“You think I want to do this? I already sent my sister Sitamen away because I know she hates you. That was easy enough, but I cannot do that with Tadukhipa! She is a foreign king’s daughter and she was—is—the wife of Pharaoh! How now can she be anything less?”
I could not believe the words I was hearing. After all his talk of love and fidelity Amenhotep was considering taking Tadukhipa as wife—in the truest sense of that word. With all the privileges and experiences that came with that union. “I never asked you to send Sitamen away. We are not talking about your sister!”
“Tell me, my Queen. Have you never had to make a hard decision? Have you never had to go against your own heart? Is it so different in the Red Lands?”
I wanted to scream, “Yes, I have!” but I said nothing. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, unintended words like, “I never wanted to come here!” would slip off my tongue. Or I might tell him the truth—he had not been my first love.
“This is nothing more than a formality. It will have no meaning at all, Nefertiti.”
“A formality? When is lovemaking ever just a formality? Am I supposed to believe that will satisfy Tadukhipa? You and I both know what this is about!” This was about who would be his chief queen, the Great Wife of Egypt. Tadukhipa would do everything she could to convince him to raise her to that position.
“Yes, we do, and I must think about Egypt! I am, after all, Pharaoh!”
“Then think about Egypt!” If I could have stormed out, I would have, but doing so would have broken one of the rules of court. Never turn your back on Pharaoh unless dismissed. I could not deny it—Amenhotep had the upper hand. He always did. He always would. I could not afford to put myself in jeopardy right now. No more than I was at this very moment, arguing with the man who could order the killing of my entire tribe.
Amenhotep was furious at my lack of understanding. “When I first met you, I knew that I would love you, that you would be mine. I wanted you more than any woman I have ever met because you were strong, kind and intelligent. Not just for your beauty. Use that intelligence now, Nefertiti. Do you think I don’t know how you must feel? I do know. I have spent my whole life doing things I did not want to do. This is just one more of those things.” My jealous heart resisted his reasoning. I did not want to forgive him or believe him. I did not want to accept what I must.
“The truth is, she is already my wife. I cannot now abandon her. Her uncle and cousins are here to observe my care for her. I do not need their approval, but I do not need war either. Not when half the priests are against me! Is that what you want? Will that make you happy?”
“No,” I said sullenly. “I do not want that.”
Quietly he said, “I do not think the arrival of the Hittites is a coincidence. Tadukhipa has complained to them, and now I must make a show of caring for her. It is only for a short time. Then it will be you and me again, my queen and my love.”
I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “And you will lie with her?”
“You know the answer to that.” After a minute of silence he added, “Tomorrow there will be a formal dinner to welcome the ambassadors. Then I will travel north with Tadukhipa for a few weeks.”
I stepped back. “You are leaving me for a few weeks? What am I supposed to do while you are gone?”
“It is my desire that the people see you as an extension of me. You will learn to rule, Nefertiti. You need to see the people, and they need to see you. I will instruct my steward on what to do. Follow his advice, and you will be fine.”
“I cannot believe you are leaving me,” I said in a flat voice, the weight and importance of his request not registering in my understanding yet.
“It is only for a little while. Please, Nefertiti. Now is the time to be queen. Now is the moment that counts. Think of the future.”
I stared at him wide-eyed. “What are you asking me to do?”
He reached his hand out and stroked my wet hair, toying with the ends where it was beginning to curl. “Care for the people, Nefertiti. Just as you cared for the treasures of your tribe. Show my people that you are not just my wife but the true and rightful queen of Egypt. Find some reasonable causes to defend without angering the Amun priests. I trust you in this. I know you will not fail.”
I raised my chin in acknowledgment, but I could not hide the hurt in my eyes. I refused to say anything else. What else could I say? I would never change his mind.
With a sigh he said, “It will be this way whether you like it or not.” With those words, my husband left me alone in his chambers, and I had no idea where he went.
