Salvation in the Sun (The Lost Pharaoh Chronicles Book 1)

by Lauren Lee Merewether

  Ay nodded as a sign of respect and left.

  Paaten journeyed to the burial-preparatory room. The guards had lain the spy on the stone table. “I want to see his face,” he told the soldiers.

  They strapped him down with ropes, face up. Beset, one of the priests of the Aten—formerly Anubis—who performed burial preparations, was summoned and came as commanded ready to begin the mummification process, but was surprised when he found a living subject. A soldier pulled him aside and filled him in. He nodded in agreement.

  “Listen closely, spy,” General Paaten said. “Since I do not know your name, I will refer to you as ‘the intruder.’ If you do not answer the questions I ask you correctly, I will not kill you, but I will order Beset, priest of the Aten, to slowly cut off and take out pieces of your body.”

  “You . . . you just said you wouldn’t kill me,” the man said. “How can I live without pieces of my body?”

  “The body can adapt.”

  His eyes widened. “I will never tell you anything! Just kill me now! Your time spent torturing me will be a waste!”

  “I remember you saying you would never bow to Pharaoh Coregent either,” General Paaten said with a grin, and looked pointedly at the man’s bloody, swollen knees.

  His guards laughed beside him.

  “Let’s begin with our first question, shall we? Who sent you to spy on the great nation of Egypt?”

  “This is not Egypt. This is some man’s fantasy. Egypt is where my loyalties lie.”

  General Paaten took a flattened bronze stick and whacked the intruder’s knees. He cried out in pain.

  “Answer the question: Who sent you to spy on Pharaoh?”

  The intruder glanced to Beset, situated in the corner mulling over his instruments, then looked steadily at the general. “Who do you think?”

  General Paaten whacked his knees again. “Answer the question!” he bellowed. “Who sent you to spy on the Pharaoh of Egypt?”

  The intruder moaned in pain. His body sunk beneath the ropes. He hung his head, whimpering. General Paaten raised the stick again.

  “Wait! Wait . . . I’ll tell you,” the man whispered. “It was . . . the People’s Restoration of Egypt.”

  “We can’t hear you,” General Paaten said.

  “The People’s Restoration of Egypt!”

  “Good,” General Paaten said, encouraging his good behavior by lowering the stick. “Question two: What are you here to do?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders and averted his eyes.

  “Do you think us stupid? Every spy has a mission. What was it that you were sent here to do?” General Paaten bellowed, then raised the stick and sent it crunching into the intruder’s knees.

  Nothing but cries of agony answered him.

  After a few moments in pain, the intruder replied, “I cannot tell you. Ask me another question . . . any question . . . but that one I cannot answer.”

  General Paaten observed his grimacing face. “Very well. We will come back to it. Are there other spies in Egypt?”

  “I cannot answer because I do not know.”

  General Paaten nodded to Beset.

  The priest went to the wall where an array of apparatus hung from hooks. He grabbed a sharp knife and handed it to General Paaten while the soldier went to a fire and came back with a hot bronze rod.

  “If you do not answer us, we will cut off each of your fingers, starting with the tip of this one. Then we will sear the wound, so that you do not lose too much blood in the beginning. What is it that you were sent here to do?”

  “I told you I cannot answer.”

  General Paaten handed the blade back to Beset. “Chop it off,” he told him.

  “No. Please. No!” the man yelled as Beset crouched lower.

  “Answer the question.”

  “I cannot!”

  Beset cut into the first joint of the intruder’s pointer finger on his right hand. The intruder screamed. The finger’s tip dropped to the floor and the soldier seared the wound with the hot bronze rod. The intruder yelled out again and again.

  “If you do not answer our questions, you will see all of your fingers and toes lying about this floor,” General Paaten told him.

  “I cannot see,” the man mumbled.

  “Beset!” General Paaten ordered.

  Beset mixed salt, cedar oil, and palm wine used to dry out corpses and whisked it in front of the man’s nose. He began to gag.

