“Doubt, doubt, doubt,” he said as he began to pace. “So much doubt.” He shook his finger at her. “You need to not doubt anymore. You need to believe in the Aten! He is our salvation!”
“I have no doubts,” Nefertiti said, as if remembering an old line from a long-past memory.
Akhenaten rummaged through the wine goblets, and he stepped closer to the half-empty goblet she had placed there a few decans earlier. “Aha! More wine!” he said, and grabbed the goblet.
“Pharaoh!” she called out.
The cup stopped at his lips before he tipped it to drink and he brought it back down, holding it in front of his chest.
She licked her lips as her exhale shook her.
“Pharaoh . . .”
Her shoulders slumped. Am I murderer? she questioned herself. Only if I let him drink. Only if he drinks. I am not a murderer. Yet.
“Pharaoh, I have asked forgiveness. Will you appoint me successor? I am but your Queen Nefertiti, your most beloved, your Lady of the Two Lands, your Great of Praises, your Coregent Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti. I have stood by your side since we were married these long years. Do you not remember?”
He blinked once and then again. “But the Aten has spoken. We have appointed my brother Smenkare as successor.” He swirled the wine in the goblet as he spoke.
“Can you not ask the Aten to send you another vision now that I have asked forgiveness?”
“You dare insult the Aten?” Akhenaten wrenched his lips back into a scowl of disgust. “No! Smenkare will succeed Pharaoh.” He brought the goblet to his lips.
In a fleeting moment, she saw herself lunge for him and knock the wine out of his hand; but just as it had come, she realized she still knelt on the floor, unmoving, watching him down the last remnants of the poisoned wine. He licked his lips and let out a gag. “Gah! This wine is long gone bad! A burning all the way down!”
A burden lifted from her shoulders, but a heavier weight cast down upon her heart.
She had done it. She brought the mad man his last drink, and after time had passed, he drank. It would have made no difference if he had drunk that night or in fifty nights’ time—she was still a murderer.
Only now, she had lost the throne.
He tossed the goblet over his shoulder after he finished and, still gagging, he began to rummage through other standing goblets, only to realize they too were empty.
Nefertiti watched him, waiting for the poison to start working.
He hummed his praises to the Aten, searching for more wine until his left leg gave out from underneath him. His cheeks blushed with embarrassment in front of his chief royal wife as he tried to stand again, but his leg was like a new babe’s, and he tossed to and fro, unable to stand on his own.
Nefertiti felt tears burn their way down her cheeks as she watched him stumble. She gathered herself up and went to him, offering a hand. He took it just as his remaining leg wobbled and then failed. She caught him, but he was too heavy to drag to his bed, so she lowered his head into her lap as she sat on the floor.
“I have drunk much wine?” he asked her, looking up into her big, almond eyes.
“Yes, Pharaoh,” she said as she soothed his contorted brow.
“I have never drunk so much wine as to not feel my legs,” he said as he tried to sit up, looking as if to see if they were still attached to him.
“It is getting late. Perhaps the wine and the coming night coax you to sleep?” Nefertiti said, wiping away a tear and biting her lip as she looked away from her victim.
“No, the Aten is disappointed in me for drinking much wine,” Akhenaten said, and he covered his face with his hands.
“Amenhotep”—she tried once more to reach the man she married before he changed his name to Akhenaten—“the Aten is not disappointed.”
“Amenhotep,” he repeated, “is my father,” he breathed out. “I am Akhenaten.” He pulled his hands back to look at her. “I do not want to be my father.”
“You say the Aten is your father and all Pharaohs past,” Nefertiti said.
“Then the Aten is disappointed in me and is punishing me,” Akhenaten said as he raised his fists to the sky.
“Your father loved you, Amenhotep . . . as did I,” Nefertiti crooned as she softened his fists with her hand and brought them to his chest.
“Do you not anymore?” He gazed up at her. “Do you have doubts now?”
