“You must be exhausted from your travels,” Nefertiti said through her teeth. “I wish to be alone.” She walked between the two again, imperceptibly brushing Horemheb’s arm. She peered over her shoulder and said, “Thank you both for your continued dedication to Egypt and to Pharaoh,” and then continued walking toward her throne.
They bowed and left. As the door shut, General Paaten pulled Commander Horemheb aside. “Do not let the fact that Pharaoh is a woman obscure your judgment, Commander.”
Horemheb looked back with a blank stare and slight shake of his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I see the way your eyes dilate when you are around her. Do not play the fool. She is Pharaoh, and you are still Commander of her armies. Do not step out of your place again, or I will have you removed from your position.” General Paaten locked eyes with his subordinate. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, General,” Horemheb said, and clenched his jaw, refusing to say more.
“Good,” General Paaten said, turning to leave.
Horemheb rubbed his bronze armor as he watched General Paaten walk away. Glancing at the closed doors of the throne room, he thought:
The General needn’t know of my true desires.
That night, Horemheb walked along the halls just as he had before he left. He couldn’t get her imperceptible brush of his arm out of his mind. Was it on purpose? Was it on accident? Did it mean she forgave him?
So easily?
He came upon Pharaoh’s chambers and noticed only Ineni stood guard. He cleared his throat and Ineni straightened up.
“Royal guard, where is Khabek? Or Hori? Should not at least two of you stand at Pharaoh’s door?”
“Royal guard Hori is not on watch, and Pharaoh has dismissed royal guard Khabek,” Ineni said, looking straight ahead.
“Why?”
Ineni looked to the Commander. “She did not trust him.”
“Has she been in any danger since the General and I have left?”
“No.” Ineni shrugged his shoulders. “She came out of her chambers one night a month or so ago and said for him to leave.”
Horemheb looked to the doors of her room.
If only I hadn’t left to Libya . . . maybe I could have saved Meritaten. Maybe I could have kept Pharaoh from further insomnia.
He debated entering. It would be a gigantic step outside of his position; he could risk the General finding out and stripping him of his title, possibly face execution if Pharaoh commanded it. He rubbed his neck. But if she needed him and he didn’t come, it could be just as bad for him.
He did want to see her and see how she was after the day. She mustn’t have fared well while he was gone, with the death of her daughter. He at least needed to give proper condolences and a proper apology for not being here when she needed him. If she became angry, he would only ask forgiveness, say that he foolishly misunderstood her kindness in the past as intrigue. Yes, that would do; and maybe, if he was lucky, he would come out still with his Commander rank.
He took a deep breath and grabbed the door handle to push open.
“I’m sorry, Commander,” Ineni said as he thrust his spear to block Horemheb’s way. “Pharaoh hast said she wants no company.”
Horemheb puffed up his chest so his bronze armor sparkled in the torchlight. He bored into Ineni’s eyes, staring at him until Ineni brought back his spear.
“You are to tell no one of this,” Horemheb huffed.
“Yes, Commander,” Ineni said, and returned to his dutiful guard position while Horemheb entered Pharaoh’s chambers.
He found her looking out the window. The moonlight fell on every curve of her body but highlighted the sadness in her face.
“Pharaoh.”
She’d heard him enter. At first her heart raced upon hearing the door open, but then, hearing his deep voice, she sighed, relieved that it wasn’t one of Pawah’s pawns coming to kill her.
“I thought I told the guard no one was to enter,” she said, still looking out the window.
Horemheb stopped in his tracks. “I used my rank to tell him otherwise,” he admitted. “If Pharaoh does not wish to see me, I will leave. Let this error be on me.”
“No . . .” She turned to face him as tears fell down her cheeks. “I want you to stay.”
He took a few steps toward her, but she turned to look out the window again, and he stopped, unsure what to do.
“Why did I ever want to be Queen and now Pharaoh? I was such a stupid young girl,” she confided. “Akhenaten always told me—or rather, Amenhotep always told me—that he never wanted to be Pharaoh. Now I know what he meant. People want to kill you, and you can’t always have what you want without there being an equal cost. But I am Pharaoh now . . . it does not matter.”
