacity at Karnak for over twenty years, obeying the god, the oracle of the god, and my king. The Anniversary of Appearings has come and gone four times, yet he has neither appointed a new high priest nor confirmed me in that position. I humbly beg Pharaoh today to do one or the other.”
Tiye had forgotten this ancient kingly privilege. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her son’s face begin to cloud with indecision, and she leaned toward him. “What do you want to do?” she whispered. “Shall I advise?” He nodded eagerly. “You understand of course,” she went on in a low voice, “that if you confirm Ptahhotep in his position, you are also confirming an unresolved situation at Karnak. He is of the old order. The Aten threatens him, and he does not know what to do about it. If you let him continue as high priest, you will be telling both court and temple that in spite of all the trouble your actions have brought to Malkatta, you support Amun in the manner of your father. The Amun priests will have their confidence renewed. But I think Ptahhotep is asking to be relieved of his duties. He wishes to retire with dignity before circumstances move out of his control and result in his humiliation. Do you understand?” He was frowning in concentration, and she saw him tentatively lick his red lips. Nefertiti was openly hanging on every word, her eyes going from one to the other.
“I think I do,” Amunhotep whispered back.
“Good,” Tiye said. “Then let him go. My advice is to promote Si-Mut, Second Prophet of Amun, to the position of high priest as a show of willingness on your part to recognize Amun’s ongoing power, but also as a sign to the Aten men that you have been unhappy with Karnak’s bickering and expect a return to harmony and cooperation between the two gods under a younger, more pliable man.”
Ptahhotep was standing patiently with head bowed, and the scribes were waiting to record the judgment, their eyes on Amunhotep. Tiye sat back and smiled encouragingly at Amunhotep and was relieved when she saw him begin to raise the crook and flail to announce his decision, but before he could rise, Nefertiti touched his knee and mounted the steps. She put her lips to his ear and began to murmur, but Tiye interrupted sharply, “This is the place of public audience, Majesty, not your bedchamber, and as empress I am entitled to hear any comments on this matter you may wish to make.”
“That is true, dearest,” Amunhotep reminded her. “I would be very pleased to hear your opinion, and I am sure Tiye is interested also. Speak out.”
Tiye waited, eyebrows raised condescendingly, and after a moment of discomfiture Nefertiti put a hand on Pharaoh’s arm. “Si-Mut is certainly pliable, my husband,” she said quickly, “but it is to the empress that he bends. If you appoint him, the Aten will never reign supreme. This is your chance to have a high priest who not only worships you but acknowledges the universal power of the Aten also. With such a man ruling the House of Amun you can make what changes you like at Karnak, stop the priests from harassing and sneering at the Aten’s servants.”
“Really, Majesty,” Tiye cut in coldly. “Any man who acknowledges the Aten as his sole god belongs in the temples of On, not ruling over the fortunes of Amun. The staff of Amun’s temple would not submit to such a one even for a day but would come running to Pharaoh demanding a new appointee. If you have had your say, perhaps Pharaoh would render his decision and let us all retire for the afternoon.”
Her mocking tone brought a gleam of anger to Nefertiti’s eyes. “I am not as foolish as you imagine, Empress,” she responded loudly. “Of course Pharaoh’s choice should please both sides,” she went on, turning to Amunhotep. “Consider Maya, Amun’s Fourth Prophet. He often comes to the Teaching. He is young and adores you. He would not stubbornly insist on defending Amun at every turn and obstructing your desires for Karnak. Choose him!”
“I have not had time to consider this carefully,” Amunhotep interposed, looking miserably at Tiye. “
How can I choose?”
“Trust me, my son,” she answered smoothly, confident that as always he would do as she wished. “I have never advised you rashly. Nefertiti is making the situation more complicated than is necessary.”
He pulled his arm from Nefertiti’s grip. “I wish I had not come to the audience today,” he muttered. “Give me a moment.”
His chin sank into his palm. Tiye waited, outwardly immobile but inwardly fuming at Nefertiti’s unwarranted intrusion. Amunhotep will, of course, take my advice, she thought, watching the impatient shufflings and aimless glances of the courtiers. It was naive of Nefertiti to think that she would do anything other than confuse him.
