“And for that she will die,” Nefertiti said, finally deciding to look at Beketaten. “Unofficially, of course.”
“You are pitiful.” Beketaten spat at the first stair leading to the platform where Nefertiti sat.
“A life for a life,” Nefertiti said. “My daughter’s life.”
“Are you really going to impale her and burn her body afterward so that there is no chance of her journeying to the afterlife? Would you take that away from her?”
“Impalement and disposal of the body is the written punishment for threatening the throne.”
“Not for royalty! Not for my sister.”
“I cannot change the laws that have held our country together for millennia,” Nefertiti said calmly. “Or else the country might think me as mad as Akhenaten and Smenkare.”
“Please . . .” Beketaten fell to a knee in her last attempt to plead for her sister’s life and afterlife.
“No, she—”
Ankhesenpaaten had risen from her throne and walked up the side of the platform beyond her mother’s focus. She touched her arm before she could finish her sentence. Nefertiti looked to Ankhesenpaaten, who whispered to her, “Mother, I loved Meritaten too . . . but I don’t want my aunt Sitamun to have no afterlife because of Meritaten. You are Pharaoh . . . make an exception in this one case.”
The wet glisten from Ankhesenpaaten cheeks softened the callouses in Nefertiti’s heart. She lowered her head and looked to Beketaten and then back at her daughter. Pressing her lips together, she patted Ankhesenpaaten’s hand that graced her arm. “You are wiser than me,” she whispered. “Be better than me, Ankhesenpaaten.”
Nefertiti returned her hand to her leg and took a deep breath as Ankhesenpaaten took her seat again.
“Because Sitamun is a royal wife and daughter of a Pharaoh before, the punishment shall be amended.” Nefertiti thought about her own deeds regarding Akhenaten. She did not want to be impaled, if ever that came out to the public and they demanded her death. “The punishment shall be suicide by poison. Sitamun’s body will be prepared for burial and the afterlife, as is her right as royal wife and King’s daughter.”
Beketaten took a deep breath, thankful Sitamun could still journey to the afterlife and not experience much pain in her death. However, she would not give Pharaoh the satisfaction of a “Thank you” for giving Sitamun this small reprieve; so she turned and left, vowing to avenge Sitamun, her last remaining sister.
Chapter 17
The Time of New Allies
A caravan arrived from the Hittites accepting an alliance and bringing gifts of jewels and medicine to Egypt. It had been three years since Nefertiti had sent the offer of alliance under Pharaoh Akhenaten’s name. General Paaten, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses, Ay, and Commander Horemheb all three agreed this was still what was best for Egypt, since Egypt’s allies had all but stopped trading with them.
Nefertiti accepted their caravan, then mumbled to herself, “Three years . . . better late than never.”
“The treasury at least is growing again,” her daughter, Ankhesenpaaten, said as she came from the shadows to her mother. “Though I hate it to be at the generosity of our enemy.”
“Ankhesenpaaten—” Nefertiti motioned for her to approach. “The treasury grows because of the portion we receive from the priesthood of Amun as well.”
“Mother . . . may I ask you something without you becoming angry?” Ankhesenpaaten tilted her head and swung her arms behind her back. Her long, thin body swayed in the gentle breeze of the throne room. Beads of sweat trickled down her brow as she stepped into the sunlight. The throne room’s roof sat partially covered; even decrees from Pharaohs still took time to implement. Her shallow breathing followed the rhythm of her racing pulse.
Nefertiti cocked a half-grin. “Of course, my sweet one.”
Her mother had always called her the sweet one; she didn’t know why.
“Mut and I were speaking the other day—”
“What did Mut say?” Nefertiti’s stern voice equaled the straight edge of her back.
“Mother!” Ankhesenpaaten threw her hands at her sides. “You promised you wouldn’t become angry.”
Nefertiti held up her hand. “Please, continue.”
Ankhesenpaaten lowered her chin. She didn’t want to confront her mother outright with her suspicions regarding the strange night Nefertiti had come to her, quickly followed by the death of Meritaten, so she began with Mut just as she had rehearsed. “Mut told me you were sad . . .”
