Ay paused. Thoughts raced over each other in his head, but only one phrase escaped his lips. “You will be a great Queen, Nefertiti. Learn from Queen Tiye, as she is also a great Queen.”
“I will! I will, Father, oh, I will!” Nefertiti said, the sparkle returned. She grabbed his hand and wrapped him in a tight embrace.
“I love you, my little lotus blossom,” Ay said, struggling to take another breath.
Nefertiti let a bellied laugh escape her lips and strengthened her embrace.
“Are you trying to squeeze me to death?” A warm smile covered his face. Her laugh always produced that memory of Temehu in the garden; it was almost as if she were there with him in that moment.
“No, I am trying to squeeze the laughter out,” she said and giggled, hugging him even tighter.
Ay escaped her squeeze, spun her around, and wrapped his arms around her entire body, trapping her arms against her sides. “We will see who squeezes the laughter out of whom!”
Nefertiti squealed with laughter.
Temehu, Ay thought, his heart growing warmer with the memories, I am thankful for Tey bringing me our daughter and making me understand what you saw that day.
He spun Nefertiti back around to face him. “I wish you knew your mother,” he said. “She would have been proud of you today.”
“I know her because of you and Tey,” Nefertiti said.
A tear almost welled in his eye, but he blinked it back. “Your mother saw the greatness in you when you were born. I only saw you as the bringer of her death . . .”
Nefertiti’s smile vanished.
“But,” he rushed on, “Tey showed me what you were: a baby girl destined for greatness; a baby girl worth my love in spite of my wife’s death. And now . . . now, my only wish is for your mother to see what I see at this moment.”
“What do you see, Father?” Nefertiti placed her hands over his.
“A young woman not only destined for greatness, but deserving of it.”
Nefertiti smiled her famous half smile, and Ay talked of her future life in the palace and the responsibilities she would have to Egypt and its people. She took in every word.
AS TEY TENDED to Temehu’s flower garden, she heard Ay’s laughter and doting language in the corner of the courtyard.
Tey knew her husband loved Nefertiti more than their children, even as a child grew within her belly, but she loved Nefertiti too. She raised her and gave all she could to her, just as Nefertiti’s own mother would have done.
“It has been a long time, nearly thirteen years since you left us,” Tey whispered to the ka, the spirit, of Temehu as she cradled a blue lotus in her hand. “I am proud of the young woman she has become . . . I only hope and wish you are proud as well.”
The winds responded with a sudden gust which whipped through Tey’s wig. She smiled, watching as Nefertiti stood conversing with her father about the grand, stable state of Egypt and how she would forever be remembered during this peaceful time in Egypt’s history.
The peace, however, did not last.
CHAPTER 3
THE TIME OF UNREST
A ruckus in the streets of Waset sent chills down Nefertiti’s spine, despite the warm morning air. “Father!” she yelled out, afraid of the chorus of wails lifting to her bedroom window.
“I am here, Nefertiti.” He stood there with an unfocused stare into the streets. He tied his gold-embroidered blue sash to his pleated white shendyt, making sure the knot was in line with his sternum. “The Pharaoh has called a meeting of council.”
Tey, hearing the noise, rushed out of their bedroom.
Spotting her, Ay said with a grim twist of his mouth, “Tey, wait for my return. Be sure the servants see to it the children are dressed and fed.”
“Yes, Ay,” Tey said, and she went to carry out her husband’s orders.
“Father, may I come?” Nefertiti asked as she finished wrapping her sidelock of hair up into a high braid. The ends of her hair fell with a natural curl interwoven with pieces of gold jewelry.
“Nefertiti . . . ” Ay refused to look at her, knowing the pleading in her eyes would get the best of him.
“Please, Father,” she begged. Her words were perhaps even more effective than her eyes.
“Nefertiti . . . you may come. But you are to be silent,” he said finally and left, striding from their home and into the street. Nefertiti followed close behind him. Guards were there to escort the Overseer of Pharaoh’s Horses and his daughter to Malkata—the palace of Pharaoh Amenhotep III.
“SCRIBE OF PHARAOH, Overseer of Pharaoh’s Horses, Ay,” Pharaoh repeated after the royal announcer, his voice carrying a solemnity that could crush a child’s laughter. He faced the statues of himself, his wife, and his four daughters and two sons.
