What will I do with her? Pharaoh asked himself, barely able to contain the thoughts from his lips. How will I punish them? Nebetah, why must you disobey me? Why do you make me punish you? I cannot show weakness, not at a time like this. Curse you, Nebetah, for forcing my hand, so that I must deal with you as any other who chooses to disobey me.
The guards escorted Princess Nebetah and her new husband Pawah, the Fifth Prophet of Amun, to the throne room.
General Paaten, standing at the door to the throne room, motioned for all to leave save two of his guards; the man could tell that his Pharaoh was not himself today, and no one needed to see his emotions or his lack of formality.
“You have disobeyed Pharaoh’s direct command, Nebetah!” Pharaoh bellowed. “You will have your marriage to Pawah annulled immediately, or you will be exiled from the great Egypt.”
“But Father, I love him!” she exclaimed, forgetting her place. Her long, black braided wig, interwoven with bits of gold, hung over her shoulder. Her dark brown eyes were not filled with tears but rather lit with rage and rebellion.
Pawah’s mouth hung ajar at his wife’s lack of restraint, but he soon regained his stately composure.
“You will do as your father, Pharaoh, commands, just as your older sisters have done and what your younger sister will do,” Queen Tiye said. “We all abide under the rule of Pharaoh. Do not disobey his command.”
“Mother, please. I love him,” Nebetah said. At the Queen’s silence, Nebetah’s eyes narrowed and darkened, and her mouth became as stone. Since Nefertiti had been named chief royal wife to her brother, it seemed Pawah appeared to her from a dream and as an escape from having to one day marry her brother as well. She found comfort in Pawah: his handsome face, wise words, and strong arms. She would not let her mother or her father take him from her. Not like this.
Pharaoh shot a menacing glare at Amenhotep. Where have I heard that before? he thought. This is your fault, his eyes told his son.
Amenhotep cowered in his seat, slightly shaking. Before he could regain his composure, his father turned his glare back to Nebetah.
“Annulment or exile . . . thus Pharaoh says!” he bellowed.
“I will not annul! I will not marry him,” she said, thrusting a finger to her brother.
“If Pharaoh wills it . . .” Pawah whispered to Nebetah.
Nebetah sunk back at Pawah’s weakness. She’d thought her husband would always fight for her, for them.
Her father smiled at Pawah’s respect for his command and was even a little surprised it came from him, a member of the Amun priesthood, and not from his own flesh and blood.
As if reading Amenhotep III’s thoughts, Pawah then spoke directly to Pharaoh in his usual silky smooth voice: “However, if Amun wills us wed, it shall be. As the Fifth Prophet of Amun, I have already prayed to our great Amun-Re . . . and I am here to inform the great Pharaoh of Egypt that Amun blesses the union.” Pawah ended this proclamation with a slight bow.
Amenhotep saw the vein on his father’s temple bulge, saw his fists tighten into hard balls.
“And I am Pharaoh, the divine embodiment of Amun-Re, having been appointed by him to lead this great Egypt—and Pharaoh says annulment or exile!” As the echoes of his roars died down, he whispered, “Choose carefully, for it is your future.”
Pawah’s face drained of color. Their plan had backfired. He would have to go see Maya to figure out a solution. He glanced at his wife, then returned a steady gaze to Pharaoh and said calmly, “We choose exile.”
Pharaoh ordered General Paaten to have his men escort them to the border. With that, he turned with Nebetah to leave the throne room. She glared at her family seated on their thrones. They will pay for this—my father’s and brother’s lineage will pay for this, she thought.
Nebetah stopped in her tracks, an idea to stay in Egypt suddenly occurring to her. “Pharaoh,” she said as she turned around. “May I at least say goodbye to my sisters?”
Her father’s face burned, but he replied, “You may . . . but you are to be out of Waset by nightfall.”
“Thus Pharaoh says,” she said under her breath, and she and Pawah turned to leave.
SHE FIRST REQUESTED to go to Sitamun, who had just borne a child, a few months before Princess Meritaten was born. Rumors had circulated that it was Pharaoh’s baby, or some servant’s child, and that was why Pharaoh had put her away.
Nebetah had her own theory, and she wanted to test it.
“Hello, sister!” Sitamun said. She waved Nebetah and Pawah into the small inner chamber of the palace. Her stewards were cooking and cleaning. Sitamun had called this wing of the palace “home” for the past eighteen months; it was small, but big enough for her, her son, and their servants, with three rooms including a dining area and a small courtyard. Sitamun’s wet nurse held her son, Smenkare.
