Valley of the Kings

by Terrance Coffey

  After she returned Teppy to his room, she took her concerns to Ay. He was painting a carved relief on his chamber walls, dipping his reed into a jar of water then onto his scribe’s palette filled with red and yellow ochre, malachite, orpiment and carbon black pigment powder. She was silent at first as he painted the scene of him and his family kneeling in worship to the Aten. The vibrant carving was framed with a long prayer inscribed in hieroglyphics.

  “He brought her cat back to torment me,” said Queen Ty, expecting a response from her brother. Ay was more interested in painting his symbols perfectly.

  “I could see the contempt in his eyes,” she continued. “Anyone else that disrespected a queen of Egypt as such would be put to death on the spot, but Amenhotep does nothing but spew out accolades about his beloved general.”

  Her brother kept his silence.

  “Are you listening to me?” she asked.

  “General Horemheb is a man of war. I don’t believe his intentions are against you. His desire is to please the pharaoh.”

  “Yes, to please the pharaoh and to destroy me.”

  “You have him all wrong, my queen,” said Ay, his eyes still focused on the wall as he brushed another stroke of his reed onto the carving. Queen Ty lashed out and jerked his arm away from it, making him deface a large section. Now she had Ay’s undivided attention.

  “I want Lupita’s cat out of this palace! Return it to the beasts of the fields from where it came,” she said.

  Ay put down his brush and turned to her, his voice shrouded in empathy.

  “Queen, I would be put to death if I harmed a cat in the slightest way, you know that. And the Bastet god would curse us both throughout eternity.”

  “I’m not asking you to harm it,” she replied. “Just get rid of it.”

  At that moment, a palace servant entered, surprised to see Queen Ty, and bowed in front of her.

  “Forgive me for the intrusion,” he said, before turning his attention to Ay. “My lord, the pharaoh is suffering and calling out for you.”

  The servant left the room, and Ay put on his linen cloak.

  “I’ll come,” said the queen.

  “No. Wait here, I will return,” Ay replied removing the lid from a large pottery jar.

  He reached inside, pulled out three pouches and rushed out of the room to the pharaoh’s chamber.

  The queen believed Ay’s reluctance in allowing her to join him was not of his own volition, but connected to Amenhotep’s insistence that she not witness their ritual with the cure. So she sat in Ay’s chamber and waited as she was instructed.

  AS KING TUSHRATTA BATHED with two of his female servants, three of his guards barged into his bath chamber. Tushratta teetered onto his side to stand and the women wrapped a robe around him. He welcomed the soldiers, expecting to see his son Shattiwaza, along with them.

  “Where is he?” asked Tushratta.

  Ornus, the captain of his royal guards, stepped forward. Military captains were almost always chosen based on their combat skills and above-average height and size. Ornus was the exception; a short man with a diminutive stature, chosen by Tushratta because of his cleverness to outsmart his military rivals.

  “He’s gone,” replied Ornus with his head down.

  “I ordered you to follow him.”

  “My king, we followed him as best we could, but he switched horses and tricked us. We thought he would travel east to the Assyrian province but didn’t find him there.”

  “Then where is he?” asked Tushratta, his anger rising. “And I suggest you not tell me you don’t know.”

  Tushratta dislodged one of his copper discuses from the wall. The razor-sharp edges were still intact. Ornus looked fearful.

  “A merchant on the main road claims they saw him riding north,” Ornus mumbled.

  “North?” repeated Tushratta. He flipped the razor-edged copper discus back and forth across his fingers, a habit that would surface whenever he was anxious or angry. “Do you know what lies to the north, Ornus?”

  “The Milid Valley, Sire.”

  “Yes, Ornus, the Milid Valley. Of the Hittite province! You’re telling me that my only son, Shattiwaza, the prince of Mitanni, is traveling into the hands of our enemy, and you’re standing here babbling to me about how you lost him?”

  “My king, it would be suicide to ride north into Hittite territory. We’re vastly outnumbered. Without the help of the Egyptians we—”

  Tushratta cut him off. “If you don’t return with my son, I’ll kill your wives, your children, and anyone else who happens to be a guest in your house. Do I make myself clear?”

