Mundi told them stories about their mother they had never heard, stories of her kindness to young animals and how, when they were children, their mother would make her laugh by painting ghastly masks on their faces with lip paint and black kohl and how they’d frighten their father, Ay, by waking him from his slumber with their distorted faces, screaming as loud as they could.
Tut enjoyed the stories of his mother’s life as a child, but it was his father’s childhood that he yearned to know more about. Mundi had no stories to tell of him, neither did Horemheb. It was as if his father never existed or had ever lived in the city of Thebes. There were statues, monuments, and inscriptions everywhere of his grandfather Amenhotep, and even more of his grandfather’s father, Thutmose IV, yet Tut could find no evidence of his father’s past life in Thebes, and no one dared to say his name.
Following the example set before them, Tut and his sisters never spoke their father’s name either. Only in secret did they express to each other how much they missed him.
IN A SIDE CHAMBER of Thebes palace, Senpaten and Mayati gathered up the ingredients they needed to make a batch of lotus perfume. The royal children had moved from Mundi and Horemheb’s home and were now living in the palace along with their many servants and guards. Their aunt and uncle would travel by chariot from their home nearby to visit them, assuring they had everything they desired to live a comfortable life, including the ingredients they requested to make their perfume, something new that they were excited to try.
Senpaten filled a pot halfway with oil and goat-fat, and Mayati added myrrh, frankincense and blue lotus flowers into the mixture. The oil absorbed the scent, creating a fragrant perfume they could rub on their bodies. When the floral aroma filled the chamber, Mayati saw how it affected Senpaten. Her sister sat on the ground and cried and Mayati sat next to her.
“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“The scent is like the one mother wore. It makes me think of her.”
“It’s okay to be sad. I think of her too. It’s a beautiful scent, and she was just as beautiful,” said Mayati.
Senpaten looked away. “It’s my fault she’s gone.”
Mayati gazed at her sister thoroughly confused. “Mother’s death was not your fault at all. Why are you saying that?”
“I know why she left her chamber the night she died.”
After years of harboring the guilt of Nefertiti’s death, Senpaten felt brave enough to tell her sister.
“Have you kept secrets from me? Tell me what happened,” said Mayati.
“I told mother about grandfather Ay.”
“What about him?”
Senpaten took a deep breath and exhaled before she answered. “I told her how he touched me like a man touches his wife, and how I was afraid of him when he would stare at me as I changed my garments. I think mother waited for me to fall asleep and went to search for him. Don’t you see Mayati, if I had never told her about grandfather, she would never have left her chamber that night. She would be alive with us today,” said Senpaten.
Mayati cradled her sister in her arms as she cried, rocking her back and forth. “I’m sorry that you felt you had to keep it to yourself,” said Mayati. “You could have told me what grandfather did to you, and I could have been there to comfort you, just as you could have comforted me if I had gone to you, and told you what our father had done to me,” said Mayati.
Senpaten looked up into her sister’s eyes stunned. “Father?” she said. “What did father do to you?”
“He was very ill and not himself. It’s okay, I didn’t feel anything,” said Mayati, her eyes watering. “He was always good to us and he didn’t mean it.”
That day, Senpaten learned that her sister held her pain inside and had locked it away as she had. The revelation that they had suffered the same defilement had brought them closer than they had ever been. Mayati was the one who needed to be consoled the most, so Senpaten suppressed her feelings of guilt about her mother’s death to comfort her sister. She gently stroked Mayati’s hair to soothe her.
“You and I will make a vow that never again will we be afraid to share our fears and secrets with each other,” said Senpaten, “as I will forever share mine with you.”
Senpaten and Mayati locked hands.
“The Aten seals our bond forever,” Mayati replied.
THE GIRLS HAD NOT SEEN TUT in the royal palace for several days. His absence concerned Senpaten and after she went to Horemheb for advice to where she might find him, he told her that Tut could be found in the Colonnade Hall. A royal guard transported her there in his chariot, and she entered the unfinished structure for the first time, intimidated by the colossal size of the thirty-cubit-high papyrus shaped columns towering the entrance.
