“Yes, Coregent,” Aitye said as she watched the woman who had lost nearly everything walk out the door. “Stay strong, my Queen,” she whispered. “Don’t fall from your grace.”
The royal guards opened the throne room doors as Nefertiti entered. Her daughter Meritaten and her husband Smenkare stood on her right and her two daughters Ankhesenpaaten and Neferneferuaten Tasherit—or “Nefe,” as they called her—stood on her left. Tutankhaten stood next to his nurse, Maia, beside Smenkare. Nefertiti looked to her right and to her left, thinking the royal family had been reduced significantly since the plague.
Akhenaten stood facing his throne; his sun-darkened back faced them. He lifted his face to his open roof as the morning light fell upon his shoulders and bellowed:
“The Aten has spoken to Pharaoh!”
He spun around. His bloodshot eyes searched them for the anticipation he felt he deserved, but found them lacking. “Pharaoh prayed to the Aten all night, and this is the response?” He took a step down from his throne. “A vision!” he yelled as he threw a finger into the air, pointing to the sky. “Humble yourselves before the vision the Aten has granted unto Pharaoh!”
Smenkare and Meritaten slumped over as pitiful servants of the sun-disc god, the Aten, and, one by one, the rest bowed their heads.
“Smenkare, my brother.” Akhenaten pulled him out in front of the gathered royal family. “For all of your life, your mother—my sister, royal wife of our father, Amenhotep III—Sitamun, kept a secret. A secret that may have changed the course of your life. You are my father’s son, the Great King Amenhotep III, just as I am. You were robbed of your right to the throne seventeen years ago when I did not want it. Is this true?”
Smenkare nodded. “Yes, Pharaoh.”
Nefertiti’s stomach gurgled in dreaded anticipation of what came next. Her arms crossed her stomach to symbolically protect from whatever blow might be dealt to her in the coming moments. Meritaten, along with Smenkare, who were brainwashed into the cult of the Aten, would prove tragic for the future of Egypt if Smenkare was appointed successor. She clenched her jaw, hating how she failed her eldest child in the most important aspect of life—their faith. Amun was the premiere god of Egypt, but because of Nefertiti’s actions, Meritaten believed the Aten was the only god of Egypt.
“Then, brother, in light of my Coregent pleading to allow our precious Egypt to go back to those false gods and goddesses, Amun, Mut, Horus, Anubis, and the like”—Akhenaten glared at Nefertiti, who matched his stare steadily—“I appoint you, my brother and husband to my daughter, the first daughter of Pharaoh, as the next King of Egypt.”
Nefertiti’s throat closed and her stomach turned to stone. Why did I not just give you the cursed wine that night? Her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched as her breath came out hot through her teeth.
“I shall be Coregent?” Smenkare asked, his eyes wide and a smile on his face.
“You shall be crowned at Pharaoh’s next sed festival in the coming decans,” Akhenaten said, referring to the traditional celebration of a Pharaoh’s thirty-year reign; tradition called for one every few years after that, but he had already had several because he simply liked the celebration.
Another sed festival? Nefertiti gritted her teeth. He has only been on the throne seventeen years. I should have cut his reign short before this happened. Heat rose to her cheeks; she loathed herself for not making sure he drank the poisoned wine that night.
“Thank you, brother!” Smenkare bowed to Akhenaten.
Then the room fell silent as they turned to peer at Nefertiti, the current Coregent. She pressed her lips together, dropped her arms to her side and straightened her spine. Her unwavering stare focused on her husband.
I dare you, she thought.
Ankhesenpaaten tried to find her mother’s gaze, but it was locked on her father. She looked her up and down, wondering why her mother would plead the return to the false gods. Her lip curled as her soon-to-be-removed sidelock bounced on the side of her head.
“And what of Coregent Neferneferuaten?” Smenkare whispered from behind his hand.
“Ah! The beautiful Coregent Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti, whose cheeks rise as high as Khufu’s great pyramid and whose spirit attacks like the great leopard,” Akhenaten said as he raised his arms and embraced his wife. “She is Pharaoh’s Queen—nonetheless, she cannot see the vision Pharaoh has for Egypt, the future in the Aten.”