I did not wait for him to return. I wiped the tears from my face and returned to my own rooms. The stares I received from some of the servants told me that our argument had not gone unnoticed. Everyone in the palace would know by now. What did I care? Tadukhipa could have her little victory over me—I had Pharaoh’s child in my belly! Menmet shuffled behind me and scampered in front of me to open the door.
“Do not worry, Queen Nefertiti. Menmet will help you.” She closed the curtains behind us and took my hand, leading me deeper into my chamber. In a whisper she said, “Tadukhipa will not win.”
“Were you listening to our conversation, Menmet?” I frowned at her suspiciously.
“It is no secret, my Queen. This was inevitable. Now is the time to fight and win! You must be our Great Queen. Our Pharaoh needs a good queen to care for his people. I see that you care. Menmet sees. I will help you. Do not cry, beautiful lady.” She reached out her open arms, and I fell into them. I cried on to her tiny shoulder as she crooned and stroked my hair. When my heart had wrung out all its tears, I sat on a nearby couch and stared out the window. She offered me a cup, but I refused it. I could not dwell on this any longer. I had to think about something else. I wiped at my nose with a handkerchief. It had tiny blue flowers embroidered around the edges. I wondered where I got these from. Some gift from a courtier, I supposed.
“Tell me about your home, Menmet. Where are you from? Have you always served here in Thebes? I can tell by your language that like myself you were not born here.”
“No indeed, my Queen, I am not from here. I have been here only for one year, but my older sisters have been here for many years. My father is an Egyptian, yes, but my mother comes from a land in the East. Priests of Amun cannot marry, did you know?” I turned to look at her and shook my head. “But apparently they can make children.” She laughed, but it was not a happy sound. “Well, the highest priests cannot. Still, Heby comes many times to see my mother, and he brings her gifts. He has many daughters but no sons, and he is kind enough to place his many daughters in the courts of Pharaoh.”
“Are you the youngest, Menmet?”
“Yes, except one. I have one more sister, Salama, but she is lame and will not walk, no matter how much we plead with the gods on her behalf. Although she is lame, she is clever and can sew beautiful things, like those.”
I smiled at her. “She made these for me?”
“Yes.” She looked down, embarrassed. “I could not refuse her.”
“I love them. The flowers are perfect, and there are no crooked stitches. She is very talented.”
“I will tell her. You will make her smile for the rest of her life.”
Spontaneously I patted her hand and smiled at her. “Your mother must bring your sister here so that I may meet them both.”
Menmet shook her head, her bobbed wig swinging gently as she looked down again. “Oh no, that can never be. I could not offend you in that way.”
“In what way, Menmet? I would never be offended by meeting your sister or your mother.”
“Yes, but Salama is not perfect. As I said, she is lame. I cannot bring such imperfection into the presence of the Great Wife of Pharaoh.”
“I am not that, and even if I were, I would not enforce such foolish rules. I cannot speak for those who came before me, but I assure you, Menmet, I do not feel that way. All children are treasures and should be treat
ed as such. Where I am from…” I knew I should not speak of the past. I had been reminded on more than one occasion to speak only of the present, to speak only of Egypt not of my Meshwesh upbringing. But I felt I had to correct Menmet. “Where I am from, children are our treasures. All children, even the imperfect ones, are loved and cared for. I do not think otherwise, and neither shall those in my court.”
Menmet’s round face brightened and she said, “Thank you for saying so, my Queen. If everyone thought as you, maybe there would be no more sadness—no child offerings. I suppose we are lucky that Salama has not been offered to the fires. Now, let Menmet help you. We must find the best gowns, the best wigs and the most glorious jewels in all of Egypt. We will show these Hittite savages how we dress in Egypt. They will see who is truly the Greatest Queen!”
“Child offerings? What are you talking about?”
She froze on the spot and answered me as if I were stupid, “The sacrifices. Where the children go, the ones who are imperfect or unwanted for some reason.”
I felt sick at the idea. I insisted that she tell me everything she knew. “I want to know about these child offerings. Tell me, Menmet.”