Senpaten saw no one inside as she strolled through the corridor. There was an eerie feeling of being watched. It startled her to see a man in a flaxen-colored robe and shaved head staring at her and then walk away in the opposite direction. Nervous by his appearance, she quickened her pace, and when she turned the corner at the end of the hall, someone touched her shoulder from behind. Senpaten spun around and was startled, then relieved to see Tut.
“You frightened me,” she said as she caught her breath.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see what was keeping you from returning to the palace. Mayati and I were concerned about you.”
Tut walked over to the wall and pointed at the intricately inscribed hieroglyphics that covered it from floor to ceiling.
“It’s because of this—the many stories of our country, the wars and the strategies used to fight them. The wisdom of the powerful pharaohs that have come before me is here, Senpaten, and there is not enough time in a day to absorb it all.”
Senpaten heard little of Tut’s response. She was more concerned about the priest who still appeared to be shadowing them.
“Why is that man following us?”
“He’s one of the Amun priests. Sia doesn’t trust me,” said Tut, loud enough for the priest to hear him.
The priest gazed at them again, then turned and walked away.
“Come, I want to show you something,” he said.
Tut took Senpaten’s hand and led her to one of the monumental columns in the unfinished section of the Hall. He first eyed the perimeter to make sure the priest had left the area, then stooped down and directed Senpaten to touch the freshly carved hieroglyphics at the base of the column. When she traced the symbols with her fingers, her eyes widened and her expression was joyful.
“It’s mother and father’s name and the story of Amarna, the beautiful city father built for us,” whispered Senpaten, trying to contain her excitement. “I thought their names were erased from every building and monument in the city?”
“They were,” Tut replied. “I’ve been coming here daily and while no one was watching, I would carve it in little-by-little.”
Senpaten embraced Tut, overwhelmed with love and gratitude for her brother. He had prevented their parents’ legacy from being destroyed by the Amun priests and secured a path for their return. Moments later, after she realized that what Tut had done was dangerous, her joyful expression changed to fear.
“If the Amun priests discover what you’ve done, they will punish you, Tut.”
“I don’t care if they discover it, and I don’t care if they punish me. Our parents deserve to be here among the great pharaohs of Egypt. They are the son and daughter of the Aten and should be remembered throughout eternity.”
Senpaten hugged her brother again and they held each other longer than they had ever before. His bravery and determination to honor their parents, no matter how much it might put his life at risk, inspired her and had further emboldened him.
“I want to be pharaoh,” Tut blurted out. “It’s time.”
“Tut, you’re too young. Wait until you’re older, when you’ll be ready.”
“I am ready and I have a right to take my position.”
Tut’s ambition for the throne made Senpaten uneasy. Turmoil, pain and death ensued the life of a pharaoh, rarely would there be moments of joy and happiness. She believed Sia and the Amun priests would fight against Tut’s ascension, and Horemheb, who had once challenged her father for the throne, would likely do the same.
TWO YEARS HAD PASSED, and Tut and his sisters had settled into a daily routine that gave them a sense of security. Thebes palace had become like their palace home in Amarna, and they had developed a comfortable life with Mundi and Horemheb until their grandfather, Ay, paid them a visit and disrupted it.
He informed Tut of an imminent marriage arrangement between him and a princess from the land of Byblos that the Amun priests had ordained. The announcement petrified Tut so much that he went to Mundi for help. Tut pleaded with his aunt that he was not ready for marriage and didn’t want to marry someone he didn’t know. When Mundi confronted Ay on his behalf, he warned her that if Tut refused to go along with the arranged marriage, that the Amun priests would likely charge him and his sisters with heresy because of their former worship of the Aten god, and there would be nothing she or Horemheb could do to save them from banishment. Mundi relented and for the sake of Nefertiti’s daughters, she convinced Tut that it was best to agree with what the priests commanded.