  Ornus nodded.

  “Find him!” Tushratta screamed as he hurled the copper discus at Ornus. It barely missed his head and lodged deep into the wall.

  AFTER A THIRD HOUR OF WAITING patiently for Ay to return news about the condition of her husband, Queen Ty grew restless. She stared at herself in the copper mirror on Ay’s wall and outlined the wrinkles on her face with a finger, then pulled the skin back on both sides to create a temporary youthful appearance. If she were younger, if her skin hadn’t been so marred by a life of pain and anguish, Amenhotep would love her again, and he would yearn to be as one with her. If her heart was not willfully kept so guarded, he could reach it and once again gain her trust.

  Lupita’s demise had been meant to allay the queen’s deficiencies in the eyes of her husband; instead, it shed light on it and exasperated his illness. She blamed herself for his deteriorating condition and believed that if she nursed him herself, he could overcome his ailment. No prayers or spells from the Amun priests. No more doses of the cure, only care and nurturing from the one who had always loved him from the beginning.

  It should be her and not Ay who was at his bedside administering to her husband. Ty could not wait a moment longer. She rushed out of Ay’s quarters, determined to take her rightful place next to Amenhotep. When she entered his chamber, she found a single lit candle on the floor. She picked it up and used it to light the others. They illuminated Amenhotep sitting up in bed, his head down and a bedcover over his legs.

  “Amenhotep?”

  She walked up to him and lifted his chin.

  “Amenhotep?”

  His eyes were empty and staring straight ahead at the wall. The queen snatched her hand away. Amenhotep’s head fell limp and lifeless. She took a step back and stared at him. “No,” she kept repeating over and over again and shaking her head. Ty suddenly ripped her garment and began beating herself in the chest with her fists as she squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears from flowing. The queen had feared the cure would one day bring about Amenhotep’s demise, but there was always the hope she carried that he would conquer the addiction and come to rely on her instead. For reasons unknown, the Aten had judged it not to be.

  The queen gained control over her emotions, stepped forward again and caressed his face. His skin was gray and cold to the touch. She closed both his eyelids and tenderly kissed his lips. Her husband, Amenhotep the Third, the great builder, the beloved pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt, was dead.

  In Amenhotep’s lap she counted thirteen pouches and numerous poppy capsules punctured and drained of their opium latex. He was clutching a scroll in one hand, and in the other, a flint knife.

  Suddenly, Bastian lifted its head from underneath the pharaoh’s bedcover and snarled at the queen. Petrified at the sight of his razor sharp teeth, she froze. The cat lunged forward at the precise moment that Ty grabbed the knife from Amenhotep’s hand. She raised her arm to protect her face from the cat’s claws and slashed at its torso repeatedly until the animal stopped moving and the sound of its snarling ceased. She would need to dismember the head from its connection to the heart to thoroughly vanquish its spirit. Accordingly, the queen swiped the knife across Bastian’s neck until the head was severed from the body. Streaks of blood covered her face and Amenhotep’s body, and both her arms were littered with scratches. She paused a moment to calm herself. It was
then, in the aftermath, that she felt the sting of Bastian’s scratches as if razors had sliced across her skin.

  Queen Ty removed the scroll from Amenhotep’s hand. In the center of his palm appeared a dark purplish bruise that she could not recall ever seeing before. Ignoring the oddity of it, she continued unrolling the scroll, reading the inscription as best she could. Just as she suspected, Amenhotep had ordained Horemheb as pharaoh over Teppy. A tear rolled down her cheek. Her greatest fear had come to pass, but the Aten god had looked down on her with mercy, and had seen to it that she would visit Amenhotep’s chamber at the appropriate time to make things right.

  The queen took the scroll and hid it inside her blood-stained garment. She then moved to gather up all the pouches of opium. Once she had it all concealed away, she fled Amenhotep’s chamber never to return.

  Part II

  “Man must learn that what he does will have consequences.”

  —Precinct of Amun-Re

  CHAPTER 15

  There was great fanfare that day as a mammoth crowd gathered in the grand courtyard of Thebes. Twelve years of presiding herself over the land of Egypt after Amenhotep’s death, Queen Ty would now anoint her son Teppy, now at eighteen years of age, pharaoh.