“Very well, my Queen.” The girl sat down on the painted floor at my feet and sighed. “Sometimes, when a child is born not perfect, maybe she is missing some toes or her legs are crooked, she is given to the gods. They will receive her, reshape her and send her again. Most of these memfre children, for that is what the priests call them, go to the temples of Amun. Not all temples accept children, but many do. The priests give the parents money for the children and then cast the children into the fire. I think Heby wanted to offer my sister to his god. He did not win the argument.”
“Fires? What?” I rose to my feet, my hands flying to my stomach again. I felt the nausea rising. How could this happen in my husband’s kingdom? “Does Amenhotep—I mean, Pharaoh—know about this?”
“I am sure he knows. Everyone does. It is no secret, my Queen, although it is not spoken of…much.”
“This is astonishing. How do they justify such cruelties? Who would do such a thing to a child?”
She shook her head and stared down at her hands.
“Does your father do this, Menmet? Is that why you fear him so? Does he threaten you with your sister?”
She nodded without looking up. “She is still young, and my mother grows too feeble to care for her properly. I do not think she will change her mind, but what if she does? What if she were to die?”
“You have no reason to fear, Menmet. Not anymore!” I sprang from my couch and walked to my cedar closets.
“What do you intend to do?” She scrambled to help me. Her voice sounded fearful and uncertain.
“I am not sure yet, but I can tell you what I don’t intend to do. I do not intend to sit around and do nothing. We must be careful, Menmet, but I will put a stop to this. My husband told me to find a just cause. I have.” I snatched a few robes from the closet and tossed them on my bed. Like my husband did when he planned something, I began to pace my chambers. “Tell a messenger to send for my uncle. I will receive him this evening. Also, have my chef arrange a meal for us. We will eat together in the outer chamber.”
She started to leave, but I called after her. “And send a scribe, Menmet. I have letters to write. Better make that a scribe who knows the language of Grecia. I want to speak to them in their native tongue.”
She bowed quickly and said, “It will be done.”
I sighed as I sifted through the colorful robes and gowns. So Tadukhipa had won this round. She used her connections to best me, but it would be an empty victory; I had Amenhotep’s heart. If only we had stayed in the Crescent Pool. If only I could dive deep into the waters and swim away from all this. But I couldn’t. I had someone else to think about now besides myself. I had a child in my belly and children dying right here in Thebes. In just a few minutes my mind had shifted completely. I had a purpose now, something to think about other than myself and my husband’s petty wife, Tadukhipa.
I might have won Pharaoh’s heart, but now I had to win the hearts of his people. I would begin by dealing with this injustice. I prayed for wisdom as I began to think about how I would challenge this foul tradition and bring down these evil priests. Now I had a reason to destroy them. I rejected all the robes I had selected and walked back to the closet. I found a forgotten robe in the back. It had been a gift from Omel, one that I had never expected to wear, but tonight I would. With renewed appreciation, I examined the back. A falcon soared across it, and tiny jewels dropped from its feathers.
If it was my destiny to be the falcon, then I might as well wear the garment.
Chapter Six
Tiye—After Life
The clumsy servant wrapped my head with the cloth, thinking that I would not see through the flimsy blindfold. What a foolish man! The idea of keeping my husband’s grave hidden, even from his wife…as if I would corrupt the body of the only man I had ever loved. These priests took too much upon themselves. What a fool! I did not protest, however, and took the idiot’s offered hand while I disembarked from the litter. If he had any intelligence at all, he might have asked himself how I could see his hand. But he did not appear to notice. He led me into the narrow passageway and removed my bandage with a flourish as if I would gasp and swoon over the priests’ handiwork. If he thought I would do so, he was doubly a fool.
“Leave me now,” I said as I blinked my eyes to adjust them to the light. It was very dim, but there were torches along the walls and I could see the farthest wall in the distance. It was painted with my husband’s name and an image of the two of us together holding a lotus flower. I had seen this before. A dozen or so years ago, the builder brought us the model to look at before work ever began. From what I could tell, he had done an excellent job of copying the images and had not missed the details.