Marriage with a stranger was unthinkable to Tut. His closest sibling was his sister, Senpaten, and they had remained inseparable since early childhood. If he married a foreigner, he would lose more than a sister; he would lose his best friend and the one he loved more than anyone else in the world. This marriage threatened to rip them apart, leaving his dear Senpaten to be alone without him. Tut feared losing her forever. The only way to keep Senpaten by his side would be to marry her instead. Marriage between members of royalty was permitted and practiced throughout the history of Egypt’s forefathers. What he didn’t know was if Senpaten felt the same way about him or if he even had the courage to ask.
The days passed quickly, and before Tut could gather the nerve to approach Senpaten with the question, Ay was dressing him for his coronation and marriage ceremony to the Byblos princess. Tut was adorned in gold and carnelian jewelry and brought forth in front of Sia and the royal court at the Colonnade Hall. Before the marriage ceremony could take place, Sia, as the leader of the Amun priests, would lead the coronation to ordain Tut pharaoh of Egypt, but in co-regency with him. The priest unrolled a papyrus scroll and read from it:
“Do you renounce the Aten as your god and dedicate yourself now to the worship of Amun and the gods of Egypt?” asked Sia.
Tut glanced at Ay on how to answer. Ay nodded his head—a cue for Tut to recite what he had taught him.
“I renounce the Aten.” “Amun is my god and the god of all gods. May the gods Osiris and Montu witness my loyalty to him.”
Tut answered Sia as if he was reading a list off a papyrus scroll. The priest didn’t seem to notice; his concern was that Tut’s answers were correct.
“Do you renounce the heresy of your mother and father, Akenaten and Nefertiti?” Sia asked.
It had been a long time since someone spoke the names of his parents. Tut looked over at Ay again for courage to bear witness against the parents he so loved.
“I do renounce my mother and father for their heresy against Amun,” said Tut, a declaration Ay instructed him to say if he was ever asked the question. “As I am king, Egypt will return to its former glory from the days of my grandfather, the great builder Amenhotep,” he added.
The crowd broke out in a roar of cheers. A thunderbolt of guilt struck through his body. How could he betray the memory of the parents he adored so much? He had to remind himself that he was saving his sisters with his words, and that his parents’ spirit would exonerate him when they returned as flesh and bone from the afterlife.
Sia placed the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt upon Tut’s head and two other Amun priests covered him with the royal king’s robe.
“Your name will no longer be Tutankhaten, you are now Tutankhamun, the co-regent pharaoh of Egypt. The time of your marriage has come. Bring forth the princess of Byblos,” ordered Sia to the palace guards.
In an elaborate procession of dancers and musicians, a woman dressed in exotic clothing of purple and red silk came forward and stood next to Tut, accompanied by thirty of her female maidservants. The Byblos princess looked twice his age, hovering over him almost a cubit taller, gaunt-thin, and cursed with a salient overbite. There was nothing special about her appearance except for the abundance of precious jewels on her body indicating the enormous wealth of her country. Tut’s heart broke. He wanted to look over at Senpaten, but feared if he did, he might burst into tears and cause her to do the same. The ceremony would assuredly break them apart if he didn’t gather up the courage to stop it.
Before Sia recited the marriage oath, the princess reached out her hand to Tut. He refused it.
“You must take her hand before we can begin,” said Sia.
Tut glanced at the Byblos princess and then at Sia. “Why is that necessary? A marriage doesn’t guarantee friendship,” Tut replied.
Sia looked at him perplexed. “Are you now refusing the marriage mandated by the Amun god?”
Senpaten’s attention peaked at Sia’s question. Tut sensed her anxiety to hear what his answer would be. After he said a silent prayer to the Aten, he broke his silence.
“If I am the pharaoh of Egypt,” he began, “then I can make the decision as to whom I should marry, can I not?” asked Tut.
