Tiye’s mind suddenly filled with a vision of the grotesque statuary Mutnodjme had placed in her hands. “Did you enquire into the girl’s state of health?”
“I was not given the opportunity, Divine One.”
“Bring in my scribe.”
When the man had settled his palette across his knees, Tiye dictated rapidly. “‘To Meryra, Keeper of the Harem Door, greetings. As is my right as empress and first Royal Wife, I, Tiye, Goddess of the Two Lands, do receive into my own august hands the care and ordering of the harem of the Mighty Bull and appoint my steward Huya as Keeper of the Harem Door. Thou art retired.’ Have a herald deliver it immediately, Huya. Then go to Nefertiti’s apartments and request permission for me to see her later this afternoon. Is Aziru going to do as he was told?”
Huya smiled. “He will be here in two hours.”
“Good. You are dismissed. Send Piha.”
When the woman entered, Tiye had left the couch and was holding a mirror, peering into it and fingering her hair. “Piha, I think it is time to hide all this gray,” she said. “Tell my cosmeticians to buy red henna and come and dye it tomorrow. I will wear a wig today.”
Wigged, painted, and wearing the empress’s disk and plumes on her head, Tiye sat enthroned beneath the baldachin in her reception room, her staff around her, when Aziru was announced. She bid him advance, his tall frame bent almost double in reverence, and held out a hand for him to kiss. His bodyguards, disarmed by her own Followers, stood to either side of the door, arms folded. The room filled gradually with the faint but unmistakable odor of goat. Aziru straightened, and Tiye’s scribes picked up their pens.
“So, you are at last able to answer the summons of your lord,” Tiye said dryly. “You must have brought mountains of tribute, Aziru. Either that or you travel with an enormous retinue. How many years has it been since Pharaoh summoned you?”
“Your Majesty cannot have seen the letters I sent to Pharaoh, explaining the delays caused by my campaigns against his terrible enemies,” Aziru boomed in heavily accented Egyptian. “I came to him on wings of brotherly devotion as soon as it was possible.” His eyes sparkled impudently into her own.
“You are wrong,” Tiye responded. “I read the letters when I was still at Malkatta. And not only yours. Ribbadi had much to say, as did Abimilki.”
“Those vermin…those treacherous dogs!” Aziru’s voice trembled with emotion. “I praise the gods that Pharaoh in his infinite wisdom did not believe their lies. Their spite and jealousy was unbounded. They longed to enjoy the fruitful relationship that exists between Egypt and my people.”
“Your loyalty does you credit and is equaled only by your histrionic ability,” Tiye answered sarcastically.
“Your Majesty is unkind. Have I not defended Egypt at great cost to my people? Did I not give sanctuary to that whining woman Ribbadi when he could not hold his own city and had to flee?” Tiye saw that Aziru realized his tactical mistake as soon as the words had left his mouth. He fell silent, and his eyes dropped.
“I trust that our dear ally Ribbadi is enjoying the protection and peace of our brother Aziru,” she said evenly, leaning forward. “I am surprised that he did not accompany you or send letters for Pharaoh with you. In days past he wrote many letters. I suppose he could have given them to our spies in Amurru, but surely his friend Aziru offered to bring them? Has Ribbadi lost the use of his mouth, his hands?” Aziru looked up and regarded her speculatively. Tiye could almost read his quick thoughts. Were there truly Egyptian spies in Amurru? What had they reported to Pharaoh? Could the empress’s sharp gaze pierce the veils of deceit that had screened him from Pharaoh’s mild eyes?
“Indeed, Ribbadi is at peace,” he answered after a pause, and Tiye sat back grim-faced.
“And we both know what kind of peace that is. My late husband Osiris Amunhotep Glorified brought the same fate to your father, and I would strongly recommend that you, Aziru, reflect upon his end. Akhetaten is now my home. Reflect upon that also. How long do you intend to stay?”
Aziru bowed. “Pharaoh’s hospitality is boundless, tempting me to prolong my visit indefinitely, Majesty.”
“His hospitality may be boundless, but my patience is not. Nor is the forbearance of my country. You are dismissed.”
He promptly bowed again and swaggered out, his bodyguards stamping after him. He will not go home until he has ascertained the extent of my power over my son, Tiye thought as the doors thudded shut. And that is something I myself have yet to discover. But Akhenaten must now listen to me, or Aziru will stop vacillating between Suppiluliumas and Egypt, conclude binding treaties with Suppiluliumas, and desert us altogether. Once it would not have mattered, but now every ally is precious.