Ay was the first to arrive; even vizier Ramose was not yet present, despite living in one of the many wings of the palace.
“Yes, my Pharaoh, King of the Upper and the Lower?” Ay said with half a bow.
There had been rumors when the call for council came, ranging from death of a sister to the death of his Queen. Ay silently pleaded with Amun-Re that death had not taken Queen Tiye, not Pharaoh’s chief royal wife.
Not my sister.
Ay subconsciously halted his breath as the pain of that dark day, of Temehu’s death, rushed back to him.
He looked to Nefertiti. At least she lives in you, my daughter.
No word came from Pharaoh, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back, stubbornly straight despite the pull of his shoulders. Silent, until his head dropped almost violently.
“Again, Amun-Re taketh away Egypt’s firstborn.”
Nefertiti looked to her father to understand what Pharaoh was saying, but at the shock on her father’s face, she looked to the ground.
“Pharaoh . . .” Ay whispered.
“Crown Prince Thutmose is dead,” Pharaoh announced, and then, having uttered the words, the great man’s spine curled forward.
His words reverberated off of the stone walls and pounded in Nefertiti’s head. Her jaw hung ajar and her mind raced. Thutmose? she thought. Dead? No . . . no, it can’t be. Not my friend, not my future husband. Dryness invaded her mouth and numbness trickled down her limbs.
Another thought came to her: My promised future now stands in limbo.
After a short moment of silence in respect for the Pharaoh’s son, Ay said, “Regrets of my family are with Pharaoh and his.”
“Please . . . make way for Pharaoh to be in Men-nefer with the Queen, Overseer of Pharaoh’s Horses.” Pharaoh spoke softly as he caressed the stone cheek of his son’s statue.
“It will be done, my Pharaoh.”
Ay left with Nefertiti close behind, tears streaming.
AS THE SUN descended behind the sandy mountains, a loud mourning swept the city of Waset. News traveled from Men-nefer that the Crown Prince Thutmose had perished shortly after a sudden onset of illness, only a few months before his father’s sed festival during which he would be named Coregent. Unfortunately, the tomb being built for his eventual death as Pharaoh in the Valley of the Kings was not yet complete; instead, Thutmose would begin his journey to the afterlife in the priest’s tomb at Saqqara, necropolis of Men-nefer.
Tey gathered the children and followed Ay in his noble’s barge down the Nile to the grand city of Men-nefer, where the Crown Prince Thutmose had been serving as a High Priest for Ptah—the god of creation, art, and fertility.
After the seventy days required for the royal burial preparation and grieving, all the imperial family came to travel the long road to the Tomb of Saqqara from Men-nefer. The Pharaoh wore the Nemes headdress used only to represent the Royal Ka, the royal spirit. Those who carried him in front of the procession dared not to look at him.
The long gold and blue stripes fell down the sides of Pharaoh’s face and gathered in the back, yet such a royal presentation could not mask the sadness in his eyes. Their redness opposed the gold and the blue, defied them. His chin
trembled; his bottom lip, chapped from biting, pressed firmly into the upper. His furrowed brow etched itself into the lingering grimace upon his face, having aged even more so since his son’s death.
The same questions plagued his mind over and over again: Why? Why Thutmose? So sudden for him to die . . . Why him?
Queen Tiye had taken over rule while Pharaoh wrestled with his inner turmoil. His royal wife and daughter, Sitamun, walked like her sisters: eyes dry, her jaw tightly wound with each dip in the road.
The people of Egypt followed behind them as they came to the edge of the valley. The family continued on by themselves until they came upon the great pillars signaling the foremost entrance to the tomb.
Only Pharaoh Amenhotep III, Queen Tiye, and their children descended into the tomb with the servants carrying Crown Prince’s sarcophagus and the high priests of Amun-Re.
Prince Amenhotep IV, the last remaining royal son, glanced quickly at Nefertiti. After his sisters Sitamun, Iset, Henuttaneb, and Nebetah, he was the last of the family to descend into the tomb. He was the last of the family to do anything. Would Father be this sad if I had been the one to die? he asked himself. No . . . they would have lived life as if I had never existed, just as they always have. Yet here I am, suddenly destined to be Pharaoh . . . having to marry Nefertiti . . .