Nefertiti closed her eyes and bowed her head, gathering her thoughts. “I love you.” She tried to remember the Amenhotep she fell in love with so long ago. “I have no doubts,” she repeated from her youth.
For a moment, his mind cleared, and he seemed to see her just as he saw her the eve of their marriage, under the moonlight, as she said those exact words to him then. “The beautiful Nefertiti has no doubts in me . . . then I shall have none myself.” He tried to lift his arm to touch her face, but he could only pull his shoulder up from the weight of his arm.
“Help me, my Nefertiti. I cannot feel my arms.” His eyes grew wide and a frantic breath accompanied his ever-paling face.
Shushing him and caressing his face, she distracted him in the last moments of his life. “There, there, my love.” She attempted to make his head comfortable in her lap. She hoped he wouldn’t realize what was happening to him, but just as his tongue began to swell, he looked to her.
“I am poisoned.” His eyes held the truth; there was no way to keep him from it anymore.
“Yes,” Nefertiti whispered as two tears ran down her cheek, and she kissed his forehead.
“You? Why?” he asked her.
“Because, my love, Egypt was going to revolt against you, and your military’s loyalties were not with you. We sacrificed so much to regain power for Pharaoh from the Amun priesthood. If you were to be publicly killed, all would have been in vain.”
“This did not have to happen.” He tightened his jaw.
“If you had kept your promise to go back to Amun . . . but you stayed with the Aten,” Nefertiti said. “You broke all of your promises to me.”
“I did . . . didn’t I?” Akhenaten said. But instead of anger or hurt, relief overcame his eyes. His chest rose as one walks over a sand dune and fell with a thud. “I do love you, Nefertiti. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“It has been a long journey,” Nefertiti said as she stroked his forehead, knowing he spoke his own truth.
“It has,” he said with a thick tongue.
“I will make sure you have all you need on your journey to join the Aten in the sky,” Nefertiti whispered to him as another tear rolled down her cheek.
He mumbled something incoherent as his tongue fell limp. Not able to move his head, he only looked to his wife.
“I’m sorry, my love . . .” She kissed his forehead once again. “I’m so sorry.” She kissed his lips. “I’m so, so sorry.” She tried to catch her breath, hoping in this last moment it was just too much wine. She wished to take back the poison. She wanted to blink and everything be the way they had planned long ago, but her husband lay dying in her arms and at her own hand.
He blinked as he gazed at her, and a peace filled his eyes, almost as if to say, It is better this way.
Nefertiti held his face close to hers as she bit her lip, watching him die. She had taken away the father from her children. She did this to the man she once loved, or still loved, in his illness.
His eyes dimmed.
The dizzying world around her spun as she finally caught her breath, tied up in the heaviness of her guilt and the justification behind it.
Then the world stopped to a sudden halt. Nothing but the deafening sound of death pounded in her ears.
It was done.
She closed her eyes, and to her surprise, her heart broke and she wept like a little child.
Chapter 6
The Time of Burial
The sun beat upon her brow as the sands ate upon her freshly perfumed skin. She could not be seen shedding tears for the dead man she called Phara
oh and husband if she were to ever gain the people’s trust. At least, that was what she finally ended up deciding in her mind.
The funeral procession continued to Akhe-Aten, where Pharaoh Akhenaten would be placed to rest for his journey to the afterlife. This one held no difference from all the other funeral processions of the royal bloodline:
The high priests of the Aten, rather than Amun, with their shaved heads, walked solemnly beside the dead Pharaoh, pulled in his coffin by oxen. The incense the priests held sent smoke swirling about their waists. Crying and wailing women—paid mourners—followed as lower priests mingled among them, playing their sistrums.
Instead of real tears, however, small smiles graced the people’s faces; they cried out in a façade of mourning. Rumor of celebrations lining the streets of Waset and Men-nefer at this Pharaoh’s passing spread through Egypt’s capital city of Aketaten. The nation of Egypt was glad to be rid of their heretic King, who indeed would be missed by very few.