“Why wouldn’t I be sad, daughter? Meritaten was killed. Meketaten, Neferneferure, and Setepenre were all taken by the plague—royal wife Kiya as well. My husband . . .”—Nefertiti drew in a sharp breath and closed her eyes momentarily—“journeys to the afterlife. Our country, although making strides back to greatness, almost bore the burden of poverty. There are many things that make me sad. One day, if you are to be Pharaoh as myself, or even chief royal wife or Coregent, you too will see sadness, and then you will understand.”
Ankhesenpaaten drew nearer to her mother. “But, Mother, they were my father and my husband. My sisters. Have I not lost too?”
Here is my leading question. I cannot turn back now, she thought as her fingers trembled.
“Your smile is elusive. Mut tells me you talk as if you see the end. Are you not happy that you and Nefe and myself are still among the living?”
“Of course I am, my sweet one,” Nefertiti said, and she jumped up and threw her arms around Ankhesenpaaten. She acted as if she wanted Ankhesenpaaten’s arms to rise around her waist, but Ankhesenpaaten kept them rigid by her body.
It is time to confront her, Ankhesenpaaten thought. No more hiding.
“You wish us dead,” she whispered, holding her gaze with her mother.
Nefertiti’s jaw hung ajar. “Why would you say such a thing?” The words flowed on the gush of her breath.
“All my life, you have taught us to worship the Aten . . . and then you reverse Father’s and Pharaoh Smenkare’s decrees. You allow the worship of false gods. You wish us dead like Meritaten, don’t you?” Ankhesenpaaten whispered as her heart beat increased with her growing courage to ask the woman who bore her about her deepest desires. “It is the real reason why you remove me and Tut from the throne. It is why you knew you would become Pharaoh.”
Nefertiti squeezed her shoulders tight. “Silence your tongue.” Her hot breath carried her words in a hushed flurry. “I removed you from the throne to save your life. These are very political times, daughter.” She shook Ankhesenpaaten’s shoulders. “You would do well to distance yourself from me. I will try to undo the damage your father and Smenkare did, so that when I am gone, you and Nefe will have a life of peace, not of paranoia and conspiracy.” Her nostrils flared. “My father always told me that one must never assume anything when one is given authority. Doing so will be your downfall.”
After a moment of reflection, Ankhesenpaaten continued, “Even if I did believe you . . . why the false gods, Mother?”
“Daughter . . .” Nefertiti sighed. “O daughter, forgive me!” She placed a hand on her cheek and found the back of her neck with the other. “I have taught you by my example, and that I cannot take back. But know this—Amun-Re is and has always been the premiere god of Egypt.”
Ankhesenpaaten took a step back and pushed her mother’s hands away. “The Aten is the only true god.” Her brow furrowed as it shielded her eyes from the sun’s rays overhead.
“You will realize that your father was mad,” Nefertiti said, clenching her fist in anger—at her father or at her, Ankhesenpaaten wasn’t sure. Nefertiti went on, “I’m not asking you to believe it now at this moment, but in time you will know it to be true.”
“My father was not mad. He loved me—”
“And I did not?”
Ankhesenpaaten bit her tongue as she drew farther away, choosing her words carefully.
“You were never there.”
She turned and left the throne room
, leaving Nefertiti speechless.
It was as if someone had kicked her in the chest as Nefertiti struggled to draw in a breath. A tear fell and she chewed on her tongue to stop the flow. Finally, Nefertiti put her hand to her forehead as she whispered to the spot where Ankhesenpaaten was standing:
“One day you will understand . . . I sacrificed so much for the greater of Egypt.”
She looked to the door where her daughter had left as her hand dropped, defeated.
“I hope you can come to appreciate that . . . and I swear upon my life you will never have to do the same.”
Nefertiti walked to the council room where Horemheb, Ay, and Paaten waited for her. Each step weighed her down until finally, when she thought she would not make it any farther, she reached the door and opened it. Their faces drew more weight on her feet until she sat in her throne. They sat afterward.
