Mut’s face fell somewhat at this.
“Why the frown?” Nefertiti asked Mut, suddenly bitter. “Did you think your commander mightier than me?” A bitter laugh slipped from her lips, remembering the night when he and her father talked her into becoming a murderer.
“I had hoped . . .” Mut muttered.
“You still have another year, maybe two, before you are of the age to marry. Think about loving younger men, sister.”
“What?” Mut sucked in her breath and sat up straight. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Nefertiti nodded at her and bit her lip. It felt nice to tease her little sister and not have to think about the political power play at hand, but Tey wouldn’t let it last for much longer.
“Daughter, you have to warn Meritaten that they are coming for Smenkare,” Tey said as she looked to both girls to hush them.
“Why?” Nefertiti said. “Meritaten is safe—that is all that matters. They gave us their word. They might cross me, but not all three of us.”
“The people . . . if they found out you knew and did nothing, they might think you wanted Smenkare dead, as you are Coregent and he has no heir.” Tey wrung her hands and shook her head.
“Mother, you worry as much as I do.”
“Well, I am the one who raised you,” Tey said with a smile on her lips but concern in her brow. “At least warn Meritaten. I don’t know what I would do if she were killed too.”
“Mother!” Nefertiti bit her tongue, spotting her mother’s subtle manipulation tricks like the snake spots the mouse. Her heart couldn’t take another of her daughters being ripped from her life; but Ay and Horemheb were there—they wouldn’t cross the both of them. Meritaten was Ay’s granddaughter too, after all.
“They might go back to worshipping Amun if they knew their lives were in danger,” Mut suggested. “I could even talk to Meritaten about it while I’m here. She did always like me.”
“Mut, Smenkare ordered his own mother’s execution just for speaking Amun’s name. You must not say ‘Amun’ elsewhere, lest you befall the same fate. Do not wager your life for this. Sitamun did, and now she will lose it,” Nefertiti warned.
Mut opened her mouth to speak, but Nefertiti cut her off.
“Mut, please. I beg you. Do not ask them to worship Amun. Do not go to Meritaten. She is confused. I don’t know what she would do . . . but if Smenkare knew, he would kill you without any hesitation.”
Mut hung her head. “So you are just going to trust the People’s Restoration of Egypt to be true to their word and not harm Meritaten?”
Nefertiti closed her eyes.
Am I coward? A fool? Afraid for my own life more than that of my firstborn? she thought.
“Yes,” she answered both Mut’s and her own questions. “I am trusting my daughter’s life to the rebellion.”
Tey shook her head.
“Mother, I know I disappoint you in many ways. Please don’t confirm it for me,” Nefertiti begged.
Tey looked away as she clenched her jaw. “We best be leaving, Mut. The Coregent has no more need of us.” She stood, popped her hands on her thighs haughtily, and turned to leave, not looking back.
Nefertiti didn’t look up as she walked by. She knew this disappointment ran deep. Their trip to Aketaten was to comfort her in her sorrow of losing her steward, Merytre, and they had stayed for over a year. In that time, her mother and sister found her to be a murderer, a weakling, and a traitor. She guessed she would be disappointed too, if she weren’t living through it.
Mut slowly stood up. She went to Nefertiti, who still looked down, and put her hand on her shoulder.
“Sister, I still love you.”
Nefertiti let out a breath as she took Mut’s hand in hers. Her misty eyes found her sister’s.
“I love you too. Be better than me, Mut.”
The door closed as they left Nefertiti alone in her room.
She stood up and walked over to the window; the sun warmed her face. Despondent, she looked to the sun, the Aten, wondering if Akhenaten was there, like he’d believed he would be, along with the Pharaohs before.
“Your legacy was supposed to be of greatness, my love . . . to restore Pharaoh as the true First Prophet of Amun, gaining strength from the priesthood . . . and yet only turmoil lays behind you as Egypt moves toward destruction,” Nefertiti whispered as she looked out the window toward Akhe-Aten.
