Valley of the Kings

by Terrance Coffey

  Behind the curtain, Queen Ty cringed at Amenhotep’s confession. He had once told her the same thing, in almost exactly the same words.

  Lupita’s garment dropped to the ground, and she entered Amenhotep’s bed. She straddled him and shared a passionate kiss. The queen wanted to take a step closer to get a better look but was afraid that they’d notice the shadow that her body cast on the floor. So she remained behind the curtain, intermittently peeking in, jealous of what she could see of the perky breasts on Lupita’s young, petite frame and how her presence affected Amenhotep—how it changed him and made him feel whole and virulent. The young girl appeared to have restored the self-confidence he possessed in his youth, something Ty was now incapable of doing.

  “What about the queen?” asked Lupita. “Did you love her the same way in the beginning?”

  Queen Ty’s attention piqued at the mention of her name.

  “You irritate me now with these questions,” Amenhotep snapped.

  “We promised we would hide nothing from each other. I’ve told you everything, Amenhotep.”

  “No one reveals everything.”

  “I have to you,” said Lupita.

  Amenhotep’s demeanor softened at her sincerity. “In the beginning, there was intense passion between us. Ty had deep respect for me, and I loved her more than anything.”

  “And now?”

  “Now she spites me by bearing a son who is deformed and weak. The boy is a curse to me and a constant reminder of my own shortcomings,” Amenhotep growled just before his face softened again. “In you, my beautiful Lupita, my seed will grow to be strong and courageous, a gift from the almighty Amun.”

  He kissed Lupita and caressed her slight swollen belly, proof that the queen’s suspicion of her pregnancy was true. Queen Ty couldn’t stand to conceal herself any longer. She stepped inside the bedchamber with the tray in hand.

  Lupita’s cat, Bastian, jumped up from the floor onto the bed, arched its back, and hissed at the sight of the queen.

  Amenhotep’s eyes filled with rage. Lupita grabbed the bed sheets and covered herself.

  “What are you doing here? Get out!” he screamed at Ty.

  It had no effect. There was a surreal calm about her that couldn’t be shaken.

  “There’s no reason to be rude. I imagined my husband and his secondary wife would be starving after so much activity.”

  “My servants will attend to me. I want you out,” said Amenhotep.

  She placed the tray of fruit, wine, and flowers down on the table. Lupita slid from the bed and dressed herself.

  “Don’t be foolish,” the queen replied. “Who can attend to you better than your chief wife?”

  Ty removed a piece of fruit from the tray and divided it into three pieces. She glanced over at Lupita as she put on the last of her garments.

  “Lady Lupita, I hope you’re not covering yourself on my account, I assure you, I’ve seen many unshaven parts between a woman’s legs in my lifetime. Would you like something to eat?” she asked with a faux smile on her face.

  Queen Ty held out a piece of fruit to her. Lupita shook her head, so Ty bit into the fruit herself, picked up a flower from the tray, and examined it.

  “The lotus blossom. Sublime, isn’t it? Because it sinks under the river at night. Some call it the flower of death. How unfortunate no one appreciates the beauty of it rising from the river at dawn. I call it ‘the flower of life.’”

  The queen pressed the flower to her nose and inhaled. “So heavenly,” she said, before sauntering over to Lupita and pressing it against hers.

  “Doesn’t it smell divine, Lady Lupita?”

  Lupita trembled as she inhaled the scent. “Yes, it does, my queen.”

  Queen Ty placed the flower in Lupita’s hair and stepped back to admire it. “There. You look beautiful.”

  “You’re very kind,” Lupita answered.

  Amenhotep looked aghast at what the queen was about to do. “I’m warning you, Ty. Don’t!”

  She ignored him and pressed her lips against Lupita’s in a sensual kiss. The girl appeared stunned and frightened by it. Queen Ty then returned her attention to Amenhotep.

  “What would you prefer, my dear husband? Will it be beer or wine for your thirst?”

  Not waiting for a response, she poured wine from a vase into a jar and held it out to him. Amenhotep glared at her speechless, refusing to take it.