Horemheb approached with caution, not letting his heart make the decisions. He came to stand behind her, looking down at her as she looked out the window.
“I have lost four daughters, all at the hands of my own carelessness. I brought home the army from diseased lands that sent plague across Egypt. I killed Setepenre, Neferneferure, and Meketaten, and then I foolishly gave Meritaten into Pawah and Beketaten’s safekeeping.” She shook her head. “I am a failure as a mother.”
Horemheb wanted to rub his hands along her arms and turn her to face him, but he silenced his want with a tight control of his muscles. “No, Pharaoh, you are not. I am your Commander. I should have been here. I should have stayed and protected Meritaten.”
“No, Commander. My father, who ranks higher than you, stayed in Aketaten. Meritaten was his granddaughter, and he did nothing. I do not blame you,” she whispered. “I blame myself.” She drew in a long breath. “I loved Akhenaten. He gave me six beautiful daughters. But I also hated him. I hated him for making me choose between him and Egypt. I hated him for betraying me.” She slammed her fist on the window sill. “I wish I had never become his Queen—and yet, if I had not, I would not have had my children. My children, whom I have failed.” She fell to her knees and wept, pressing her head against the sill.
Commander Horemheb knelt down and placed a gentle hand on her back.
She wrenched away. “I don’t deserve your kindness, Commander. Please leave me—” Her brittle voice shattered in the moonlit darkness.
He stayed kneeling beside her and, after debating whether she really wanted him to leave or not, decided to go against her wishes. He justified to himself that if she had indeed brushed him on purpose earlier in the day, then she wanted him there with her.
He lowered his hand back down. This time she didn’t pull away. He began to rub a circle on her back and then finally took his other arm underneath her and pulled her close. She let go of the window sill and fell into his embrace.
“I killed a man,” Nefertiti said between sobs. Horemheb kept silent. “And then I let someone kill my own daughter.” She grasped his arm harder. “What mother would do that?”
He stroked her arm and her back and across her forehead as she pulled on him still tighter, as if trying to claw herself from her despairing abyss.
“Hasn’t Amun punished me enough? Have I not paid for my transgressions? What more do you want from me, my god?! What more can I give? Do you want my blood? Then take it! Spare my two living daughters this grief. Spare them!” she yelled up through the window with a fist in the air.
Horemheb clasped his hand over her fist, not wanting her to further anger the gods, and crumpled her arms over her chest, whispering in her ear, “Breathe with me . . .” He took a deep breath, making her body rise and fall with his own.
When he had helped her gain control of her breathing, she whimpered, “Have I not been punished enough?”
“Pharaoh, no one knows your pain,” Horemheb said, trying to hold back his own tears, internalizing her screams and cries. He could feel the intensity with which she held to him, drawing blood on his arm. “Cast it upon me. I will take your pain. I will suffer in your place. I am to blame.”
She re
leased his arm. “No, I alone am to blame.” Laying limp in Horemheb’s arm, her energy spent, she could not even lift her arms to raise herself from his lap. “I alone shall bear this burden.”
They stayed on the floor for some time while Horemheb stroked her arm and face, until Nefertiti, exhausted from grief, fell asleep. Horemheb lifted her in his arms and took her to the bed.
As he lay her down, she found the strength to grab his chest strap as he pulled away, and she drew him back down to her.
“You are a good man, Commander, and I am thankful you are here with me.”
“I care for you . . . my Pharaoh.” He had already stepped out of his place and disobeyed several direct orders from her thus far—what was admitting his forbidden feelings now?
“I do not deserve your care,” Nefertiti mumbled; sleep had begun to take her again, and appeared she did not fully understand the depth behind his words.
“For you, I would do anything.” In a rush of impulse, he brought his lips to her cheek—but he halted himself right before they touched and instead whispered in her ear, “Know this . . . I wish your pain on me.”
She smiled at him with sorrow on her lips. “Some wishes are never granted.” Then she closed her eyes. “Commander, will you please stay . . . so I can feel safe while I sleep?”
