The Twelfth Transforming

by Pauline Gedge

  The young woman’s youth lock was unbraided, falling in a crinkled black rope to her naked knees. She was without paint, her face pale, her eyes seeming smaller under the habitually swollen lids. She had hurriedly cast a transparent white cloak around her shoulders but otherwise was undressed. Her servant unfolded stools, served water from the barrel cooling by the wall, and then at a word from Tiye disappeared into the dim interior of the house. Mutnodjme smiled faintly and collapsed onto her stool as Tiye settled comfortably beside her.

  “You have been supervising your father’s move,” Tiye said, and Mutnodjme nodded.

  “Everything has gone, and I am exhausted, Majesty Aunt. I slept longer than usual today. Forgive me for not being up to greet you. As soon as I receive word that Father is settled and I have forgotten nothing, I, too, go north to rejoin my husband.”

  “Are you happy with Horemheb?”

  The question startled Mutnodjme. She raised her feathered eyebrows and grinned slowly at her aunt. “Yes, I am. He makes few demands on me apart from the ones I like, and he has taught me the boundaries across which I may not venture, while keeping my respect. He is becoming quite an influential courtier, you know.”

  “I know,” Tiye replied shortly. “Were you able to replace your dwarfs?”

  “Horemheb tells me in his latest letter that two new ones are waiting for me at Akhetaten. They cost him a fortune.”

  “He will quickly make another.” Tiye eyed the languid, relaxed slump of the angular shoulders under the filmy linen, the long legs crossed at the ankles, the brown nipples showing where the cloak parted and fell to the ground. “Do you think you will like Pharaoh’s city?”

  Mutnodjme shrugged. “It is a marvel to behold, a toy of great beauty, one vast temple. I am happy wherever my friends are. It is certain that my husband has been given an estate for us, the like of which I have never seen. Pharaoh has spared no expense to assure the contentment of his courtiers. Therefore I will like living at Akhetaten.”

  “I hear that Tey has decided to move from Akhmin.”

  Mutnodjme laughed, lifted her chin, and upended her cup. Water trickled down her neck and across her navel and began to pool between her thighs. “My mother is trying once again to be a dutiful wife. It does not suit her. Even though Father has built a very secluded estate for her across the river from the city, she will become anxious and sillier than ever until the call of Akhmin is too strong to be denied. Then she will steal away.”

  “Ay loves her.”

  “And she him. That is not the point, Majesty Aunt. She only feels safe at Akhmin.”

  I understand, Tiye thought with a sudden spurt of sympathy for Ay’s lovely, disheveled wife. “Mutnodjme, I did not come here today just to gossip. I have a task for you,” she said abruptly. “It is not a divine command. You may refuse it if you wish.”

  Mutnodjme began to smile. “You want me to be your spy in Akhetaten, don’t you, Goddess?”

  Tiye smiled back wryly. She had not realized the degree of perceptiveness hidden beneath her niece’s air of lazy detachment. “Yes, I do. I will pay you very well. You stand apart from the struggles for power. You care about nothing, and that is why you will be able to report exactly what you see and feel.”

  “Horemheb would not like it.” Mutnodjme’s voice was sharp. “And it is not true that I care about nothing.” Her eyes had cleared, and she was watching Tiye intently. “I care about my husband. I will not put him in danger or subject him to the risk of disfavor.”

  “Yet your infidelities are the talk of every bored courtier.”

  “Pah! To while away an endless afternoon with a handsome body, what is that? I would kill for Horemheb.”

  Tiye hid her surprise. “Spy for me, and you would be protecting him in the long run. It is only a matter of time before those surrounding my son see the necessity of making him understand what the truth really is. Horemheb surely cannot believe either in the supremacy of the Aten or the policy of abject appeasement Akhenaten is following with regard to the empire. Pharaoh needs real friends, Mutnodjme, people who will resist him for his own good.”

  “Horemheb only moved to Akhetaten because Pharaoh promised him the Nubian gold monopoly the Amun priests hold at present,” Mutnodjme replied, “and perhaps because he has some influence already. He likes your husband, Empress, whether he believes him right or wrong. He does not understand him, but he is prepared to be loyal.”

  “Horemheb used to be loyal to me!”