  “Please . . . just let me die . . .”

  “Answer one of the two questions,” the general said, “or next we will take your entire hand.”

  “No, please do not take my hand, please—”

  “Then answer the question!”

  At his silence, General Paaten pointed to the intruder’s left wrist and the soldier ran back to heat up the bronze rod again while another held down his hand.

  “NO!” the intruder yelled, and squirmed, trying to get off the table to no avail. At the first prick on to his wrist, he screamed, “I will answer!”

  General Paaten held his hand up to stop. He let the intruder catch his breath.

  “There are other spies in Egypt,” the man said. “There are many who oppose our Pharaoh . . . many who are willing to raise arms against him.”

  “How many?”

  “Thousands.”

  “And what were you sent here to do?”

  Silence.

  General Paaten pointed at his wrist and nodded to Beset, who began to slice again despite the man’s cries for mercy.

  His legs twitched in pain. “Pleeease,” he cried as the knife tore through the tendon. “Stop! I will tell you!”

  General Paaten held his hand up to stop the cutting.

  “I was sent . . .”

  The intruder’s eyes rolled back into his head.

  “Beset, the mixture.”

  After whiffing some of it, he came to again.

  “You were sent to Aketaten to . . . ?” General Paaten said, jarring his memory.

  “I was sent to report back on Pharaoh’s habits.”

  “Why?”

  “They plan to kill him.”

  “Who did you send your report to? Who is leading the rebellion, or rather the People’s Restoration of Egypt?”

  “I cannot answer . . . you will have to kill me.”

  “I cannot kill you. I can only continue cutting body parts off until you decide to speak or until you have no more unnecessary body parts left. Continue, Beset.”

  The man yelled out again and again. He passed out a few more times, unable to be woken with the mixture, but each time he came to they resumed cutting. He would only give up the name of his handler—one of the messengers, Henut—but would not give up the leader of the movement.

  General Paaten left the room and told his soldiers to bandage his wounds and put him in the prison after they had finished cutting off his ears, his nose, all his toes, both feet, one hand, and all but one finger on the other hand.

  As he walked the lone corridor back to the throne room to tell Nefertiti what information he had been gleaned, General Paaten whispered to himself, “He would have made a great soldier.”

  After hearing what he had to say, Nefertiti asked, “How much was he tortured?”

  “He will most likely die from infection. If he does survive, he will never live a normal life again.”

  Nefertiti looked up to the Aten and shook her head. “Perhaps Henut will give us more information.”

  General Paaten nodded and sent word to have Henut arrested.

  Chapter 27

  The Time of Desperation

  Henut led to another who led to another and then another until seventeen men had been hacked apart, most of whom died later from blood loss or infection. General Paaten was no closer to finding the leader of the rebellion or washing out the plan to kill Pharaoh.

  Because Egypt’s allies no longer sent gifts or responded to her requests, and money no longer freely circulated Egypt due to
the ban on worship, Nefertiti saw no other choice but to forge an alliance with the powerful and wealthy Hittites to keep Egypt afloat. Her ad hoc council now consisted of Nakht, her father, General Paaten, and Commander Horemheb. They agreed with her move to ally with the Hittites, albeit reluctantly, and so she sent a letter with gifts of medical supplies under Pharaoh Akhenaten’s name.

  While they waited for their response—should it come back at all—Nefertiti, on her own one night later, began drafting an edict that the ban on the worship of all gods other than the Aten would be henceforth removed. She would suffer whatever consequences her husband dealt her, but the economy of Egypt was now drained to the dregs, and it was very probable the Hittites would not be a reliable source of income.

  Ay, noticing the candlelight at the strange hour, walked into the council room and found his daughter bent over the council room table writing laboriously on papyrus.

  “My lotus blossom, what are you doing here so late?” he asked.

  Nefertiti looked up and smiled. The burden in her shoulders fell some at the sight of her father, until she remembered his broken promises.

  “Why have you not gone home to be with Tey?” she asked, her smile vanished.