Nefertiti bit her lip as he pulled back and stared into her cold, dark eyes. An unpredictable man could be her demise. Not knowing what this man would declare next, her heart raced. Don’t let my life be in vain, she prayed in haste to Amun underneath her confident exterior.
“She shall keep her title as Coregent. To strip it away would be unfitting for such a stunning creature as her.” Akhenaten pulled his hands away and turned back to his half-brother. “But you, Smenkare, shall take my place when I go to the Aten, and always remember that the Aten is most gracious—even to those who doubt.” He peered over his shoulder at Nefertiti. “Even you, my Queen, the Aten’s second mediator. He is disappointed in you, yet he is still gracious.”
Nefertiti relaxed her jaw and realized her hands were trembling. Her life spared, she bowed her head and, with a slow exhale to calm her nerves, muttered in grace, “I shall try harder to see Pharaoh’s vision.”
Akhenaten smiled. “That is all Pharaoh asks, my beautiful one granted to me by the Aten.” He then dismissed all except his brother, Smenkare, with whom he needed to share the future plans for Egypt.
Nefertiti slammed the door behind her, picked up a nearby candle, and shot it across the room. Wax splattered on the wall as Aitye rounded the corner with Mut and Tey. Like a bull ready to charge, Nefertiti grunted.
Mut let out a scream and ducked her head in her hands. Tey gasped, her hand stilling the sudden race of her heart, and spun to look at Nefertiti.
“My dear child!” Tey’s jaw dropped. “What was that for?”
Aitye went to pick up the candle pieces and peel the wax from the stone. She bit her lip and peered to the tapestry that hid the stash of broken trinkets she had not yet discarded from her Coregent’s last tirade.
“Smenkare will be Akhenaten’s successor.”
The coldness in Nefertiti’s voice matched the coldness of her stare.
“Smenkare is Meritaten’s husband.” Tey walked to her daughter. “Surely you taught Amun’s truth to Meritaten?” She grasped Nefertiti’s arms to pull her into an embrace, but closed her mouth as Nefertiti’s hot glare crept over her.
“ ‘Surely, you taught the religious zealot’s daughter about this so-called false god!’ ” Nefertiti said, mocking her step-mother. “Surely!” She threw her hands in the air, knocking away Tey’s embrace.
Tey pulled her arms to her side and bit her lip. “I thought—”
“No, Mother. I am not a good mother like you. I was not there to teach them about the true gods . . . and when I was, I played the part . . . bringing flowers to the Aten, indulging in Akhenaten’s mild obsession. But I was too late in noticing how the Aten had overtaken his mind. By the time I did, Meritaten and Meketaten . . . all of my daughters . . . they had all but forgotten about Amun—if they had even ever known him.” Nefertiti shook her head. Meketaten, so young to die, as with her sisters, Setepenre and Neferneferure. They sliced her heart. She failed all of her daughters.
Nefertiti paced for a few moments as she cleared her mind and thought aloud about the present crisis. In a hushed tone so as to not be heard outside her doors, she muttered, “When Akhenaten dies, Smenkare will take his place, not me. What are they going to do? What am I going to do? I would have killed a man for nothing. Nothing! Why didn’t I just make sure he drank the wine that night? I am such a fool!”
Aitye’s gaze dropped, shocked, but Nefertiti no longer cared if she knew the truth of the rumors. Tey just shook her head and clenched her jaw, clearly unsure how to comfort Nefertiti in this moment. But at Mut’s contorted brow and dimin
ished admiration in her eyes, dimmed even more with pity, Nefertiti stopped in her tracks.
“Mut . . . I’m sorry, Mut.”
Nefertiti came to Mut, crumpling under her lost innocence. She finally found the strength to look Mut in the eyes and stroked her sister’s arms. “Be better than me, Mut. Be better.” Her cheeks burned. “Egypt can’t go on like this.” Nefertiti held Mut’s chin up. “I’d rather it be my burden than any of yours.”
Nefertiti patted Mut’s shoulders at Mut’s silence and empty stare. She pressed her lips together and turned to face Aitye.
“Yes, Coregent?” Aitye asked as she stepped forward, acknowledging her master’s silent call.