In the afternoon Tiye ordered her litter and went to Nefertiti’s grandiose apartments. She would have preferred to send for the queen, but she knew that the thread of family affection and negotiation was stretched to its limit, and any insistence upon her prerogatives might snap it altogether. Nefertiti was reclining on her couch, the fans moving gently above her, her musicians playing softly. Her latest pregnancy was far advanced, but she had made no effort in public or private to hide her protruding belly, donning the filmy linens that accentuated the inviting sensuality of her body. Nefertiti was thirty-two years old, glowing in a maturity that seemed to combine ripeness without incipient decay and the promise of physical pleasures. Her natural dignity was accentuated rather than diminished by the slow aging evident in her face, and the mild impression of dissatisfaction emanating from features exquisite in their regularity only served to give her worshipers a hint of dissipation that removed her from the pedestal of untouchable godhead yet held her tantalizingly just out of reach. She answered Tiye’s stiff bow with a slight inclining of her head, both hands imprisoned in the respectful grasp of the cosmeticians who were working rich oils into her skin.
“Forgive me for not rising to abase myself, Majesty Aunt,” she said. “My back and legs are aching, and besides, I find bowing rather difficult.” The kohl-ringed gray eyes coolly challenged her.
Tiye ignored the barb. “I wish to speak with you in private,” she said. “I have left my attendants in the garden. Dismiss yours also.”
Nefertiti made a small grimace. “Have you almost finished?” she asked the servants bent over her long fingers. “Well, wrap my hands in linen and wait outside.”
Tiye stood while the young men did as they were bid, bowed as they passed her, and slipped through the door. She walked to the couch and sank onto a chair, and for a moment the two women eyed each other. Tiye expected her niece to keep the conversation light so that she might maneuver behind pointless words, but as ever she was misled by a sophistication of face and body that did not extend to Nefertiti’s mind. Her niece was as rash as Sitamun had been.
“You had no right to dismiss Meryra as Keeper of the Harem Door,” she began. “He has been my steward for a long time, and I gave him the running of the harem for his efficiency. The women were content under his hand. Pharaoh likes and trusts him.”
“Pharaoh likes and trusts everyone,” Tiye said mildly. “While I was in Malkatta, you had the responsibility of the harem here, Majesty. But you know full well that since I am empress and first wife, it was in fact mine. I simply appointed another keeper, as is my right.” She had not intended to confront her niece but had hoped to argue gently and tactfully, perhaps win her over by reducing her defensiveness, reassuring her that her jealousy was unfounded. Obviously Nefertiti intended to render such an approach impossible, and Tiye was forced to discard warmth in favor of a position Nefertiti could never mistake as appeasement.
“I cannot imagine why you bothered to do such a thing unless you still have yearnings for your son’s body and want to control the parade of women to his bed. I think it is a tasteless obsession in a woman of your age, Majesty. You cannot possibly compete any longer.”
Tiye smiled into the sulky face. “I have absolutely no desire to try to claim my physical rights as a wife
,” she said adamantly. “If you cannot imagine why I have decided so soon to take an interest in the affairs of the harem, you are more stupid than I thought. Meketaten worries me.”
Nefertiti’s eyes slid away from her own. “There is nothing wrong with Meketaten. A touch of fever this summer, that is all.”
Tiye wanted to shake her. “I see that I must speak as clearly as though you were in your infancy. Did you not object when Pharaoh put his daughter in the harem?”
“No. Why should I have? It is his prerogative.”
“But Meketaten is still a child, as slim and gangling as a little boy.”
“No. She became a woman six months ago. Pharaoh ordered that she was to keep the youth lock. He likes it.”
The implications of Nefertiti’s artless words chilled Tiye. “She is your daughter, and my blood! Has it not occurred to you that if she becomes pregnant, she may die? Look at her, Nefertiti! How could such an unformed little body carry a child?”
Nefertiti began to pick at the swathes of linen on her hands. “She is pregnant already.”