  “I was hoping to spend some more time with you, my daughter.” He sat down next to her, like a mouse trying to sneak past the cat.

  “Why? So you can fill me with empty words?”

  Ay said nothing. Her tone cut him to his heart. He’d expected it the last time he saw her in the council room, but not tonight. Raising his eyebrows and blowing out his breath, he turned to face the candlelight.

  “Father, I just feel so hopeless. I’m sorry. I did not mean to disrespect you,” Nefertiti said. She tried to keep her chin up, but her head just kept falling as if wanting to shake her tears loose.

  Seeing her despair, his fatherly instincts took over and he pulled her close to his chest. “My lotus blossom, I am the one who should be sorry. I saw Pharaoh’s decline and yet I tried to uplift you when I should have protected you.”

  “It is more than just Akhenaten, Father. Setepenre, Neferneferure, Meketaten, Kiya, Tiye . . . I miss them so much.” She closed her eyes to listen to her father’s steady heartbeat. “I feel so lost without them. I have failed them all.”

  “Look at me, my daughter,” Ay said, pushing her away and lifting her chin to bring her eyes level with his. “You have not failed anyone. You have done the very best you know how, and that is all anyone can ever ask of you.”

  She fell into his embrace and as his arms wrapped around her she mumbled, “I have you, and that’s all I need.”

  “No, Nefertiti. You have yourself—and that is all you will ever need.”

  He looked over her shoulder, attempting to read what she had been working on when he came in. After a few moments, he summoned the courage to ask, “What is it you are writing?”

  Nefertiti jumped from his arms and pulled the papyrus away before her father could see—but even at her age, under his firm glance, she relented and let him read it. His eyes peered over it.

  “Nefertiti . . . you realize he will have you impaled? You said so yourself, it would be in vain to issue this type of decree because he would only reverse it the next day!”

  “Yes, but perhaps Pharaoh, however feared he may be, would not be able to levy any sort of power over the people. I would be a martyr to them.”

  “Yes . . .” Ay stroked her back. “Daughter, we will eventually turn back to Amun-Re. But we will do it when it doesn’t involve getting yourself killed.”

  “How, Father? We are losing supporters fast. Commander Horemheb is not going to support this much longer, despite his oath to the royal family. Pharaoh Amenhotep and Queen Tiye’s plan is no longer working. We have a few more years left in the treasury, after we stopped giving to our foreign allies, but will it outlast Akhenaten? Who is to know?”

  Nefertiti accepted the worst: she would have to lose him completely in death before the country could be restored.

  “He has drunk much wine, Father, and he has become so obsessed with the Aten and his visions to eclipse all else. There is no reasoning with him—no way to reach him!”

  A moment of silence passed between them.

  Nefertiti whispered, “I have thought about . . .”

  “Thought about what?”

  “Taking his life. But I could never do it. I love him, Father.”

  Ay smiled grimly. She had thought about it.

  “You love Amenhotep. This man is not him.”

  Nefertiti only looked into the candlelight and watched the fire’s flame—this little flame, dancing happily away, not knowing it would soon suffocate and die.

  “Rarely can a man come back from such a fallen state as his,” Ay said, “much less for a few moments of clarity to be reasoned with. It would take an act so great—a fate worthy to his soul—to jar him from his madness, if only for a moment.”

  “I would cherish that moment with him, even one so brief.” Nefertiti felt wetness on her cheeks and realized she could not remember the last time she cried.

  “As I would your mother.”

  Ay wrapped his arms around his daughter. Her pain traveled into his heart, and he could no longer keep his own tears at bay.

  “Wait a little longer, my lotus blossom, and all will be as it should. I give you my word.”

  “How can you be so sure?” she asked as she dried her tears.

  He took the papyrus from the table and let it burn in the lampstand.

  “Don’t fathers always know?”

  He looked to the door and whistled twice.

  Nefertiti’s eyebrow raised, wondering why he was whistling at this hour.