“Send word to my father, Ay, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses, that Prince Smenkare will be appointed as successor,” Nefertiti said as a tear escaped her eye.
She hated herself for putting them all in a worse situation than she was before. She knew of Smenkare’s rejection of Amun, but did anyone else? He was the son of Sitamun, Akhenaten’s sister who remained in Waset, at Malkata. They would all assume she taught him well in the ways of Egypt and their gods. If only she had made Akhenaten drink the wine that night, she would not be subjecting Egypt to further oppression.
“As you wish.” Aitye bowed her head and went to call a messenger.
Nefertiti wiped her eye as she thought of her friend and servant—Merytre, the one whose soul they were supposed to honor this morning.
Merytre, may your soul rest on your journey to the afterlife. Be glad you do not have to witness this hypocrisy.
Chapter 4
The Time of Scheming
At the news of Smenkare being named as successor, a smile perched on Beketaten’s lips as she and Pawah looked at each other.
“Even though Akhenaten says Smenkare will continue his worship to Aten, I know my sister. She would have taught him better than that. He only agrees to Akhenaten’s decree as to escape the same fate as Nefertiti. He will bring us back to Amun,” Beketaten said, pausing to study her husband’s face.
His teeth showed as he grinned and his shoulders rolled back into an upward stance. Narrowing his eyes, he snorted at the news. Glancing at his wife, he muttered through his teeth, “Yes, the son of Sitamun should bring Egypt back to Amun.”
“Then what flusters you?” Beketaten asked, throwing her hands on her hips.
But she already knew the answer. He had made it clear to her during their time in exile. Despite giving up her royalty and blindly following him into a life as an outcast, she knew he wanted another woman. Yet there was something about him. He could always soothe her, even after he would murmur another woman’s name in her ear while they lay in bed or while sleeping. But she had nothing left—only him and Amun. He was her husband, and he had never laid a fist on her face. She had no father to take up grievance against him for his philandering. If she left him on her own word for divorce without evidence of his unfaithfulness, she may be entitled to some of his grain; but if not, she would have nothing but her faith. He knew she could do nothing but stay, and it caused her blood to boil when he said those things to her. At the same time, he was the only man she’d known and loved, and she figured he gave his kisses as a truce between them.
“What flusters me is that Akhenaten isn’t dead yet,” Pawah said. “If the fearless Coregent Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti had just given him the poisoned wine that night, I’d be—” He cut himself off. “We’d be rid of him now, and she and the boy would be Egypt’s Regents.”
“I have already said that, but you made me look a fool in front of Horemheb and Ay!” Beketaten yelled as she pushed her fists down by her sides and leaned forward.
“Your emotions discredit you,” Pawah said, waving her away. “Now I must think.”
“Think about what?” Beketaten pulled his shoulder, forcing him to look at her.
He caught her wrist and squeezed, like a snake snuffing the life out of its prey. “Do not disrespect me like a child,” he warned her. He let go of her wrist when she began to wince. “Now, I must think about how best to transition Smenkare. Why don’t you go to your sister Sitamun’s house and see if and what she taught him about Amun?”
Beketaten hit him in his chest. “You just want me gone so you can chase the women you call out by name in our bed.”
“No, I’m asking you to fulfill your role in our plan to return Egypt to Amun.” He grabbed her hand and pushed it away.
“You want to stay here in Aketaten while I go to my sister’s in Waset?” Beketaten said. “I don’t want you to tell me in a year that it was my idea to go to Waset.”
“Why would I tell you that?” Pawah said as he flicked his hand toward her.
“You always do! You tell me one thing on one day and then something else the next and expect me to believe you! I am done believing you! You lie about your women. I know you do! You lie about everything else too!” Her heart raced and pounded in her ears.
He rocked back on his heels, stunned, then came near to her and grasped her shoulders to settle her down. “My golden grain,” he whispered. “You hurt me when you think of me in this light. I have—”
“Why don’t you just say it?” Beketaten blinked to keep her tears to herself. “Just say it, Pawah!”
“Say what, my love?” Pawah stepped closer to her, taking a wide stance with a straight back and neck, daring her.