There were no tears in her eyes.
“What have you done?”
Nefertiti received word from Horemheb, saying he thought it may be another season before the Libyans could be settled.
Sitamun may be dead by then, Nefertiti thought in despair. Then: No . . . Beketaten would not let that happen. They would do away with Smenkare before that.
She read his note—scribbled by his messenger, no doubt—as she lay in her bed, unable to sleep, like the many nights before.
In peace, Pharaoh Coregent. The situation with the Libyans appears less than that with the Nubians. I, Commander Horemheb, expect, at most, one season’s time to settle this dispute.
That was his letter.
Her heavy sigh filled the room. It would seem odd if he put anything else, if the messenger read it or the letter got intercepted, she reasoned with herself.
Shaking her head and pressing her fingers to her temples, she closed her eyes. Her mind ran a never-ending race with everything that happened around her: Akhenaten’s death, Smenkare’s assassination plot, the safety of her daughter, her feelings for Horemheb that she tried and failed to deny, this letter devoid of any feeling, the people dying for their faith, the border disputes with the Nubians and Libyans . . .
The only reason they would rise up is because they perceive Egypt to be weak, she thought, and then her mind continued to race.
. . . the non-responsive Hittites, her father’s lies, the ease with which royalty seemed to be murdered, her upcoming coronation once Smenkare was gone . . .
Would the people rebel? Would they come after me? Anyone who sat by Pharaoh? Anyone associated to me? Meritaten. Ankhesenpaaten and Tut . . .
She didn’t like the boy, but also didn’t want to see him harmed. Wanting to keep them safe, she decided to go to the royal harem and tell Ankhesenpaaten that when she was Pharaoh, she would distance herself out of necessity.
Outside her room stood Ineni, the royal guard. She asked him to escort her to the royal harem, remembering Horemheb’s caution: there were people about who wished harm to Pharaoh and his Coregent. At least Ineni knew she was not an Aten worshipper, as he had been present when the People’s Restoration of Egypt sent her to murder Akhenaten. She justified that he would honor his oath for her, since they were at least of the same belief that Amun should be the premiere god of Egypt.
Then why does sleep still elude me?
She came to Ankhesenpaaten’s room, opened the door, and watched her daughter sleep. Sneaking over to the bed, she sat on its side and rubbed Ankhesenpaaten’s back, humming a song she remembered Tey humming to her when she was a child.
Ankhesenpaaten woke up and rolled to her side, looking up at Nefertiti.
“Mother?” She rubbed her eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“My daughter,” Nefertiti said, holding her breath. But words escaped her, and instead of speaking she just threw her arms around her daughter’s small frame.
“Mother, what is it?”
Nefertiti could feel Ankhesenpaaten’s heart racing.
“Is all well?”
“Yes, it will be.” Nefertiti squeezed and stroked her daughter’s back. She kissed the side of her forehead. Nefertiti pulled back to look at her daughter’s face. She had her father’s lips and long nose, but her high cheekbones and dark almond eyes belonged to Nefertiti.
Ankhesenpaaten took a breath. “What do you mean?”
Nefertiti shook her head. “I mean this: when I become Pharaoh, it will be dangerous for me.” Tears filled her eyes, not wanting to lose yet another daughter. S
he rubbed Ankhesenpaaten’s head. “It will be best for you if I distance you from me.” She used her thumb to wipe under Ankhesenpaaten’s eyes. “I will place you and Tut below Pharaoh’s throne, on the lowest platform, for your own safety.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Mother. How . . .” She stuttered and held her mother’s forearms. “How do you know you will be Pharaoh?”
“My sweet one . . .” Nefertiti pulled her close and kissed her forehead again. “There is much you will not understand right now.”
“Mother, are you crying?”
“No,” Nefertiti lied. She wished she could tell Ankhesenpaaten everything, but with her faith, she may betray her own mother to Smenkare. Instead, she just pleaded: “Ankhesenpaaten, no matter what happens, please know I have always wanted the best for you. I have always fought and did what I did for you and your sisters’ safety.”