He swallowed. My father’s nightmare: his second son actually amounting to something.
Nefertiti had often wondered why Amenhotep never joined in their games, why he sat by himself in the sun, labeled as “weird” and “unnatural” amongst his siblings, his father never mentioning him by name, his parents always calling him “the other son” . . .
Now he is the only son, Nefertiti thought.
Amenhotep looked at Nefertiti. She is quite beautiful, he thought, but Kasmut has always been there for me. His mother had told him the crown would now be his, and his dead brother’s bride would become his chief royal wife. In defiance, he demanded that Kasmut, the daughter of Anen, to be his chief royal wife instead. His mother had forbade it, told him that if the question ever came up he was to state that he wanted Nefertiti as his wife.
“No!” he had yelled at his mother. “I don’t want her as my chief wife. Kasmut and I are in love!”
Unbeknownst to him, his father had just walked into the room. Pharaoh grabbed his son by the arm and shook him, hard enough for a bruise to form, scolding him for yelling at his mother. He’d then yelled rhetorical questions—questions such as “Why can’t you be like Thutmose?!” and “Why can’t you be a son of whom I can be proud?!”
. . . and “Why can’t you be the son I’ve always wanted?!”
His words still stung. He hadn’t even been able to meet his father’s eyes as he yelled at him for what seemed an eternity. Amenhotep’s head had drooped lower and lower until he realized his chin was resting on his chest and his cheeks burned with shame. After his tirade, his father had taken a deep breath and calmly walked back whence he came, asking why Amun-Re cursed him with a perfect son, now dead, and an imperfect son, still alive.
His mother had then gently stroked the newly formed bruise on his arm. “Amenhotep, you will do great things. Your father will see in time . . . but first you must make Nefertiti your chief wife. And everyone, including Kasmut, must believe you chose Nefertiti to be your chief royal wife. You must never marry Kasmut.”
“Why?” he had begged to know.
“I love you, Amenhotep. You must trust that you will know after you are crowned Coregent.”
His mother and Kasmut were the only ones who had ever told him they loved him. Two women: his mother, always there for him when he did not live up to the image his father made for him; and Kasmut, always there for him when his brother dishonored him.
To which woman was he to give his loyalty?
After a long moment with hot tears welling in his eyes, he’d agreed to do what his mother asked and let Kasmut go.
As the sand now swirled around his feet at the entrance of the tomb, his mind raced to Kasmut, who stood only steps away with her father Anen and her family. He locked his trance on Nefertiti, daring himself not to look at Kasmut. He could not bear it.
Kasmut stood nearby, trying to trace his gaze. Who is he staring at? she thought to herself. She looked up to her father, whose mouth twisted into a half scowl and half grin.
Amenhotep’s face was longer than most of the royal family, and he was taller and thinner than his older brother, sicker and weaker too. His bed became the friend his aching body longed for, until he found that the sun’s rays gave him energy and relief from his daily aches. Grateful to the sun-disc, the Aten, as he ruled high in the sky, casting his full rays upon his skin, Amenhotep dreaded the long descent into the darkened tomb. His long fingers reached for his sidelock of hair, but it had recently been removed to signify, at fourteen years of age, that he was no longer a boy. He was a man now. Embarrassed at reaching for the air that surrounded his head, he dropped his hand to his side, hoping no one saw his error.
Queen Tiye motioned for him to follow them, which he obeyed, but his eyes held with Nefertiti’s until he disappeared into the tomb. Nefertiti sized him up in her mind. She too had lost her sidelock just two weeks ago when she turned thirteen—the age of marriage for a woman—but her father’s gift, an elaborate wig with many jewels, sat upon her head and made her remember her childhood was over.
Nefertiti then watched Kiya, the Mitanni Princess sent to marry King Amenhotep III for political relations only a few months before, follow behind Amenhotep with the rest of Pharaoh’s wives.
Kiya is young, around my age, Nefertiti thought as she watched the pitiful-looking girl descend into the tomb. Her thin hips were not good for bearing children and her unbalanced descent into the tomb showed her weakness. Ay had told Nefertiti that Kiya would most likely be passed on to the next King to keep the Mitanni in good favor with Egypt.