  “He still is, but we must live, and besides, nothing could have been gained by his remaining either at an empty Malkatta or patrolling on the border, though my father wanted to send him back there.” She got up and, sliding to the water barrel, drew another draught. Tiye shook her head at the proffered cup, and Mutnodjme leaned against a pillar and drank. “Do you swear, Majesty Aunt, that you are pursuing no plots that involve my husband?”

  “Of course I so swear! Horemheb is the best young commander Egypt has, and I know his larger and more important loyalty is to the country itself.”

  “What will you pay me?”

  Tiye smiled inwardly. “One hundred new slaves every year, from the country of your choice. One quarter of my profits from Alashian trade. And my permission to dike and flood an extra one hundred acres of my private estates at Djarukha, for your own cultivation.”

  Mutnodjme nodded. “Agreed. But I will report to you only what I wish, not necessarily what you ask, and I dictate no scrolls to be held against me later.”

  “I have thought of that. I will give you my tongueless slave. Speak your reports to him, and he will come to me and transcribe them in front of me. I will read and then burn them.”

  “Majesty, you know that I am lazy and refuse to hurry breathless from one audience to another, or hang about outside closed doors in the hope of catching some item of news. Besides, I am not sure that I can trust you.”

  “Then, have me spied upon.” They laughed together. Mutnodjme eased down the pillar until she was squatting at its base. “I do not want reports on royal policies from you,” Tiye went on after a moment. “I want the smell of the air, the tones of men’s voices. You need not send to me regularly, either. I am sure that Ay will keep me informed, too.”

  “Majesty, Pharaoh has built a great house for you there,” Mutnodjme said quietly. “Why will you stay here in the twilight? Is it because of my disagreeable half sister?”

  “I am goddess,” Tiye replied coolly and rose. Mutnodjme bowed perfunctorily. “May your name live forever,” Tiye finished and, stepping out into the glare of the late afternoon, made her way to the gate, where her servants dozed. The garden no longer breathed sweetly of the past, but as she bent her head to shield her face from the sun, she realized that the pain she carried under her breast was not the sadness of a vanished mood. It was the sudden envy she felt toward Mutnodjme. She glanced back. The portico was empty, the stools still drawn close together, a patch of water evaporating on the stone, and Mutnodjme’s cup lay forgotten on the grass where she had tossed it.

  On the night before Pharaoh was due to leave Malkatta, Tiye could not sleep. She had wandered about her apartments during the day, unable to settle to anything, expecting that Akhenaten would send for her. She had called her dancers to perform, Tia-Ha to amuse her, and Piha to massage her, but her thoughts remained on the man who was both son and husband, child and lover. She refused to believe that he could go without a word to her, even though it had been months since he had wanted to spend any private time with her. He had issued no directives regarding the disposition of the old palace, left none of his own staff to provide a link to his empress. It was as if with his departure the whole huge magnificent edifice that had held the heart of Egypt for years would disappear, leaving nothing but lizards and jerboas to crouch in the foundations. Proudly Tiye had refused to approach him. If he wished to sail away without a word, as though she were already dead, then so be it. She told herself that she longed for the kind of peaceful retirem
ent her own aunt, Queen Mutemwiya, had enjoyed in the seclusion of a sumptuous apartment in the harem. She would fight no more battles.

  She had ordered her physician to prepare a sleeping draught, but Ra sailed the Duat through House after House, and she still lay tense, listening to the faint notes of Karnak’s horns drifting across the river, her naked body sticky and restless under the linen sheet. Twice she roused Piha to bring her water, but its warmth nauseated her. She was so certain that sleep had eluded her that she could not believe she was waking to the dark form bending over her until it hesitantly touched her cheek. She cried out and sat up, and Akhenaten took a step away from the couch.

  “I sent Piha to the servants’ quarters,” he whispered unnecessarily. “I wish to speak to you alone, Tiye.”

  The use of her name was a good omen, but she whispered back, “Does Nefertiti know you are here, Majesty?” She could not tell, in the dim light, whether it was a flush of embarrassment or simply the play of shadow on his thin neck as he craned down at her. “Or were you ashamed to bid me farewell in public?”

  “Why, no,” he said in a louder voice, his expression puzzled. “I supposed we would say farewell on the water steps in the morning. I could not sleep.”

  Relenting, Tiye patted the couch by her knees. “Neither could I. Amunhotep, it is still not too late to change your mind. Leave your city to the owls and jackals and stay here!”