“Mother, you are frightening me,” Ankhesenpaaten said, and reciprocated her mother’s hug. “Is all well?”
“It will be, my sweet one,” Nefertiti crooned, and rocked with her now-grown baby in her arms. “It will be.”
Mut found herself restless that night.
She looked to her mother, Tey, whose soft snores meant sleep had taken her. Mut turned to her side and swung both feet to the ground. She needed to do something, but wasn’t sure what it should be. The cold stone made her toes curl as she stood, slipping into her sandals. She began to walk out of their guest quarters, but she heard Tey’s voice.
“Mut, where are you going?”
Even in sleep, her mother knew her. Perhaps she was louder than she’d thought she had been.
“I need to tell Meritaten,” Mut said. “It is the right thing to do.”
Tey sat up in bed and glanced at Mut in the moonlight. “It is almost morning. She probably is not even awake yet. Come back to bed.”
“I have thought on this all night. She needs to know,” Mut whispered, turning her body away from the bed.
“I agree, Mut, but if Nefertiti thinks she will not listen—”
“We have to try.”
“We will try in the morning.” Tey yawned. “Come back to bed. They aren’t going to do anything so quickly.”
“How do you know?”
“Men like that must think it through strategically. No one is going to come in the middle of the night and stab them to death.” Tey patted the empty space next to her. “Come to sleep. They are safe for tonight.”
Mut obeyed; but when Tey’s soft snores resurfaced, she quickly left the room and snuck away. She waited outside Meritaten’s door as a servant went in to request her presence with Meritaten.
“She will see you,” the servant said. “Be careful, young woman.”
The whisper was low, and caused Mut to swallow the lump sitting in her throat. She couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a genuine note of caution.
Mut watched the servant as she opened the door and led Mut into Meritaten’s parlor of her bedchambers.
“Pharaoh is still sleeping,” Meritaten said in a hushed voice as she yawned. “Mut, what is this about?”
“Pharaoh’s life is in danger,” Mut said.
Meritaten’s face dropped, but then she shook her head. “Pharaoh’s life is always in danger. Our enemies would smite him if they could.”
“No, Egypt wants him dead. They are going to poison him because he follows in the footsteps of Akhenaten,” Mut whispered.
A moment of silence came from Meritaten.
“You should be careful of what you say, Mut.” Meritaten leaned over and put both of her hands on Mut’s shoulders. “This isn’t the place for made-up stories.”
“But, Meritaten, I am not—”
“Mut, silence. I’ll hear no more of it.”
“The conspiracy, Meritaten. It’s real, and Pharaoh’s life is in danger. Yours might be as well.”
“And how do you know all of this, Mut?”
“I overheard someone talking,” Mut lied, and immediately felt the lie sink and gurgle its way down to her stomach; but she had to protect Nefertiti.
Meritaten’s shoulders rose with a slight chuckle. “And who was speaking these words of rebellion?”
“I . . . don’t know.” Mut’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“Oh, silly girl, with vivid dreams and imaginations.” Meritaten patted her soft cheek. “If there were a conspiracy afoot, the Aten would have granted Pharaoh a vision.”
“But the Aten is just a sun-disc, an aspect of Amun-Re,” Mut whispered, to which Meritaten grabbed her jaw.
“You will not speak of false gods, Mut, or you will meet the same fate as those who do. Be this your only warning,” Meritaten said, and shook Mut’s jaw before letting go.
Mut rubbed her jaw and took a step backward.
“Now,” Meritaten said as she stretched her hands to the sky and arched her back. “Was there anything else?”
“No,” Mut replied.
She had tried, and that was all she could do. Nefertiti was right. Thankful Smenkare was not there to hear her utter Amun’s name, she took a half bow and requested to be excused.
Meritaten nodded. The servant, who had been standing not far off and heard the entire conversation, came to Mut and escorted her out, peering down at her with narrowed eyes.