“Pharaoh,” General Paaten began. “I bear the burden of informing you we have additional concerns . . . the people do not accept a female Pharaoh, especially after the execution of Sitamun. You must marry the Crown Prince Tutankhaten. He is the last of Pharaoh Amenhotep III’s line.”
At hearing this, Horemheb’s ribs seemed to crush his lungs, but he kept a straight face.
I knew this would come. Why did I ever entertain the idea of being with her? If nothing else, she knows I care. The past year has been so hard for me to keep my distance, and yet I have failed in doing so, growing more and more in love with her.
He dreaded her marriage to the boy because it meant he could truly never have her as his own—even though he knew, deep down, that they could never be.
Why did I ever try to comfort her that night in the garden?
He answered his own question: Because she needed you.
Nefertiti looked to Horemheb and read his eyes: he agreed with Paaten’s pronouncement, but sadness lay behind them. Then she shot a look to her father, who said nothing.
“Do you agree, Ay, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses?” she asked coldly.
He pushed his lips together as he sat with his hands folded on the table in front of him. Leaning his weight into his elbows, his eyes darted between Horemheb, Paaten, and Nefertiti. Finally, he said: “The people are already wary of you because of your connection to both Akhenaten and Smenkare. For the past two decades, they have been forced into a new age for Egypt that to them was bleak and depraved. To suddenly thrust upon them a female Pharaoh, which is not of the old ways, may be too much to ask of an unwilling empire.” Ay then chewed on his lip and sat back.
“I never asked for this,” Nefertiti said as she tapped her fingers on the table and brought her other hand to her forehead. The thought of marriage to the young boy, even if just ceremonial, tore at her soul. “You told me we would go back to Amun as soon as power was regained from the Amun priesthood,” she spat at her father.
“That was the plan, but Akhenaten became ill in the head, as you well know,” Ay said as he pressed his hands into the table, clearly annoyed his daughter still had not forgiven him. “What is done is done.”
“Pharaoh, just marry the boy. You can act in his place until he reaches an age of understanding,” General Paaten offered.
Nefertiti shook her head slowly. “And be doomed to a life of what? Loneliness?” She looked to Horemheb again. His eyes had fallen to the table: he didn’t like it either. Her gaze went back to General Paaten. “How is Tut any different than me? He is just as connected, if not more so, to Akhenaten and Smenkare. He is their blood! I am only related through marriage.”
“Queen Tiye was my sister,” Ay pointed out. “You are still blood related, and you are a woman.”
“The boy is young,” Paaten said to mitigate the fierce look Nefertiti shot at her father. “The people still think him innocent enough to not have learned a great deal from his father.”
“So what is it, then?” Nefertiti yelled at the three of them. “Am I an old, biased coward?!”
The room remained silent.
Nefertiti tapped her fingers harder, then slapped her palm down on the table. “If they want a male Pharaoh who is truly not influenced by Akhenaten or Smenkare, I need to marry someone else.” Nefertiti crossed her arms as she thought.
“Who would you marry?” Horemheb asked, knowing it could not be himself—although he wished desperately that it were true. “All are beneath you. There aren’t any other male Egyptian royals.”
“Pawah,” Paaten muttered. “But only by marriage to Beketaten, and I wouldn’t trust him.”
“My brother Anen only had daughters,” Ay said, shaking his head.
“What if we use our newly formed alliance with the Hittites?” Nefertiti said, squeezing her hand into a fist. She didn’t want to marry a nasty, hairy Hittite who only bathed once a week or less, but she’d rather that than Tut.
Ay tilted his head to the side. “What are you saying, daughter?”
“I ask for a Hittite prince to marry.” A sheen of sweat appeared on her brow and cheeks as she flexed her fingers before pulling them back into a fist. “I can keep the crown, and the people . . . the people will have their male Pharaoh.”
“No—absolutely not,” Paaten blurted out. His chest puffed in agitation. “The people would see that as treason. They would see you giving away the Egyptian empire to the Hittites. Surely then you would have a full-blown rebellion on your hands, putting everything that we have done in vain.”