Now Tiye made no effort to control herself. The blow caught Nefertiti on the temple, and she muffled a scream. Tiye rubbed her knuckles and placed a hand over her pounding heart while Nefertiti moaned and rocked. “Be quiet!” Tiye hissed. “I did not strike you hard. It appears that Kia is a better friend to your daughter than you. She at least is endeavoring to comfort the girl.”
Nefertiti sat motionless, and then her head fell back onto the pillow. “Meketaten understands that it is the seed of the Aten,” she snapped. “The god must bind those of his blood ever closer to himself. It is his duty.”
“You do not believe that any more than I! It is the duty of a Divine Horus to father an incarnation, but not like this. Why did he not choose Meritaten?”
Nefertiti’s glance was wary. “Truly, my aunt, I do not know. But you do not yet understand the consequences of arguing with your son. He cries, the demons attack his head, I can do nothing.”
“You are the most beautiful woman Egypt has ever seen,” Tiye said sadly. “But you have the heart of a viper.”
“No,” Nefertiti flashed back. “A cobra. A royal cobra, Majesty Aunt. All Egypt worships me. Do not stand in my way.”
A pall of fatigue began to settle over Tiye. “You would be wise to decide now not to confront me directly in the future, Nefertiti. For all your clawing and spitting, I am more ruthless than you. I cannot be disposed of as easily as Sitamun. I came to you today to try and persuade you to help me convince Pharaoh of the immediate necessity of mounting a campaign against Syria. But now I do not persuade, I demand. Drop your own words into his ears, or you may live to see Egypt on her knees.”
“Ridiculous.” Nefertiti’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. “No nation dares to challenge us.”
“It is you who dares not challenge Pharaoh with the truth. Not his truth, but the hard glare of reality. You prefer his favor, his rich gifts. But those things will cease, and sooner than you think, if tribute and foreign loyalties continue to decline.”
“You have forgotten one thing,” Nefertiti said in a low, menacing voice. “Akhenaten adores me. If I choose to remain silent, you are impotent.”
“Oh, I think you will do as I say. Otherwise a certain sculptor will have his beautiful throat cut.”
Tiye saw, with satisfaction, the color fade from Nefertiti’s fine-grained skin. It had been a chance shot, an impulsive arrow fired by the sudden memory of Horemheb’s brief comment, and Tiye herself was surprised when it met its mark. “Does Pharaoh know in which direction the yearning of his perfect wife lies? Obviously not. I need not kill him, of course. It would be enough to start spreading some lively gossip. But I would prefer to murder him, dear niece, and murder I will unless you drag yourself out of your preoccupation with your own comfort.”
“You demon,” Nefertiti whispered. The linen wraps lay shredded on the sheet, and her oil-slick hands were shaking with rage. “You ugly, aging bitch. Sebek take you!”
Tiye rose. “You do not trust the Aten to exact a vengeance on me? How disappointed Pharaoh would be to hear of your lack of faith. Think about it, Nefertiti, when you are calmer. Enjoy what is left of your rest.” She bowed and called sharply, and servants swung the door wide.
The lines are drawn, and more quickly than I really wanted, she thought as she strode away. I hope Nefertiti is too simple to realize that she can keep the upper hand by inventing the right lies. Now I must visit Tutu. Threatening my niece and bullying a sniveling minister is a far cry from the diplomacy I delighted in and you watched with such pleasure, Amunhotep my husband. It is like the careless butchering of oxen, and I despise the necessity. How feeble the times have become!
The Office of Foreign Correspondence at Akhetaten was situated at the end of the road that ran between the Great Temple and a smaller one, close by the maze of walled courts that sheltered the estates of the ministers who were not entitled to riverfront properties. As she was carried in her closed litter along the dusty street, her nostrils, even behind the thick curtains, continued to be assailed by the odor of incense that hung in the air, mingled with the stench of offal and other rubbish that was flung over the walls into the street. Stately chants and the tinkle of shaken systra wafted from the temple’s precincts, ethereal and beautiful over the hoarse shouts of hawkers and the babble of the shrill, coarse laughter of the fellahin women passing the time of day. The tap of a drum told her that she was passing dancers. She opened the curtains slightly, expecting to see naked whores displaying their wares, but the women were temple dancers, lithe and unblemished, hung with flowers, their arms and faces raised solemnly to the sun as they moved. Akhetaten is certainly no Thebes, she reflected, letting the curtain drop. And how typical of my son to design and build an Office of Foreign Correspondence so annoyingly far from the palace.