Meritaten watched from the corner of her eye as Mut left, then muttered:
“Silly girl.”
Chapter 13
The Time of Scorn
The night before Sitamun’s execution, the country went to bed wondering if Pharaoh Smenkare would actually have his mother, the royal wife and daughter of Pharaoh Amenhotep III, consume poison to end her life. And if so, would he give her a proper burial so she could at least have her body to journey to the afterlife?
During the three months she had been there, the prison’s stone pit had blistered Sitamun’s body from the glare of each day’s sun and chilled her body at night. Other pits may have had multiple prisoners, but Sitamun sat alone in one of the deep pits of the prison. Her nails bled from having tried to climb out and her feet and hands had callused from the stone’s edges. Looking up to the wooden grid that lay atop the pit, a heavyset weight fell upon her heart.
There is no way out. Even if I made it all the way, I could not lift or squeeze through the bars.
She shook her head and prayed to Amun that her son would spare her life. The sun’s shadow on the pit’s stone walls grew as it lowered in the sky. Her teeth ached from grinding them as she agonized over her upcoming death.
A hushed tone came from above as the wooden grid lifted:
“Great royal wife?”
The voice broke her trance, and she looked up out of the pit.
A rope fell.
“Grab it,” the voice came again from above.
She took hold as she was instructed, and slowly, she began to lift from the ground as those above pulled her up. They helped her stand from the pit. A servant stood with clean linen and water for Sitamun to wash her face and hands. She looked to him and to the four jailers who had apparently helped her break free from prison.
“I thank you for saving my life,” she said. “I am in your debt.”
“Great royal wife, no debt is required,” one jailer said.
“When they come in the morning and I am not down there”—Sitamun nodded toward her pit—“they will kill you, as is Egyptian law.”
“Only me,” a second jailer said. “This pit is under my purview. My life is a sacrifice I am willing to make to see Sitamun, great royal wife and King’s daughter, not executed for worshipping the true premiere god, Amun.”
“No more blood shall be shed,” Sitamun said as she washed her hands in the bowl. Pressing the linen to her face, she inhaled its fresh scent. With her exhale, she lowered the linen to look the five of them in the eyes. “I will correct my father’s mistake.” She handed the towel to the servant and told a guard, “Hand me your dagger.” Receiving the dagger from the guard, she analyzed its bl
ade. “Has this been sharpened?”
“Every day,” the guard responded with a nod.
“Then it shall do,” she said as she walked between the guards, who parted for her royalty.
“Hori and Khabek are standing guard at Pharaoh’s chambers. They love Amun as well,” the second jailer said.
She nodded and let out a breath.
One obstacle removed. Amun blesses my course of action.
“You are to speak of this to no one.” She peered over her shoulder, then turned to look at them. “If any rise up with me, if any doubt the position of Pharaoh, let them know this: the title of Pharaoh is divinely appointed by Amun, and any Pharaoh who rejects Amun is no longer divine. Killing him, then, is like killing any other man. My blood runs through his body—let his death be on me. I brought him into this world, and I alone have the right—nay, the duty—to remove him, now that he has refused his divine appointment.” Her chin raised to those standing before her, and they bowed their heads.
“As you command, King’s great wife,” one of the guards said. “We will do as you command.”
“I will take whatever punishment there is for taking a life. It shall be recompense for my mistakes as a mother.” She turned to go, hiding the dagger in the folds of her long linen and gold-lined dress, which was covered in dirt and bodily stains from being imprisoned for so long.
“We are in your debt, great royal wife Sitamun,” the servant called after her.
The royal guards, Hori and Khabek, stood sentry at the door of Pharaoh’s bedchambers. They peered into the darkness around them and saw the moonlight glint off a woman’s white gown. The stench reached them before they saw her face.
“Is that . . . ?” Hori whispered to the other.
“I think so,” Khabek responded.
As Sitamun approached them, they tried not to retch or cover their noses.
Secrets in the Sand Page 13