“I refuse to marry Tut!” Nefertiti pounded her hand down on the table, looking the three of them in the eyes one after the other. “If I am pressed, I will ask the Hittites to send a prince.”
“Why not Tut, Nefertiti?” Ay asked.
“You know why! He is the product of Akhenaten and Henuttaneb!” Her heart raced as a red glow burned her cheeks. The words stung her heart. Even after all this time, the betrayal of her husband’s promise to her still left a fresh wound, and Tut would forever be a visual reminder of her shortcomings.
“Your pride rivals the blindness of Akhenaten’s zeal for the Aten,” Ay said, shaking his head. “I cannot protect you if you do not do what the people ask.”
“You will not protect me,” Nefertiti corrected, and saw the same hurt cross his eyes as she saw in the corridor after Akhenaten’s funeral procession.
“Marry the boy,” Horemheb pleaded. “Give the people what they want. They have been deprived for so long. The military cannot withstand all of Egypt rising up against you, my Pharaoh. This is the only viable option.” He couldn’t bear to see her dead. If she married Tut, at least she’d be alive.
Nefertiti stood up like an arrow released from the archer’s bow, locking Horemheb’s gaze as the color drained from her face. Her eyes shimmered with unspoken words: Not you, too.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “We are dismissed.”
That evening Horemheb found Nefertiti walking the halls alone again. He shook his head in silent disapproval, knowing she took a chance with her life being by her lonesome like this. At least she was close to her chambers.
If it weren’t for me, would she take such a risk? he wondered. I did come looking for her like I do most nights I am in the palace. It must stop. It is not worth Pharaoh making unwise decisions.
He realized he had gotten too close to her. The echo of his footsteps gave him away. She stopped and turned toward him with a thin grimace.
“Does sleep still evade you, Pharaoh?” Horemheb asked with a bow, hoping to evade her scrutiny.
“Does it you?” Nefertiti asked as she crossed her arms.
“Yes.” His gaze shifted to the floor between them.
“You told me to marry another.” She narrowed his eyes. “I thought you cared for me. You told me. You come find me every night you are here to speak to me.” Her voice turned breathless. “You held me in my sorrow.”
Her whisper pricked his heart and her hot glare burned his chest as his eyes lifted to face her. “Yes, my Pharaoh.” Her full lips and big, almond eyes allured him, but he
stood his ground. Soon, if she married Tut, he could no longer entertain any thoughts of her, for they would only drive him mad or cause him to commit the crime of laying with another man’s wife.
“Why? Why would you do that?” she whispered through her teeth.
Her question stabbed his heart. Because we can never be! he wanted to yell. You are Pharaoh! I am the Commander! I am sorry for ever stepping outside of my status.
She paused before asking her next question, knowing that after the question left her lips, their entire relationship would change one way or the other. She gathered her courage and rationalized that even if his answer was yes, she was still Pharaoh and he was still the Commander. They would act like civilized adults and carry on their responsibilities without incident—or so she hoped. The desire to know overtook her mind in her time of vulnerability, so much so that she opened her mouth to speak and cast off the consequences.
“Did I misinterpret your actions? Were they truly only out of kindness?”
He found her eyes. “No.”
“Then why?” She pressed her jaw together, bracing in anticipation for his response; and yet her heart felt half of its burden fall away, relieved he did in fact feel the same way about her.
The corners of his mouth fell, and he shook his head. “You know why, my Pharaoh.”
Her chin trembled as she pushed away the sinking feeling in her stomach.
“It’s not fair,” she whimpered.
Her shoulders crumpled, and Horemheb took a few steps forward, wanting to sweep her up in his embrace and wrap her body in his. He stopped when she raised her hand to halt him.
She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “Will you escort me to my chambers?”
“Yes, my Pharaoh,” he said, and let her lead the way as he walked slightly to the side and behind her. She said nothing while they walked, and, following her lead, he kept silent. When they reached her chamber doors, Horemheb noticed Ineni was not outside.
Secrets in the Sand Page 17