“For you, I would do anything,” he repeated, and pulled a chair next to her bed.
Nefertiti awoke the next morning to find Horemheb standing by the window.
“Thank you, Commander.”
He nodded. His eyebrows drew together as he watched her rise from the bed: her body aching, she rubbed her neck and stretched her back. He debated overstepping his line again and going to rub her shoulders, but decided against it. This woman maybe only needed him in her sorrow of the previous night, but today was a new day, and perhaps she was ashamed of acting this way with her subordinate. He watched her, nonetheless, wishing he could help her.
“Commander,” she said, drawing near to him as the night came rushing back to her. She peered up at him. Her eyes held so much sorrow, but as the sunlight came upon them, they revealed a growing fire. “Someone will answer for Meritaten.”
“As they should,” Horemheb responded. Her anger became his.
“Will you please call a meeting of council with Pawah and Beketaten?” Her muscles tensed as a weight grew on her chest.
“I will.” Horemheb stood back, bowed, and began to walk away.
“Commander—” She turned her shoulders to him. “I will not forget your kindness shown to me last night, and the risk you took in coming to me.”
He dipped his chin and swallowed. “I would risk it again,” he said. “For you, my Pharaoh.”
He bowed slightly at the waist and left to carry out Pharaoh’s command.
Nefertiti watched the door close and began to cry. Her hatred of Meritaten’s murderer, her growing fondness of the Commander, her self-loathing, her failure as a mother—all were too much to bear.
Eventually, she gathered herself enough to call her stewards. She would meet her council in her best and make Pawah and Beketaten pay for the murder of her daughter.
Chapter 15
The Time of Reveal
Later that day, General Paaten, her father, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses, Ay, and Commander Horemheb sat across from Pawah and Beketaten, with Nefertiti at the head of the table in the council room.
The sun shone overhead, drenching Nefertiti in its light. She called over a messenger and whispered, “At first light tomorrow, I want plans for the roofs of the council room and throne room to be covered from the Aten’s rays.”
“As Pharaoh says,” the messenger said, and went out of the room, presumably in search of the royal architects.
They were now left alone. The others in the room waited for Nefertiti to speak, but she only glared at Pawah and Beketaten. Neither Pawah, too confident to be intimidated, nor Beketaten, too enraged with jealousy to notice, shifted in their seats.
“Pharaoh Neferneferuaten.” General Paaten leaned over to Nefertiti. “Perhaps we should begin with the reason for why we have assembled.”
“Of course, General Paaten,” Nefertiti said. She rolled her shoulders back as she sat up straight in the gold-enthroned chair. Then she said: “Arrest Pawah, Fifth Prophet of Amun, and Beketaten, King’s daughter, for treason and inciting rebellion against Pharaoh. They are the leaders of the People’s Restoration of Egypt.”
Pawah stood up with a smug smirk.
You stupid woman. You cannot arrest me, he thought and pointed a long finger at Nefertiti before he spoke.
“You murdered Pharaoh Akhenaten! You should die as well!”
General Paaten stood up, along with Commander Horemheb, and he yelled, “You dare to make such lies against our Pharaoh Neferneferuaten?!”
“It is no lie!” Pawah yelled, his ears simmering at General Paaten’s accusation, and then focused his snake-like eyes on Nefertiti.
I have you in my hands. You will be my puppet.
“The people will believe me. I will be your undoing—either in life or in death!”
“Do you think the people will believe you, the vizier to Pharaoh Smenkare—”
“Who we killed to save Egypt!”
General Paaten thrust a finger in Pawah’s face. “So you confess to killing the divinely appointed?”
Horemheb clenched his jaw as he eyed the General and then peered to Nefertiti.
Pawah, seeing Horemheb’s reaction, chuckled, and said to the others, “He doesn’t know?”
This keeps getting better and better.
“Egypt’s highest-ranking military officer doesn’t know what Master of Pharaoh’s Horses and the Commander and even Pharaoh herself agreed to?” He laughed, shook his head, and leaned toward Nefertiti with both hands on the table. “O how the three of you like to keep secrets!”