  As a child-king, Teppy was uninformed on how to speak or behave as a pharaoh. The prayers, the food and animal sacrifices to the gods, the meetings directing the military with General Horemheb, and the “State of Affairs” decisions with the viceroy, were all things as a child he had been unable to do. Not even at sixteen did Teppy prove competent enough to take on the full responsibility of pharaoh. Queen Ty was always there as his co-regent, standing by his side to represent him, to guide his footsteps down the right path. Now on his eighteenth birthday, Teppy had become a man, deserving the title of king, and she would relinquish full control over the country to him.

  When she placed the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt on his head and proclaimed him pharaoh, everyone cheered and applauded. Teppy knew well of General Horemheb’s perfunctory support of his ascension. The general stood at the side of his throne applauding with the others. Sia and Neper feigned support as well. Teppy knew better than to trust any of the three of them. He never forgot how maliciously the twin priests had treated him as a child and the disdain they had shown for his brother Tuthmosis, assuring his death. He never forgot the day of his father’s internment when Horemheb harassed his mother about a scroll he claimed Amenhotep had written giving the general the throne of Egypt over him. At this moment of his own crowning, Teppy dared not look their way. Instead, he focused his attention on the part of the ceremony that would bring him insurmountable joy—his marriage.

  Two women waited to take Teppy’s hand that day. One was Kiya, the daughter of Tushratta—king of Mitanni, who had once been promised to his father. Teppy’s marriage to her was foremost an act of pity; second, it served to appease Tushratta in securing Egypt’s alliance with the Mitanni kingdom as his father had decreed. It was the other marriage Teppy most looked forward to.

  Though as children he played with many of his cousins who would visit him in the palace, he was drawn to his cousin Sete the most because of her kindness and gregariousness. Never had she teased him about his physical deficiency or treated him any differently because of it. While the other children would sometimes pity him, Sete paid little attention to his deformity. She was his mother’s favorite niece, the daughter of his Uncle Ay, and through the years, as he served as co-ruler with his mother, Teppy witnessed Sete blossom into a woman. In his eyes, there was no one in the world more beautiful than her.

  Attended by three of her maidservants, Sete approached Teppy’s throne in a procession adorned with mandrakes and perfumes. As she approached, Teppy spoke the name for which she would be called from that day forward—Nefertiti: “The beautiful one has come.”

  Nefertiti bore no feelings of jealousy about Teppy’s second wife. She was content that her status and beauty were beyond Kiya’s. The Mitanni princess would be an afterthought to her husband while she herself would be the Great Royal Wife.

  When Nefertiti’s procession reached the base of Teppy’s throne, the new pharaoh stood up to greet her, leaning on a wooden cane. Teppy didn’t need the cane to stand that day, but he was accustomed to having it with him in case his legs unexpectedly buckled under him. His body changed often, so he needed to be prepared at a moment’s notice. Teppy had grown tall and slender, and his hips and belly widened like a woman close to giving birth. His fingers, arms and legs grew disproportionately longer in relation to the rest of his body. Even his face had elongated and narrowed. Teppy resembled no one, human or animal. He believed as his mother told him, he was evolving into a god, and the shape of his body was the perfect manifestation of the Aten god itself.

  The Aten amulet his brother had given him as a child was still around his neck. He had never stopped wearing it and often wondered if Tuthmosis would still be alive if he hadn’t passed it down to him. It hurt too much to think of what he believed was the obvious answer.

  Nefertiti stepped up to Teppy, reached out, and examined the amulet, holding it between her fingers.

  “You are the pharaoh that the Aten has chosen to shine its light upon,” said Nefertiti with eyes that mesmerized him and a presence that healed him. He pulled her body close to his. It was wrong, even forbidden, for a pharaoh to display affection for his wife in front of the Egyptian people. On that day, what the people thought was of no concern to him. Teppy couldn’t resist the temptation of pressing his lips against hers. Her mouth tasted of pomegranate and honey, and she reciprocated his kiss with her tongue. The Aten had brought them together that day never to be apart.