Moments passed, and finally Amunhotep looked up. “I approve of your idea, Nefertiti,” he said with a sidelong glance at Tiye. Then he rose, and lifting the crook and flail high over Ptahhotep’s head, he called, “We recognize the loyalty and service of the high priest of Amun. Let him retire with honor. The leopard skin shall pass to Maya, most blessed and fortunate servant of his lord.” Relief washed over Ptahhotep’s face, and Tiye saw that she had been right. A buzz of conversation broke out. Amunhotep sank back on the throne, mopping the perspiration that had broken out along his upper lip, and waved Ptahhotep away. Tiye rose stiffly, and without deigning to notice Nefertiti she said to her son, “This decision was yours alone, and I will honor it. But I believe it showed a lack of good judgment.” Turning, she stalked down the steps, removed her crown, and handing it to its keeper, she left the hall.
Nefertiti accompanied her husband through the rest of the day’s activities, basking in a glow of triumph. It was her first public victory over the empress, all the sweeter for having been unplanned. Tiye did not appear at the evening meal, and Nefertiti presided on the dais beside Amunhotep, animated and sparkling, her witty sallies drawing laughter from the guests privileged to be seated close to the dais. She did her best to coax a smile or a little conversation from Pharaoh, but he refused to be drawn, sitting with eyes downcast to an empty platter. Occasionally he would mutter, and Nefertiti would turn to him immediately, only to realize that he was not addressing her at all. He was drinking steadily, holding up his cup to be refilled while his gaze remained on the table. After a while, impatient and annoyed, Nefertiti ignored him, talking across him to Tadukhipa or down to the guests, and he went on sipping the red wine and whispering to himself. Now and then he shuddered and reached for a cloth to wipe his neck, and Nefertiti became convinced that he was drunk. None of the feasters paid him the slightest attention until the entertainers had performed and it was time to leave. Then the crowd became restless, waiting for him to receive their reverences and give his permission for them to retire. In the end Nefertiti had to put her ear close to his face and pretend to be listening. Rising, she told the assembly they could make an obeisance and go. The sound of their departure seemed to rouse Amunhotep, and sluggishly he pushed back his chair, drained the last of the wine in his cup, and lurched through the rear doors without even looking at her.
But his strange behavior could not dampen her spirits. It was a long time before she was ready for sleep. Ordering musicians into her bedchamber, she listened to some peasant songs, humming the melodies with the singer, and when they had finished, she had her scribe recite love poems. Before going to her couch she stood at the window dreaming with arms folded, scarcely aware of the gentle night sounds coming faintly from the garden below. She was reluctant to see the day end but finally sought her couch, sighing with contentment as her tiring maid drew the sheet over her and vanished to her mat in the corner.
It seemed to her that she had been asleep for only moments when the sound of feet in the passage beyond her door brought her awake. Drowsily she lifted her head to listen. The first faint light of dawn showed her the servant also stirring, uncurling from her mat and rising to investigate. The girl had taken three uncertain steps when the door was flung open and Pharaoh staggered into the room. Nefertiti watched, wide-eyed, as he rushed at the servant and with a blow toppled her into the passage, slamming the door shut behind her. He was naked. “Amunhotep, what is wrong?” she cried, struggling to sit up, but before she could fling back the sheet, he had fallen toward the couch and was tearing the linen from her grasp. She was too shocked to resist. Sinking back onto the cushions, she felt her legs pushed apart, and he forced himself into her, breathing harshly, while she lay trying to collect her wits.
There was a discreet tapping on the door, and Amunhotep shouted, “Go away!” He began to mutter, disjointed, incoherent sentences that were unintelligible to her as he moved, until with a strangled gasp he rolled to lie beside her, knees drawn up to chin. He was trembling. “Bring me water.”
Wide awake now, Nefertiti slid from the couch and poured from the jug to her hand. Propping himself on one elbow, he drank, demanded more, then slumped back onto the pillows. “I have had a dream, Nefertiti, oh, such a dream,” he whispered. “I hope you are not alarmed.”
I am more than alarmed, she thought, watching his limbs shake with spasmodic tremors. I am terrified. She willed herself to take a corner of the sheet and wipe his face, half-turning to the door to shout for help, but he caught her wrist.
“In a moment. You can tell them soon, call all of them, tell them…” He began to laugh. “Sit here beside me.” He pulled her down and released her, and Nefertiti quickly wrapped the rumpled linen around her, suddenly unwilling that he should see her naked.
“Was it a nightmare?” she asked, forcing a soothing tone. Her fear began to subside as the shudders jerking his body lessened in violence and his speech became less slurred.