The servant left me without protest, and I strolled along the cool tunnel that would lead me to my husband’s final resting place. All things had been accomplished; his body would be interred, and soon the tomb would be sealed for all eternity, never to be opened again even for Amenhotep’s queen.
They might as well bury my heart here too!
One day, I would rest just on the other side of the thick stone wall that would separate us. The priests said that we would be reunited in death, and until the passing of my husband I had also believed this. But now I was not so sure. Who truly knew the journey of the soul? No one could explain it to me, not to my satisfaction, and I had searched for assurances for months. In our many years together, Amenhotep and I had whispered promises to one another concerning our deaths. He would come to me—I would come to him.
I walked alongside the painted walls and examined the paintings. As I drew closer I could plainly see Amenhotep’s broad shoulders and strong arms. The massive painting became even more breathtaking as I entered the room. “My love,” I whispered. I stood before the cold stone wall and touched it lovingly with my fingers. I traced the cartouche, reading it a hundred times. I cared not if anyone saw me. I laid my head against the wall and whispered his name, but he did not answer.
Oh, how I wished I had taken the knife and cut my own throat when I heard the news! Oh, how I wished I had thrown myself off the top of my palace! But here I stood, coward that I was, alive, even though many days I felt dead and empty.
I leaned against the wall with the cartouche at my back and took in the view of the room. It had a low ceiling, but there was no shortage of furniture fit for a king. The firelight sparkled off the tips of the golden spears. Here was Amenhotep’s chariot and everything he would need to go to war in the Otherworld. It was surreal to think of him at war with someone in the Land of the Dead. Would he see Thutmose, our dear son? I sighed into the silence. No answers came. I traveled about the room touching all my husband’s things one last time. As I did, my mind wandered.
Once, when I was young, I drank from the Navel of Isis. The strange pink concoction had over
come me for many days after I consumed it. Unlike some priestesses I never took another drink of that ghastly brew again. I did not enjoy the experience, the feeling that I had no control, the blurriness of my memories. And I wanted to remember. Indeed, the older I got, the more difficult it was to remember recent events. But the past—oh, it was so near. I felt again as if I were drunk from the sacred drink, but somehow I had fallen into the depths of sorrow unable to recover. How long had it been since I’d seen my son?
I found another portrait of Amenhotep. I kissed the wall and rubbed my hands along it again as I explored a nearby corridor. These rooms were also filled with Amenhotep’s things. Some new, some old. I could see his collection of jewelry, all pieces polished and shining in open boxes, just waiting for the Pharaoh to claim them again.
I kept walking.
In the next room, there were sealed jars of wine, baskets of bread and garlic and all sorts of foods—all made of stone. It must last for all eternity. What better ingredient than stone? I walked down the corridor and found another room full of the discarded items from Amenhotep’s life. These were more personal, more revealing of the man Amenhotep truly was. There were rows of sandals, piles of folded laundry including linen gowns, sumptuous silk robes and many crowns. I opened the nearby chest and saw that it was full of arm bands, all in different colors. I picked them up and then let them fall back to the chest. I closed the chest and stood in the hallway. There were many more rooms to explore, but I did not need to look any further. I could see that all things had been given the appropriate attention and that all things had been done for Pharaoh just as he commanded. The only thing that was not here was his body. It would be delivered tonight; his priests alone would attend the actual burial.
I walked out of his tomb feeling as if I had left my own soul behind. The bumbling servant greeted me, asking if all was well. I mumbled my approval to him and was lifted into the litter. I didn’t struggle when he covered my eyes again. A few minutes later we made another stop—this time at my own tomb. Finally my resting place was ready to receive my body. I found the timing ironic. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on their part that after all this time my grave was ready. I could almost hear their thoughts: As soon as the old king’s tomb was readied, he died—maybe this is a portent! The old queen will die too!
The Kingdom of Nefertiti (The Desert Queen Book 3) Page 6