“Don’t call me your love if you don’t mean it!” Beketaten rolled her shoulder to remove his hand. “I know you want other women, and . . . maybe you’ve been with other women too! I gave up everything for you! I even tricked Henuttaneb into having a child with Akhenaten because Nefertiti couldn’t bear a son!” Her chest tightened and her throat constricted, remembering her late sister.
“My sweet Nile reed . . .” Pawah smirked. His low tone of voice kept her angry outbursts at bay for a moment. “It was your idea for Akhenaten to have a male heir before we attempted to kill him. For me, it would have been fine if Nefertiti became the sole Regent.”
Beketaten hit him on the cheek and twisted her mouth. “Of course you would! My sister died having Akhenaten’s son as a part of our plan to bring Egypt back to her gods, and all you can say is that you wanted Nefertiti to be the sole Regent?!”
“I had no part in your sister’s death. If anything, her death is on you, my love.” Pawah touched her chin with his finger and thumb and watched her eyes glisten with tears as he shook his head. “It was my plan to persuade Nefertiti to grant us pardon from exile when she was ruling in his place while he was worshipping the Aten, and I wanted to kill him then. Remember, Beketaten, you thought the position of Pharaoh would fall into turmoil because he had no son. So you concocted the plan for Henuttaneb.” He squinted and probed her with his eyes. “I did not want to involve your sister, but you were the one who went to Aketaten, and you were the one who prepared Henuttaneb to seduce Akhenaten. And you also stayed to help her through her pregnancy. You were the one who was there when she died. I only bring up Nefertiti because I want you to remember it was not my plan to involve Henuttaneb.” Pawah cupped her face in his hands and he looked into her eyes. “You—”
“It was our plan. You said I should go to Aketaten alone. You wanted—”
“No, Beketaten, you said those things.” Pawah pursued his lips and turned down the corners of his mouth. “Did I go with you to Aketaten?”
“No,” Beketaten replied. She paused. Perhaps she did remember incorrectly. Pawah had always been right before—or at least what she could remember. “But that means I alone am responsible for what happened to Henuttaneb.” Her stomach felt like someone had hit her hard.
“Yes, but Henuttaneb understood that there is no guarantee a woman will live through childbirth. She knew the risks when she did what you asked.” Pawah brought her head close to his chest.
Beketaten stayed her tongue and took short, deep breaths to keep her tears at bay.
“Then, after Tutankhaten was born, the plague hit Egypt.” He shook hi
s head and curled his mouth into a frown. “My plan was to have Nefertiti, since she was as powerful as he, be the next Pharaoh.”
“Why? So you could marry her and become Pharaoh yourself!” Beketaten said. “So you could forget about me?”
“My precious wife, absolutely not! I would never forget about you,” Pawah said as he gathered her in his arms to reassure his love for her. Holding her close and seducing her as he had done in her youth, he slid his arms up and down her back, each time going farther down. “You are the only one I see, and you are the perfect woman for me. Why would I want any other? Unless you think I am a dishonorable liar, like you have called me many times?”
Beketaten swallowed as she placed her head on his chest and took in his musty scent. All of a sudden, she became aware of her own heartbeat, and her fingers longed to run over his back as he did to her. With each breath she took, she buried herself closer to him.
When she had fully relaxed into him, he cocked his head with a hard smile and rested his chin on the top of her head. He’d done it again.
“Beketaten,” he said, pulling her into him even more, “you allow your mind to be ruled by your heart. Please don’t twist my words and my actions into your truth. It hurts me so much when you think me a liar . . . when I do nothing but try to look out for your best interest.”
“I’m sorry,” Beketaten habitually said on the next exhale. She closed her eyes again, hating herself for calling her husband such horrible names. “I know you only look after me. I’m sorry.”
Pawah smirked, then transformed it into a smile and pulled back to look at her face. “I have no hard feelings. And besides, we mustn’t live in the past, my dear. Now, we have work to do if we are going to help save Egypt.” Pawah released her from his embrace. “Go to your sister Sitamun and see if we can trust Smenkare,” he said. “Maybe she can make you feel better as well.”
Secrets in the Sand Page 4