  “Do not call me that!” He scowled briefly, his pendulous lower lip jutting. “It is not too late for you to change your mind either, my mother. I have prepared a magnificent house for you in Akhetaten, full of pleasure gardens and other delights, as befits an empress. Please come.” Under the band of the plain white linen sleeping cap, his high forehead was furrowed. Tiye laid hot fingers gently on his bare thigh.

  “There is no reason for me to leave my home,” she said. “You have made it obvious that you no longer need me, either as empress or as wife. I did wrong to break the law with you, Akhenaten. My judgment was impaired. I look for nothing now but peace.”

  “I do not understand.” He picked up her hand and began to knead it. “The Aten has made us one forever. The joining of our bodies was needful. I told you.”

  “But it is not needful any longer.” The words were spoken half as statement, half as question. “Let me go, Akhenaten.”

  He glanced at her sharply, distress in his face. “Does that mean you do not love me? Have I offended you?” Anxiety drove the light voice even higher. “The Aten would be angry if I offended you, Tiye.”

  She felt herself being unwillingly drawn once again into the maze of strong, conflicting emotions that had lain dormant in her, waiting to entangle her thoughts and direct her body whenever her son was near. Tonight she firmly denied them. “Go back to your couch,” she said harshly, taking her hand away. “Yesterday you were ill. My physician told me so. You need to sleep so that you may sail tomorrow.”

  “How can I leave Malkatta knowing that I have disappointed you?”

  Oh gods, Tiye thought wearily. “You have not disappointed me, my son. Are you not the incarnation of Ra, the Spirit of the Aten Disk? How can a god disappoint?” She spoke soothingly, but he was not mollified.

  “You make me feel like a child!” he burst out, coming suddenly to his feet and beginning to sway from one to the other. “I know you do not mean what you say! You try to calm me, but you really just want me to go away!”

  “You are my pharaoh,” she said deliberately. “You have Nefertiti, surely the most beautiful woman who ever walked the earth. You have such power, such wealth! What more is there? Why do you make these outbursts in my presence?”

  He stopped swaying and stiffened. “Because I do not have from you the adoration I have from everyone else. You know me too well.”

  It was a moment of great clarity she had not expected from him, and it astonished and disarmed her. “But the knowing is with love. Do not worry. You will still be pharaoh at Akhetaten, and I will still be your mother here in Malkatta.”

  “Will you miss me?” His hands were pressed together between his soft thighs. “Will you miss me enough not to plot against me and do me harm?”

  “So Nefertiti wishes me to come to Akhetaten so that she can keep an eye on me!” Relieved, Tiye laughed. “I am flattered. Yet for your own peace of mind, you must remember that she speaks from jealousy. I only want to be left alone.”

  He began to fidget again, and puzzled, she saw that she had somehow insulted him; even so, she pressed forward. “I have done my utmost to see you seated firmly on the Horus Throne, and I have no desire now to face the prospect of Nefertiti’s sour complaints. Your lack of trust in me, Amunhotep, does you no credit. I have tried to be both wife and mother to you, and I have failed. I miss your father! Please leave my chamber.”

  For answer he came back to the couch and pushed her down. He was trembling. “I am my father, and you are my wife!” he cried out. “You love me, you know you do! Tell me, Tiye!”

  “I do not want to hear it tonight,” she said forcefully. “I am not easily biddable, like little Kia or one of your concubines. You have ignored me both in and out of bed for too long. Take your hands from my shoulders or I shall call for my guards.”

  “If you will not come, then give me your love to carry with me,” he said, his voice muffled in the pillow beside her ear. “Once more, dear Tiye, to ensure my good fortune.”

  “I am not an amulet or a spell!” She struggled under his weight, knowing that she could easily throw him off, but she was suddenly weakened by the truth of her own words. It has been so long, too long, said the insidious voice in her head. She felt the familiar touch of his skin against her body, and her knees loosened, her thighs opened. Angry in spite of it, she tried to rise on her elbows, but as her face tilted, Amunhotep’s mouth closed over hers, tasting of cloves and perfumed wine, the flavor she had come to associate with his father. A vision of his full, lined face was there, so real that she felt a quick wrenching in her stomach before she pulled away. Instantly her son drew back also.

  “You do still love me!” He smiled happily. “I knew you did.”