  The answer to her question walked in the door.

  Beketaten and Pawah sauntered in.

  Nefertiti stood up. Her glare matched Beketaten’s own.

  “You coward,” Nefertiti hissed.

  Beketaten only smiled in response.

  Pawah spoke, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “The Pharaoh Coregent should not treat her guests in this manner.”

  “I should never have pardoned you, you worthless—”

  “Pharaoh Coregent.” Commander Horemheb stepped inside the council room, leaving two guards outside. “These are the leaders of the People’s Restoration of Egypt. They have come to you in hopes of striking a deal.”

  “You? You are behind the rebellion?” Nefertiti stood straight, pointing a finger at Beketaten.

  “We wish no more bloodshed,” Beketaten said, “but we know that as intelligent as you are, you see the decay this great nation is falling to. The people need a strong Pharaoh, not one hidden in his temple, threatening the very lives the gods have appointed him to oversee. You must see this, my Pharaoh Coregent.”

  Her lips spoke the truth Nefertiti had realized long ago, but her eyes mocked her.

  I refuse to give her any satisfaction, Nefertiti thought.

  At her silence, Pawah weighed in again. “We have already approached your own father, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses, Ay. He sees the pain you bear for Pharaoh’s actions and Pharaoh’s ill will toward you. How long has it been since you have shared a bed?”

  Nefertiti slammed her hand into the table, the candlelight reflecting the fire raging in her eyes. “You will not speak to Pharaoh Coregent about love or pain! You dare bring Pharaoh’s bed into this audience?”

  She turned sharply toward her traitorous father. “And you, Pharaoh Coregent’s own father, conspiring with the enemy?”

  “I did it for you, my lotus blossom,” Ay whispered. “Would you rather have a thousand men die . . . or one?”

  Nefertiti choked back her tongue and clenched her teeth as tight as she could.

  “The people will rebel. They will come by force,” he said as he grasped her shoulders.

  Commander Horemheb stepped to the other side of Nefertiti. “Pharaoh’s army will protect him, as we have given our oath, but the hearts of my men are far from him.
They will fight, but I fear a weak fight they will give. If they lose, the power of Pharaoh is gone.”

  Shallow breaths. Her heart raced. Trapped, as the moonlight poured down on her.

  “You need to finally listen to us,” Beketaten said. “He even has an heir now.”

  Nefertiti’s eyes narrowed. You liar. I hate you.

  Pawah held up his hand to silence her and diffuse Nefertiti’s outrage.

  “Pharaoh Coregent, think about it in this way.” He drew an arc on the table in front of him with his finger. “If you simply gave him poisoned wine to drink, he could fall asleep and die a painless death.”

  “You wish me to murder my own husband,” Nefertiti said.

  “It would be hemlock—a painless way to die. Just as if fatigue has overtaken the body until the body just . . . sleeps. Nothing that would raise concern, nothing to take away from the power of Pharaoh—and everything to gain.”

  “Hemlock leaves your brain awake. He wouldn’t be in sleep. He would know what I had done to him,” Nefertiti said, blinking back tears. She wanted to scream at her father, Is this what you wanted? For me to be a murderer? I would endure a thousand of these lifetimes before doing this!

  “You don’t know me at all, Father,” she said.

  His eye twitched, but he grasped her hand. “He trusts you, Nefertiti. I did not know what they were planning. If we did not have to involve you, we wouldn’t have.”

  A tear, despite all Nefertiti’s might, escaped her eye. “Father . . . you, above all people, disappoint me.”

  Ay clenched his jaw. “I will have to live with your disappointment, Nefertiti. Egypt needs a Pharaoh. And did you not say to me the thought had crossed your mind?”

  “A fleeting thought borne of desperation! You are quick to forget the rest of what I said. I am willing to see if the madness takes him or if old age does.” She wiped her tear.

  “We don’t have that long,” Commander Horemheb cut in. “The rebellion is ready to strike. If we don’t go along with their plan, they will bring the rebellion now.”