Little do they know, she thought as she looked to the golden thrones that carried the new Pharaoh Smenkare and his Queen—her daughter, Meritaten—at the front of the processions behind the sarcophagus.
Would the people rise up against them when they found out their new Pharaoh’s devotion to the Aten? Would the people feel betrayed even further? She feared for her daughter; but only time would tell how zealous Meritaten was for the Aten. Maybe Nefertiti could still reach her before it really was too late.
In her own golden throne as Coregent, she glanced over to her twelve-year-old daughter, Ankhesenpaaten, who sat next to her; having both been married to Pharaoh Akhenaten, they both now wore the title of great royal wife. She glanced to the other children being carried behind them: her youngest living daughter, Nefe, who was a year younger than Mut; and the evidence of Pharaoh Akhenaten’s betrayal of her love, the seven-year-old prince, Tutankhaten.
He saw her looking at him and smiled at her. The boy’s eyes twinkled at his step-mother. In truth, she pitied him—he never knew his mother or his father—but she also hated looking at him. She observed the boy’s sickly appearance: his club foot, his exaggerated overbite, his somewhat bent spine, his pale skin; this cherished boy, who’d had to walk with a cane, and whom her husband hadn’t even named as his successor, despite thinking it was worth betraying their bed to produce a son.
His face fell when she didn’t smile back, lost in her thoughts as she was. Taking note, she forced a smile, and his reappeared, beaming at the only woman he could call Mother.
When they returned to the palace, the funerary feast continued. Horemheb was speaking to Tey and Mut when Nefertiti walked up to them, the three of them bowing before her at her approach. Silence overcame them as they stared at the floor. Horemheb knew better than to offer her condolences. He looked to her and cleared his throat.
“I . . .”
He had no clue what to say, but the three women looked to him. He cleared his throat again. Mut’s eyes peered up at him and he wished the innocent way in which she saw him was not misguided. He licked his lips as the dry air and silence made him thirsty.
“I can bring us something to drink,” he offered.
“We would be much obliged, Commander,” Tey said, and patted his large bicep. After he left, she looked to Mut, who was watching him walk away. “He is too old for you,” she whispered.
“No, he’s not, Mother,” Mut said, and immediately her eyes grew wide as her cheeks blushed. “He’s the same age as Nefertiti,” Mut whispered, jabbing a thumb at her sister.
“That is still too old for you,” Tey said, shaking her head. “Although he is very well established.” Tey bobbed her head back and forth, as if weighing the pros and cons were Mut to marry an older man.
“He already has a wife, Amenia, an out-of-work chantress.” For her part, Nefertiti just wanted them to be quiet about Horemheb. She rubbed her temple and closed her eyes for a moment. He had never spoken freely like that to her before all of this happened, and she didn’t know how to interpret his words. He seemed as though he understood her, and he’d even apologized, but she couldn’t forgive him or her father for forcing her hand.
“He could afford another. He is the commander of Pharaoh’s armies,” Mut argued, and bobbed her head as though she knew better.
“Trust me, Mut. Believe me, you do not want to be the second wife,” Nefertiti said as she peered over to Horemheb. “Or the first wife who can’t bear sons.”
Nefertiti ran her hand over her hip and stomach. Her late husband had not touched her since she conceived Setepenre almost seven years ago. She forced her thoughts back to Mut, not wanting to entertain any ill memories of her husband—especially at his funeral. She didn’t want her sister to get entangled in an idea of a husband with multiple wives. “It’s hard enough being the first wife and having to live with your husband and another woman.”
Mut shook her head. “I would still be a second wife”—she looked to the ceiling, imagining life as a wife—“if it were Commander Horemheb,” she whispered, and smiled dreamily.
Tey let out a sigh and jokingly slapped Mut’s cheek right as Horemheb returned. He looked to Tey as Mut’s cheeks gushed from embarrassment at her mother’s slap. Tey just smiled and shook her head at him. Horemheb smiled politely back at the three women as he offered them their drinks.