General Paaten looked to Nefertiti, the color draining from his face. His eyes pleaded for it not to be true, but Nefertiti did not give him any such indication. Only guilt lived in her eyes as they held their stare.
Pawah continued to speak, reveling in the betrayal of it all. “Ah, the great General Paaten, the solider who carried out the Coregent’s word at great cost of Egyptian life, torturing men to find the leaders of the rebellious movement. Yes, we are the leaders of the People’s Restoration of Egypt. Yes, you have us here—but you cannot arrest us. The truth will come out, trust me, and the beloved Pharaoh Neferneferuaten will be known as a traitor and a liar—so much for her divine appointment.”
His smile stayed plastered to his face. He might have pitied her a little if the whole situation wasn’t so fun to witness.
“You see, General, Horemheb and Ay struck a deal with us, to poison Pharaoh Akhenaten, but we couldn’t give him the poison because Akhenaten would have noticed the cupbearer not drinking the wine. They convinced our noble Neferneferuaten into bringing him the hemlock-laced wine herself.”
He saw Ay looking to the floor and knew then to squeeze out a few more blood drops and do a bit more damage to the so-called loyal relationships in the room.
“And Ay . . . Ay,” he said again, to get Ay to look up at him, “he was very convincing, believe you me, using her dead mother as guilt. Well done, Ay, well done.” He mockingly applauded Ay’s efforts as Ay’s jaw clenched, his brow furrowed, fists tight, swallowing against a dry throat.
Nefertiti broke her stare with General Paaten and sent a glare to her father.
Horemheb clenched his fist so hard it cracked his knuckles as he bared his teeth. His hand lingered near the handle of his khopesh, and his fingers twitched.
Pawah glanced at him and a wide grin spread across his face as he thought: I dare you. Pawah licked his lip toward Horemheb and knew he had them all right where he wanted.
“So you see, General Paaten, Nefertiti—or should I say, rather, Pharaoh Neferneferuaten—is a murderer as well. Now, how would it look if Amun’s divine killed another of Amun’s divine, o
r, worse, we told the people how she killed Pharaoh Smenkare and his bride as well. What would the people think? She refuses the crown to the rightful heir, the boy Tut, and she murders her own daughter? Tsk-tsk.”
Nefertiti slowly rose, lowering her head like a wolf about to attack. Her muscles were taut, veins straining against her skin.
Pawah continued, “Smenkare was a fool and didn’t even know that cupbearers are meant to taste the wine before handing it to royalty. It was easy to slip him the poison, easy enough for the Coregent to see her opportunity for full glory.”
Nefertiti slammed her fists into the table. “Curse you, Pawah!”
Pawah’s wicked smile returned, enraging Nefertiti further.
I am right, he thought. She knows she can’t touch me.
“You will pay for what you did to my Meritaten,” she hissed. “I will make you pay.”
Ah, but she still threatens. He cocked his head to the side. If it weren’t in vain, I might actually fear you, Pharaoh.
“Pharaoh Neferneferuaten, I love the commitment, but with your hands as dirty as mine, I don’t see you making anyone pay for anything.” To show his complete lack of respect for her as Pharaoh, Pawah examined his nail beds as he spoke. “And I know you prefer to blame us rather than Smenkare for killing Meritaten. He was the one who strangled her—must have been a lover’s quarrel.”
“Do you dare insult Pharaoh’s intelligence?” Nefertiti spat.
Beketaten said through clenched teeth, “We swear we only put the hemlock in Smenkare’s wine. He should have died that night. We are not responsible for Meritaten. Even as much as I hate you, Nefertiti, I would never kill your daughter.”
Nefertiti peered at her over the bridge of her nose. “Would you not?”
“We know how they were found,” Beketaten said, dismissing Nefertiti’s accusation with a wave of her hand. “Smenkare strangled her, and she stabbed him as a last struggle before his hands around her neck took her life away.”
Secrets in the Sand Page 15