I hope Prince Amenhotep will still name me chief royal wife, Nefertiti thought as she bit her bottom lip—but she wished in her heart that she could still marry Prince Thutmose instead. The arid air soaked up her tears.
Anen likewise looked at Nefertiti. Brushing off the death of his nephew, his thoughts turned to his daughters. The Pharaoh and Tiye do not value Amenhotep greater than Thutmose; they will not give his betrothed to Amenhotep. Thus one of my daughters will be his Queen—most likely Kasmut, since they have spent much time together. A slight smile crossed his lips. All should be as it was: one of my daughters as the chosen Queen. The deed executed, the payment transacted. Thutmose—and his desire for Nefertiti—dead.
The wails of his sister, Queen Tiye, traveled up from the tomb and broke Anen’s thoughts. A slight tinge of guilt pressed in close . . . but her cutting words about his daughters drowned the feeling.
THE NIGHT WANED, and the company rested in Men-nefer. In the morning, they would travel back to Waset.
“Father?” Nefertiti asked as they looked at the starry reflections on the Nile.
“Yes?” he responded. He was remembering back to the burial of Temehu. It had nothing of the grandeur of a Crown Prince. I will change this for Tey, he thought. She will have a burial deserving of her, not like the unbefitting burial of Temehu.
“When I am Queen,” Nefertiti asked, “will you still be an official of Egypt?”
“If the new Pharaoh wills it,” Ay responded.
“If I am his chief wife, I will make him will it,” Nefertiti said as she placed her arm through her father’s. A sad smile crossed her lips, and her gaze lingered on the Nile. She longed for Thutmose.
Ay looked around to make sure no one stood eavesdropping nearby, for he knew the next words he said could be interpreted as heresy. “Nefertiti, you might be willing him to do many things,” he said as a short whisper, his head bent down to his daughter. “You must be and do whatever it takes to gain his trust and keep in good close relation with Pharaoh and Queen Tiye.”
Nefertiti’s large eyes opened wider. “What are yo
u saying, Father?”
“My daughter, the priesthood of Amun-Re holds more power than Pharaoh. He and Queen Tiye know this to be true. This is why they appointed young Crown Prince Thutmose as Head Priest of Ptah. They wanted him to take power away from the priesthood when he became Pharaoh . . . but it was all in vain, as he has already met his fate.”
Ay saw a slight tinge of darkness creep into the sparkle of Nefertiti’s eye, but he continued. He knew her pain even more so. “Queen Tiye worries Prince Amenhotep IV is not ready to handle such a feat as taking power from the most powerful priesthood in existence.”
Her father’s words stung her ears. “And now?”
“And now, the priesthood of Amun-Re has become more powerful than Pharaoh. Now, with the Crown Prince dead, they worry about Amenhotep IV taking Pharaoh’s place.”
“Queen Tiye is not sure if Prince Amenhotep can rule the nation on his own?” Nefertiti asked, uncertain of what her father was trying to tell her.
“In part. She will need you to stay on her side when it comes time to break away from the priesthood. I assume, since Prince Amenhotep adores his mother, he will follow her advice. But because of your beauty, I believe he will adore you as much, if not more, and will be more willing to follow your advice than his mother’s. This is why Queen Tiye wants a member of her family with no association to the priesthood to be her son’s chief royal wife . . . so she and the new Queen can present a united front when advising the new Regent.”
Nefertiti felt her heart drop into her stomach. Was this also why Thutmose had chosen her, or had it been his mother’s choosing? Not as if it matters now, she chided herself. “Is this the reason she chose me over Anen’s daughters?”
“Yes, my lotus blossom.”
“Do you suppose she will choose me again for Prince Amenhotep? Do you think Prince Amenhotep will choose me as well?”
“I would bet my life she will still choose you,” he said. “They need you. I am not sure of the plan they will execute, but I know you will play an integral role in it. Pharaoh and his Queen will disclose the matter to you and the Crown Prince when the time comes. For now, you are not to discuss it with anyone, including Amenhotep.”
Salvation in the Sun Page 3