  “Leave us, Lupita,” Amenhotep ordered.

  When she took a step to leave, the queen moved in front of her.

  “By the gods, no, please stay, Lupita.”

  Lupita caught sight of Amenhotep’s furious expression. He didn’t have to say another word.

  “It’s best I go,” said Lupita as she picked up Bastian and rushed out of the bedchamber.

  Appearing disappointed, Queen Ty returned the fruit and wine back to her tray. Amenhotep was dumbfounded.

  “Have you gone mad? It’s only by the mercy of Hathor that I’ve kept you as queen,” he said as he rose from the bed and dressed himself.

  Ty did her best to quell her anger so that when she asked her most important question she would sound calm.

  “How could you humiliate him?”

  “Humiliate? How?”

  “Did you not tell our only son he would never become king?”

  “The boy is an abomination.”

  His words were painful and she shook her head in frustration, but still kept her composure. “He is a prince that cherishes his father,” said the queen.

  “His deformity could corrupt the royal bloodline. I can’t allow that to happen.”

  “The only corruption is your cruelty to him. You must acknowledge your son.”

  Hearing the word “son” caused Amenhotep to clench his teeth. The pain in his mouth returned. He snarled back at her. “Tuthmosis was my son. The blood that runs through Teppy is poison.”

  “The same blood that runs through Teppy’s veins runs through yours. You gave him your name, Amenhotep!” she said.

  “That was before I knew what he truly was.”

  Amenhotep’s lips pursed, a clear warning for Ty not to press him further. She had seen the same look many times before when Amenhotep made a decision to decapitate someone. Although the chance of losing her life was frightening, losing her son’s birthright was unthinkable. It would be the first step to her being banished from royalty and replaced with the younger, more beautiful, Lupita.

  “He’s your son,” Queen Ty insisted. “You will acknowledge him.”

  “He is cursed as an abomination.”

  “Cursed by whom? Sia and Neper? Those despicable twin priests? Can’t you see they want to destroy our children so there is no true heir, and when that’s done, what do you think they will do? They will conjure a spell to invalidate all of us to the people. They want to rule Egypt!”

  “You truly are mad,” he shrugged off.

  Ty stepped up to him and caressed his face. “Teppy is just a child, the only son we have left. I have no one else. You can father many children with your mistresses. Teppy is my only reason to live. Give him a chance to grow stronger. I promise you he will. Don’t let the Amun priests take away his birthright. It's all he has.”

  Amenhotep pulled away from her and fastened the remaining part of his garment.

  “With the loss of your fertility, your beauty and sanity have faded. You are the mother of a useless child. Soon Lupita will bear me a son, and he will be my heir. This is the judgement of Amun. Sia and Neper have revealed it to me. Teppy will have no right to the throne.”

  Stunned by his words, Queen Ty took her hands away from his face, picked up the tray, and walked out of the room, panicked at what terrible fate awaited her and Teppy with the birth of Lupita’s child.

  CHAPTER 8

  Amenhotep was known as “the great builder of Egypt,” but for Queen Ty, the Colonnade Hall was not one of his greater achievements. The seven pairs of thirty-cubit-high papyrus shaped columns wer
e impressive, yet hardly remarkable in her eyes. The hall was merely an entrance to the Amun temple, the home of its tarnished priests, and an obvious waste of limestone built on the recommendation of Sia and Neper for their own self-gratification, not to honor her husband, nor Egypt.

  A year after Tuthmosis’s death was still much too soon for the queen to attend a public celebration, but Amenhotep had insisted she attend the hall’s dedication. This had been an ambitious project for the pharaoh. During construction, he had changed the dimensions of the hall to be three times larger than what had been originally planned. Consequently, the builders could not complete the eastern walls in time. Instead of postponing the celebration, as the queen assumed he would do, he went on with it. Even unfinished, the hall opening attracted thousands of citizens cheering at the passing of their royal chariot as it led the procession through the crowded street.