  TO AMENHOTEP IV (Teppy), king of Egypt, from Suppiliuimas, king of Hatti:

  The messages I sent your father when he was alive, and the wishes he expressed to me will certainly be renewed between us. Oh king, I did not reject anything your father commanded, and your father never neglected any of the wishes I expressed, but granted me everything. Why have you, my brother, refused to send me what your father during his lifetime sent me?

  Now my brother, you have acceded to the throne of your father, and, similarly, as your father and I have sent each other gifts of friendship, I wish good friendship to exist between you and me. I often expressed this wish to your father. We certainly shall make it come true between us. Do not refuse, my brother, what I wished to receive from your father. It concerns two statues of gold, one standing and the other sitting, two silver statues of women, a chunk of lapis-lazuli, and some other jewels. They are not gifts in the true sense of the word, but rather, as in the majority of such cases, objects of a commercial transaction. If my brother should decide to deliver these, as soon as my chariots are ready to carry the cloth, I shall send it to my brother. What you my brother may want, write to me, and I shall send it to my brother. 1

  Ay finished reading the tablet and handed it to Teppy.

  Two years had passed since his marriage and coronation as pharaoh, and Ay, who had been his father’s manservant, was now his. The uncle who had devoted so much of his life to taking care of him as a child had been honored to assume the grand position as Teppy’s confidant and advisor. Ruling over the two regions of Upper and Lower Egypt with its massive construction projects, tax collections, and frequent disputes preoccupied Teppy so much that he rarely had time to be in the company of his wife. Ay lessened his load by prioritizing and scheduling Teppy’s obligations so that his life would be manageable. As such, Ay designated the first full moon of the month as the day the pharaoh would review letters from kings of other lands.

  “Is it your wish to send him the gold and silver statues, my Pharaoh?” asked Ay.

  “Suppiluliumas speaks as though we don’t suspect him of murdering our Lady Lupita,” said Teppy.

  “It could have been the Nubians; we have no proof it was him.”

  “General Horemheb seems to be convinced it was.”

  “If the general was truly
convinced of king Suppiluliumas’s guilt, he would’ve attacked the Hittite regiment he encountered just thirty-three days ago,” said Ay.

  “Are you not aware that Horemheb is a patient man of honor? ‘A royal life for a royal life.’ Those were only Hittite soldiers he encountered, no one of royalty.”

  “General Horemheb, my Pharaoh, is a man who yearns for war with the Hittites.”

  “Nevertheless, I find it odd this Suppiluliumas waited twelve years after my father’s death to seek out gifts he claimed were rightfully his. Why are the gold and the lapis-lazuli important now?”

  “No matter how many years may pass, my Pharaoh, gold and lapis-lazuli will always be like the hair of the gods that only grows in abundance here in the motherland of Egypt and the kingdom of Kush.”

  “Don’t send him a thing. My father would not have agreed to such if he had had all his senses,” said Teppy.

  “Then why did you agree to send a gold statue to King Tushratta?”

  “Tushratta is Kiya’s father, Ay.”

  “Of course, my Pharaoh.”

  “Furthermore, I will not reward a foreign country that’s suspected of murdering an Egyptian queen,” said Teppy. “As long as I am pharaoh, Suppiluliumas will never see another piece of Egyptian silver or gold, nor the lapis-lazuli jewel.”

  Teppy tossed the clay tablet across the floor and it broke in half.

  THE COLLECTING OF EGYPTIAN GOLD was for King Tushratta, a source of erotic pleasure. He was overjoyed when the Egyptian messengers arrived in Mitanni with his gold statue.

  The king unveiled the statue in front a small crowd of his royal family in the Wassukanni palace. A gift from Egypt had always been, for the Mitanni, a major event. Tushratta paced around the statue inspecting and admiring the height and decadence of it. Teppy had had it especially made for him, nine cubits in height and three cubits in width. The Osiris statue was in its usual standing position with its arms crossed on its chest holding a crook and a flail. A crown with two ram horns adorned the head and a curved beard jutted from its chin. The eyes were realistically inlaid with alabaster and glass, and whenever the sunlight enveloped it, the golden statue shimmered.