They speak of love and marriage at the funeral of the man I murdered, Nefertiti thought. The man I murdered . . . my husband. I murdered my husband.
All of these decans she had wrestled with her actions, justifying them in every way; but at the end of the day, as the sun set behind the mourners dancing in the courtyard, she had killed a man. Her brow tensed as the gravity of what she had done sank into the depths of her soul. There existed nothing but hate. Whatever the reasons, she took a life. She had wondered if she would be relieved when Akhenaten finally was put to rest, but now she knew the answer: relief was far from her mind.
Horemheb watched her think as he handed Tey her wine goblet and Mut a barley beer in a cup. He held Nefertiti’s wine goblet in the hand with his own, but as the wine swirled about, he debated giving it to her, knowing they had used wine to kill Pharaoh. He remembered the servers drawing wine from the barrel and knew the wine was most likely harmless. But perhaps it was in poor taste.
Nefertiti’s eyes found his goblet as she peered in. Her gaze drifted to Horemheb, who pulled his hand away.
“I will call the royal cupbearer to taste of the wine first,” he said, and made a motion, but Nefertiti placed her hand on his arm.
“I am not thirsty,” she said, and walked away with her shoulders down. She didn’t know where she was going, but knew she needed to be alone with her self-destructive thoughts.
Horemheb watched her. At least she looks sad at her husband’s passing. She very well may be, but I think she wrestles more with the poisoned wine.
Tey looked at him and then to Nefertiti’s back as she walked away. Mut did the same with a scowl.
He drew in a breath as he watched her slide out of the light and into the shadows. He turned back to Tey and noticed their stares. Do they know about Nefertiti’s involvement in Akhenaten’s death? he asked himself. Or do they think I care about her?
“We all care about our Coregent.” Tey offered, as her warm smile hid her wisdom regarding what a man feels when he lingers in watching a woman walk away.
“She is sad about Pharaoh Akhenaten,” Mut said as she pulled her shoulders straighter. “But she will move on. She is strong. You needn’t worry about her.” Mut admired her sister, but clearly she didn’t want Nefertiti to be the object of his attention.
“Yes, Mut. She is strong. She bears many burdens,” Horemheb said, and looked to where Nefertiti disappeared.
Ay came up to their circle. “Ah, Commander, I see you have met my wife and daughter,” Ay said, gesturing to them.
“Yes,” Horemheb said. “You have a fine family, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses.”
“They are a
fine family indeed. I could not ask for better.”
Ay beamed with pride and rubbed Mut’s baldness. Mut’s neck shrunk in her shoulders as the pink blush passed over her cheeks. Tey looked to Ay and slightly shook her head. Ay quickly removed his hand and gave Tey a look that said We will talk later.
“Commander, I must speak with you,” Ay said, changing the subject, and cleared his throat.
This prompted Tey to say, “Mut and I were just leaving.”
After they were alone, Ay said, “General Paaten sends word from Nubia. Relations are not going well.” He looked around for his daughter, as she needed to hear the report as well, even under the circumstances. Time was not on their side.
“Relations are not going well here either,” Horemheb said, looking to Pharaoh Smenkare.
“I know,” Ay said, still searching for his daughter.
Horemheb tightened his jaw, knowing the man spoke of his relationship with Nefertiti. “She will come around.”
Ay found his eyes and responded with a shake of his head. “You don’t know Nefertiti as I do. She is strong to the point of stubbornness. She is a lot like her mother in that way.”
“She will come around,” Horemheb said again. “It will take time, but she will. You are her father.”
“Speaking of Nefertiti, do you see her?” Ay asked, brushing off what Horemheb said.
“She was here, but I think the weight of the day sent her away. She walked off into the shadows.” Horemheb pointed in the general direction of where she had left.
“Help me look for her,” Ay said, more command than request. “I need to know she is safe, and also to let her know of the Nubians.”
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