  Amenhotep had fallen asleep while Queen Ty peered out the chariot window at the Egyptian people, disgusted at how the Amun priests had them all under their control.

  An old man balancing himself with a walking stick in one hand led his donkey toward their chariot with the other. One of Amenhotep’s royal guards stepped in front of him, preventing the man from reaching them.

  “Step back,” she heard the guard say.

  The old man pointed at the royal chariot, wheezing to catch his breath. “I have to see the pharaoh.”

  “You have no business with the pharaoh. Move away.”

  “It’s urgent that I’m granted his mercy, please.”

  “Address your petitions for mercy to the district overseer. Off the road. Now.”

  The man obeyed and led his donkey away, but the moment the guard turned his attention to the crowd, he trudged back onto the road and right up to Amenhotep’s chariot. His sudden presence startled the queen, and she moved back from the chariot’s window to avoid having to interact with him. Once she had been attacked by a crazed citizen who had gone mad from an overdose of the cure. The man had broken through her line of royal guards and managed to strike her across the face. He was quickly apprehended and executed, but since that instance, Ty carried a flint knife that she concealed in an inner pocket of her garment for protection.

  The queen reached to retrieve it, then suddenly relaxed because the man appeared decrepit and incapable of causing her any harm. He leaned into her chariot window and whispered a message. “I will wait for you a hundred cubits from the rear entrance in a soldier’s chariot,” he said.

  The queen glared at him, baffled.

  His manner of speech was that of an official of the city, yet his clothing was tattered and torn like the lowliest of peasants in the village. He had long gray hair that was combed behind his ears and onto his shoulders, framing his clean-shaven face. It was difficult to tell if the old man was a representative of the court of Thebes or just another crazed impoverished citizen.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “If you desire to steal away to the Oracle, this is the only chance you will have before the inundation,” said the man. His eyes dotted back and forth between her and the road.

  The pharaoh’s guard had spotted him again. Furious, he headed back in the old man’s direction.

  “You must come within the hour if we are to make the journey before sundown. Your brother, Ay, will alert you at the proper moment.”

  By the time the old man spoke the last word of his message to the queen, the guard had reached and snatched him up by the collar of his garment. His walking stick dropped to the ground.

  “What did I tell you, old man?” said the guard sneering at him.

  “I will move off the road as you wish, my lord, but have patience with me. I am feeble and slow.”

  The guard released his grip, and the old man picked up his walking stick and marched off with his donkey around a band of musicians accompanying the procession. The rhythmic music was joined by a troupe of acrobatic dancers all dressed in kilts, holding sticks carved in the shape of a hand at one end. As they performed flips and acrobatics, they repeatedly struck the sticks together. The noise awakened Amenhotep, and his eyes opened to Queen Ty’s stare.

  The chariot came to a halt at the entrance of the massive hall. Without speaking a word to her, the pharaoh poked his head out of the chariot window and waved at the cheering crowd.

  Queen Ty remained quiet, more concerned about the true identity of the old man and why her brother Ay had trusted what appeared to be a peasant with her plan to visit the Oracle. Interrupting her thoughts, Amenhotep stepped out and extended his hand to her. She wouldn’t take it. He motioned for her to exit the chariot again; she refused again.

  “Step out and greet them, or I’ll have your head ripped from your body,” he said through clenched teeth, clearly in pain again.

  When she didn’t immediately react to his command, Amenhotep snatched the queen up by her arm and pulled her out of the chariot. Playing to the enthusiasm of the crowd, he embraced her, and the queen relented to his act, waved, and forced a smile, which was acknowledged with thunderous applause.

  Amenhotep climbed the stairs of the Colonnade Hall with a confident stride. He stood in front of a copper-plated podium, which reflected brilliant rays of light out to the citizens. The queen followed, rubbing her throbbing arm where he had grabbed her. She took her position behind him, among his royal guards and advisors.

  Three baroque shrines were then carried through the hall on the shoulders of twenty-four Amun priests dressed in white robes. The priests placed each one on a golden pedestal.