  “I love you as my son, my god,” Tiye managed, her voice thick, her limbs heavy. He lowered his head and kissed her again, more gently this time, with the soft, exploratory hesitancy she remembered so well. Her body, still vital, knew only that it had been hungry, but her thoughts recoiled even as her arms went round his neck, his movements recalling the days at Memphis, the first joy of their marriage, reminding her of the months when he had ignored her. She had forgotten the sensation of his strange, misshapen belly, his flabby thighs and boyish genitals, but the repulsion that had always hovered in her mind was still not as powerful as her physical response to him. He is going away, she thought dimly, listening to her own muttered words of love and encouragement, and then it will not matter anymore.

  “That was good,” he said later as she lay beside him, head turned away, the sheet bunched in one stiff hand. “It was like being born all over again, like watching myself expelled from my own womb.” He stood and fastened his kilt. “At Akhetaten I will live in hope that one day you will come sailing to the wharf. Once more your body has blessed my endeavors, Tiye. The god will call you to my city.”

  Tiye shuddered and did not turn to see him leave. “Dawn comes, and I want to sleep” was all that she was able to reply.

  When he had gone, she pushed the pillows to the floor and set a headrest under her neck. The ivory was cool, spreading comfort down her spine. Reaching under the couch, she drew out the Declaration of Innocence that had so offended Kheruef and placed it on her stomach, one hand over it protectively. She wanted to sleep. Her eyes burned, and her mouth was dry. But the realization that had come to her several hours earlier now returned. I am not a woman to him, as Nefertiti is, she thought. I am an amulet, a lucky charm to keep evil at bay, something to be lifted from a chest now and then and strapped to his arm, only to be dropped back with his other trinkets w
hen the moment of anxiety is gone. The humiliation of it made her squeeze her eyes shut and groan softly. You are getting old, Empress, she told herself. This savage blow to your pride has not even provoked anger in you, or a desire for revenge. Nothing but shame, and wonder. But perhaps it is only that he wished to reassure himself that his hold on me was as strong as ever, that my loyalty was not suspect. If I had been prepared, if I had sent him away immediately, he would have sailed to Akhetaten in doubt and misery. It is better this way. Let him feel safe, my innocent son. Let tomorrow be glorious for him.

  In the end she fell deeply, soddenly asleep, dragging herself to consciousness with difficulty when the music of pipe and lute penetrated her dreams. As she opened her eyes, Piha was raising the shades, and her musicians, their duty done, were bowing and retiring. Already the day was breathless with heat, the sky glimpsed through the window an azure blue tinged with bronze. The Declaration of Innocence was still in her hand. She pressed it to her cheek and then dropped it beneath the couch.

  The remains of the court of Malkatta—Tiye’s retinue, the few courtiers who chose to stay, and the older harem women—gathered on the water steps a scant two hours later to watch Pharaoh’s departure. Tiye sat on her throne under the thin shade of a canopy, the horned disk and plumes bearing down on her sweat-slicked brow like the weight of the empire itself. From steps to river the canal was choked with craft of every description, all flying bright pennants, all crowded with laughing, jostling people. Those standing behind Tiye were silent, and it was slowly borne in upon her that more than a few paces of grass and hot stone separated her and her attendants from the excited hundreds her eyes scanned painfully. She had glimpsed the crest of an invisible wave many times since Osiris Amunhotep had died, a distant pale line of warning and melancholy, the rising tide of time itself, and now it rose around her. She turned on the throne. Everywhere there were faces touched lightly or scored heavily with approaching age, bodies loosened and folded, eyes filmed, limbs that would move heavily, and some with pain. It did not matter that those bodies held kas that would always be buoyant with the exuberance of youth. Between spirit and its yearning was aging flesh, and only the eyes around her could still show the soul undistorted. Tiye found herself gazing at Tia-Ha, a short, fat woman with too much paint on her cheeks, bowing and smiling with the girlish gestures of a coquette. Quickly she looked away only to meet Nefertiti’s level regard. Tall and slim, her wig netted in golden spirals that coiled around the ringlets to her waist and then went whirling past the smooth hips to the knees, the woman was staring at her. And she is a woman, Tiye reflected with dismay. Twenty-eight years old. How has it happened? Nefertiti’s new pregnancy was showing, and she seemed to symbolize all that Tiye knew she had lost forever. In the triumph of the moment Nefertiti smiled at her aunt before she vanished into the gloom of the curtained cabin.