Sia was taken aback by Tut’s boldness.
“No,” he said. “The decision has been made. You are obligated to marry the Byblos princess here and now.”
Horemheb stepped forward and stood side-by-side with Tut. “Sia, it’s your error that you crowned him co-regent pharaoh before he recited the marriage oath, so he most certainly has the right to make the decision as to whom he wants to marry. That is the law.”
Tut’s opinion of Horemheb changed that day. At the most devastating moment in his life, the general had come to his rescue and saved him from a miserable life with a foreign woman. If anyone in the city of Thebes was trustworthy, it would be his defender, Horemheb. The general had challenged Sia on his behalf and had easily won. Sia had no choice but to capitulate.
“True, you now have the authority to decide” Sia replied. “But what other female among us is qualified to marry a pharaoh?”
“I do not choose the Byblos princess. I choose the one I love foremost, my sister, Senpaten,” said Tut, as he finally met Senpaten’s eyes, searching for a reaction.
Mumbling and gasps filled the royal court.
To Tut’s relief, Senpaten’s eyes glistened with tears of joy and affection. It was the confirmation he sought that his sister shared his feelings. They had loved each other since they were children and now they would love each other as husband and wife.
Tut held out his hand to her, and she joined him, replacing the Byblos princess by his side.
So it was, that at the age of fourteen, in the year thirteen hundred thirty, Tut married his sister, Senpaten, in front of the citizens of Thebes. As the siblings joined hands as husband and wife, the people chanted and roared, “Long live King Tutankhamun and his Queen Senpamun!”
MERI-RA HAD REMAINED IN AMARNA, afraid of what illusions Sia and the other Amun priests might conjure up against him if he returned to Thebes. The sudden and suspicious conversion of the royal family back to the Amun god frightened him enough not to think twice about his decision.
His task from the Aten was to keep Amarna safe and functioning as a living city, no matter how daunting. The prayers and sacrifices to the Aten god must continue as they were when pharaoh Akenaten and Nefertiti ruled. His duties to the Amarna people were clear, but the path to how to complete them, blurred.
Amarna appeared desolate except for the abundance of animals roaming free throughout the city. The farmers that had remained were attending to three times the livestock and crop raising
that they were capable of handling now that the others had abandoned the city. The vegetation fields had overgrown and were infested with weeds, the village streets—littered with debris and the buildings and homes, in desperate need of maintenance or repair. The Aten priests now ruled Amarna in place of the pharaoh, and the people were comforted that the disease had not taken another life since Nefertiti’s death.
That day, as Meri-Ra crouched on the Amarna shore filling a vase with water for use in the Aten temple, a ferryboat arrived carrying Ay, Horemheb, and several of his guards. Meri-Ra was startled to see the Theban men in his village. He had made it clear to Ay upon his departure that he had no intentions of leaving Amarna. His loyalty to Akenaten and the Aten would not be shaken by promises of a better life in Thebes. Nevertheless, the men had journeyed from Thebes to once again try their hand at convincing Meri-Ra and the rest of the villagers to return to Thebes.
“You won’t be able to survive here much longer with the threat of the disease,” said Horemheb. “The citizens here will eventually need food supplies. You can convince them it’s best to return with us. They’ll listen to you,” he argued.
“No one here has contracted the disease since you took the pharaoh’s children away,” replied Meri-Ra. “We’re doing quite well raising our own food and living an honest life. Why would we want to return to a city ruled by corrupt Amun priests?”
“The boy Tut rules Egypt. He is pharaoh,” said Ay.
“You know as well as I that he is pharaoh in name only,” answered Meri-Ra. “The Amun priests will never relinquish control of Egypt to a boy-king.”
“The priests do not control Egypt, and we’re not here to quarrel with you Meri-Ra. Take us to the Aten temple,” ordered Horemheb.
Valley of the Kings Page 27