  Amenhotep pointed at the shrines and addressed the crowd.

  “Behold. Before you, enclosed in their sacred shrines, the form of the gods Amun, Mut, and Khonsu.”

  The people bowed to Amenhotep, all except Sia and Neper. The two priests directed their threatening gaze at Queen Ty before they walked away, leaving her unsettled.

  AS AMENHOTEP RECITED VERSES from the tomb of his father to the crowd, Ay marched up the Colonnade stairs and took his position next to Queen Ty. He acknowledged his sister with a nod—a sign that what the old man had told her was true and that her moment to exit the ceremony had come.

  While Amenhotep continued addressing the crowd, Queen Ty took a step backward and, in a dissimulative fashion, walked indolently toward the rear of the complex, and Ay moved over into the position where she had stood. He would be the one that would offer the excuse of her sudden illness if the pharaoh inquired about her absence.

  When the queen reached the Colonnade’s courtyard, the old man was waiting for her next to a soldier’s chariot without his walking stick. It confirmed her suspicion that his frail appearance and labored gait had been a clever ruse to fool the royal guard.

  She stepped inside and took her seat, and he handed her a scarf bundled up in a garment.

  “It’s commoner clothing that your brother left for you. It would be advantageous that you wear it if your plan is not to be recognized as royalty,” he replied.

  Queen Ty examined the clothing. It was of poor workmanship and made from unrefined cloth. Ay had supplied her with everything she needed to complete her incandescent visit to the Oracle’s home, including the clothing of a peasant.

  The old man turned his back to her.

  “You are free to change, my Queen. I will remain in this position until you’re finished.”

  To be sure he kept his word, the queen eyed the old man carefully as she changed into her disguise. After her transformation was complete, he tugged the reigns of the chariot horse and they traveled away from the Colonnade Hall at a brisk pace. The old man escorted the queen up a secluded path high in the hills of the village until they came upon a quaint, dome-shaped house made of mud bricks—the home of the Oracle.

  It bewildered her that such a supreme one would reside in such a quotidian house. The Oracle was the most powerful priest in all of Egypt, some even believed him to be more powerful than the Amun god. He warned the citizens about the coming plagues and cu
rses in advance so they could prepare themselves. The Oracle delivered justice to the lowly ones who were denied it by the priests or their fellow citizens. It was thought that without him and his prayers to the god Hapi for the inundation, the people would all perish and Egypt would become a desolate wasteland. The queen was convinced that the Oracle would deliver the justice she so deserved.

  The old man remained behind, and Ty stepped out of the chariot. In the distance, a boy about eleven years of age sat on the ground near the entrance of the dome, holding a stick with a dead rat skewered on the end of it. He held the rat over a campfire, turning and twisting it, trying to get it to cook faster. Eager to satisfy his hunger, the boy took a bite and burned his tongue. He winced and blew on the rat to cool it.

  The queen approached him with her head, nose, and mouth concealed by the scarf.

  “Is this where I will find the Oracle?” she asked.

  The boy glanced at her before taking another bite of the toasted rat. Juices dripped from his mouth, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am a servant of the pharaoh, here to solicit the Oracle’s knowledge for a price,” the queen said.

  The boy laid the skewered rat on the ground.

  “A price. Good. Follow me,” he said.

  Queen Ty followed the boy into the dark domed space where a bald, albino dwarf in a white kilt was sitting on the ground in front of a small fire, his eyes shut. His bare chest and arms were covered with tattoos that appeared distorted because of his wrinkled, sun-scorched skin. No part of his body was left unmarked. A tattoo of a scorpion marred the center of his forehead, and around his neck, the queen noted a black-coiled collar. He was a fragile, elderly man of about eighty-five years of age. According to what Ay had told her, he had served over sixty years as the Oracle.

  She took a careful step toward him. The dwarf’s collar uncoiled. She gasped. It was not a collar at all, but a black mamba. The snake hissed in her direction and coiled tighter around its host’s neck. The dwarf’s eyes snapped open and tightly focused on her.