Inside, the office was noisy with street sounds, even though it was protected from the populace by a gated wall and high slit windows and surrounded by shrubs. Bins and chests overflowed with scrolls. Scribes’ palettes lay on every surface. A group of men stood arguing in one corner, and Tiye finally saw Tutu himself leaning over a scribe’s shoulder, dictating. Tiye waited beside the silent men who held the canopy over her head while her herald went within, calling her titles, and by the time she herself stepped over the threshold, all were prone on their faces. Tiye let her gaze deliberately scan the untidy room, giving the prostrate men time to fully appreciate her presence, and then commanded, “Kneel, Tutu!”
The young man pulled himself onto his knees, head bowed. “I am Your Majesty’s slave,” he mumbled uneasily. Tiye moved until her feet with their blood-red nails, the gilt straps of her sandals, and the hem of her jeweled gown were within his vision.
“Tell me,” she went on smoothly, “how many times have you been made a Person of Gold?”
Tutu’s head jerked, puzzled. “Four times, Divine Goddess.”
“Then you have received more than your share, for certainly you do not need Pharaoh’s gold.” She laid a light emphasis on “Pharaoh” and watched carefully for a flinch. “How much do the foreign ambassadors pay you to keep the truth of their depredations from coming to Pharaoh’s ears? Does Aziru pay you in slaves or silver? And Suppiluliumas must pour gold into your hands like water in exchange for the quiet destruction of dispatches from his enemies. I am surprised that you are not living by the river, but I suppose it would not do to flaunt your wealth. Is your tomb a rich one, Tutu? Answer me!” Quick as light her foot flashed into Tutu’s throat.
“Majesty, I am as filth beneath your feet!” he croaked, swallowing convulsively. “I grovel! I am as dung!”
“That is no answer. Stand up!” Tiye looked around the office and felt as if she might laugh. It was not Tutu’s downcast face or the frozen bodies among which he stood or Huya’s quickly hidden smile. It was perhaps the ludicrousness of her having to resort to such childish games. “You may look at me.”
Reluc
tantly he raised his eyes to meet hers, and she tried to read them. Tutu looked hurt, bewildered, and embarrassed, but not guilty.
“Now answer.”
Tutu lifted both shoulders in a gesture of wounded innocence. “I worship my pharaoh. Never would I betray him. I read him the dispatches when he visits this office.”
“You do not urge them upon him if they are serious? You read them to him without advice, without interpretation or admonition? What kind of a minister are you?”
“Goddess, I am a simple man—”
“Damn your simplicity! Someone should choke you with your gold!” She wanted to demand his immediate dismissal or at least insist that he bring all correspondence to her in the future, but both orders would have to come from Akhenaten. Despairingly she wondered what had happened to the clandestine correspondence from the spies scattered throughout the empire that his predecessor had controlled, and decided that it had probably ceased. Turning, she stepped out into the sunlight, breathing deeply and reaching for Huya’s arm. “Help me onto the litter,” she commanded. “I intended to speak with Horemheb tonight, but I am too tired. Have them take me to my own house, Huya, and send to Horemheb tomorrow.”
She lay on the litter doubled over the dragging pain in her abdomen, fighting a sense of loneliness intensified, she knew, by sheer weariness. That night she ate alone, refusing entrance to Ay, who came to enquire after her, and had her lamps extinguished early. Huya was absent on business in the harem. And that is something else I must do, she thought as she drifted toward sleep. I must speak to Tadukhipa. I should have brought her aunt from Malkatta for her. I must visit Meketaten. I have not asked after Ankhesenpaaten, either, or spoken to Meritaten, and I am simply putting off an audience alone with Akhenaten. So much to do, to try and understand before I can begin to salvage anything.
The evening of the following day she met with her brother and Horemheb in her garden, far from the prying ears of servants. Mutnodjme had accompanied her husband and lay on her back in the grass, graceful limbs splayed and eyes half-closed, while the others talked. Tiye knew that the young woman could be trusted, and indeed, Mutnodjme’s silent presence was somehow comforting. I disliked my own daughter and cannot bear my other niece, Tiye thought, glancing at Mutnodjme’s dusk-shrouded form, but this young woman has my complete affection. Horemheb was speaking softly, leaning forward on his chair, elbows on his brown knees.
The Twelfth Transforming Page 34