His head rolled on the pillow. “No, not a nightmare—I have had a vision. I have been in the Duat, I have ridden in the night barque, the Mesektet boat, with the gods and the Osiris kings!” His voice rose, and she saw him swallow, fighting to control it. “I heard the dead weeping for light as I passed through all the Twelve Houses of Darkness, through the twelve transformings of Ra, and I was able to give them what they desired!”
“You dreamed you were in the underworld with Ra?” she said, puzzled.
Amunhotep sat up and, clasping his arms around his sweat-slicked chest, began to rock to and fro. “It was no dream, I know it. I entered the mouth of Nut at sunset as Flesh, the Ra-to-be-eaten, and I stood in the barque through all the attacks of the serpent Apophis, but that is not the greatest thing.” He closed his eyes. “Ra had to take me through the Duat to make me understand. I am not Ra’s incarnation, Nefertiti, I am the Aten himself. It was at the twelfth transforming of Ra that I felt myself born.”
She looked in disbelief at the ecstasy on his face, wondering if he had become insane. “It was only a dream, my husband,” she insisted, and at this his eyes flew open, fixing her with an intense stare.
“It was the greatest vision of my life,” he corrected her. “Now my true nature has been revealed to me. As I was being expelled from the womb of Nut at dawn, I looked back expecting to see her face peering down, but I saw myself. Nefertiti, I saw myself!” He stood and began to stumble back and forth before her, fists clenched with excitement, feverishly restless. “I am so happy. At last I have been able to make you a goddess. The power no longer seeps from me when I make love to you, it is refreshed, renewed, for I am the source of all light and life!”
Nefertiti, her composure restored, began to think. He had come to her first, instinctively; he had poured out his new truth to her, not to the empress. “Is that why you are here, Pharaoh, and not in Tiye’s apartments?” she queried shrewdly.
He swung round and came up to her. “Yes, yes. The god guided my steps, for now, I believe, I no longer need my mother to replenish my power. I love her, but the demons are finally vanquished. The coupling of my body with hers is no longer necessary. I am immortal.”
Nefertiti smiled soothingly. “Rest now,” she said. Going to the doors, she flung them open. A little group was huddled worriedly beyond. “Parennefer.” She beckoned Pharaoh’s butl
er forward. “Bring a headcloth and clean linens for your master, and some food. Ra has been pleased to give Pharaoh a great vision this night,” she said to all of them. “Pharaoh is naturally exhausted, but there is no cause for alarm.” Firmly she closed the doors on them. When she returned to the couch, Amunhotep was asleep, lying motionless and utterly silent. Nefertiti sat in the chair nearby and watched him.
12
Within days garbled accounts of Pharaoh’s vision were circulating at Malkatta, passed from one courtier to another. The news was treated as deserving more attention than a piece of current gossip, however, for it was already clear that life at court was going to be divided into the time before the vision and the time after it. Pharaoh had changed. Overnight he seemed to lose the vague charm that had endeared him to some and had caused others to regard him with condescension. His orders came clearer. Topics of conversation other than religion lost interest for him. His demeanor was less mild, reflected in his straighter stance and more definite gestures. A few ministers saw this as evidence of new strength and rejoiced in the prospect of a Pharaoh with determination at last, but the majority cast downward, wary glances his way and whispered among themselves. For not only had Amunhotep decreed that he was to be approached henceforth on bended knee—a degree of reverence that even the most respectful had never before seen in Egypt—but after the night of the vision he refused admission to every Amun priest who requested an audience with him.
Tiye did not appreciate the gravity of the change in her son until she tried to confront him over the matter of the new form of obeisance. She knew that he was once again potent but would summon only Nefertiti or Kia to his bed. Firmly she pushed away the niggles of jealousy, convinced that her mercurial son would eventually tire of them and come creeping back to her at some unexpected moment. She knew she could not press openly for her conjugal rights. She had long since accepted the price she had paid for retaining the disk and plumes, a price that seemed to grow with the years, setting her apart from many at court who believed that her behavior would eventually bring a curse on the royal house. She knew also that the fellahin in the fields and the peasants and tradesmen in the cities spoke of her with increasingly open contempt. She told herself that she did not care. They were, after all, only Pharaoh’s cattle to be used and herded and used again, a faceless mob without understanding. The love of her son and the freedom to rule were compensation enough. The loss of either never crossed her mind until she requested audience with Pharaoh and met an embarrassed Overseer of Protocol outside the reception hall.
The Twelfth Transforming Page 21