“Hello, sister Sitamun,” Nebetah said as they embraced. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you.”
“Oh? And what favor?”
Sitamun sat at her table and motioned for them to join her. The stewards went to bring some wine for her and her guests.
Nebetah took a deep breath. “I suppose you have heard that Pawah and I were married against the wishes of Pharaoh.”
Sitamun gave a slight nod, smiling.
“He wanted me to marry Amenhotep,” Nebetah said.
“I had heard,” Sitamun said. “You are either brave or stupid, I’m not sure which.”
Nebetah shook off her sister’s insult. “He gave us the choice to choose annulment or exile, and we chose exile. I came here to ask a favor—or, better, to ask for your help. But first, I must know . . .” Nebetah glanced back to Smenkare.
“You wish to claim sanctuary here?” Sitamun asked.
“Yes,” Nebetah said.
The truth was there in her sisters’ eyes as they locked gazes, but Sitamun only averted her own and looked to Pawah. “You will never be able to leave my wing of the palace. You know this.” Her eyes narrowed at this man who had bewitched her sister into a life of exile, whether it be here with her or outside of Egypt.
“We understand, royal wife Sitamun,” Pawah said.
She looked back at her sister. “I will send word to our father that you and Fifth Prophet of Amun, Pawah, will remain here until he acknowledges your marriage and removes his condition.”
“Royal wife Sitamun, please do not put yourself and your new child’s life and wellbeing in danger. Pharaoh could very well exile you as well,” Pawah said, but there was only a glimmer of truth and sincerity in his words. The priesthood’s plan to infiltrate the royal family had failed in a major way. First Prophet of Amun, Meryptah, would not accept him back into the priesthood after this disaster; perhaps, at the very least, if he and his new bride stayed in Egypt, a chance to further the power of Amun’s prophets would present itself—and now, with her father’s betrayal, he thought it should not be too hard to convince Nebetah of his plans to seal the priesthood’s ultimate power in Egypt. He saw the darkness and rage in her eyes as Pharaoh pronounced their sentence.
“It is doubtful, Pawah, Fifth Prophet of Amun.” Sitamun tried to think of a good explanation so as not to give away the true reason why Pharaoh would never send her into exile as well. “My father would never send us into exile because I am his royal wife, his eldest child, and his oldest daughter. I have stood by his side for many years.”
“We thank you for taking this risk,” Pawah said. “But please only do so if you are sure he will not exile you as well.”
“I am sure of it.” She walked to and opened the door to the guards who had escorted them there. “Tell Pharaoh that his royal wife Sitamun and her son, Prince Smenkare, are granting asylum to Princess Nebetah and the Fifth Prophet of Amun, Pawah.”
She closed the door.
AS SITAMUN CLOSED the door behind her, the guards looked to one another questioningly. They decided a few would stay in case the princess and her husband were trying to sneak away; one guard would go
back to Pharaoh and relay the message.
They drew sticks to see who would go. The one who drew the short stick reluctantly made his way back to the throne room.
As the guard had feared, upon hearing the message Pharaoh again lost his composure and thrust his head into his hand. His thumb and forefinger circling his temples, he sighed and whispered under his breath, “Cursed child.”
Clearing his throat, he placed his hand back on the throne’s arm rest where it was supposed to be. He leaned his head back and sat up straight.
The guard tried not to cower as he watched Pharaoh hitch his shoulders up, afraid at the outburst that would follow this morning’s display.
But Pharaoh said nothing for a long time.
Finally, with a deep breath, Pharaoh said, “If the Princess Nebetah or the Fifth Prophet of Amun, Pawah, so much as step their toes out of the quarters of Pharaoh’s royal wife, Sitamun, they are to be immediately escorted to Egypt’s border. Thus Pharaoh says.”
The guard let out a breath, thankful he would not be punished for bearing the bad news, and covered his audible exhale with a bow. “As Pharaoh says,” he echoed, and turned to carry the message back.
Amenhotep looked to Nefertiti, meeting her gaze.
Why give up now? Amenhotep mouthed to her.
Nefertiti mouthed back, Royal wife?
Amenhotep shrugged in response.
No one noticed Queen Tiye look off into the distance, trying to hide a grimace.
AMENHOTEP SPENT MORE of his days out in the sun, letting the rays of the Aten take away his physical ailments. The courtyard of Malkata became the place he dwelt most often. The more the Aten answered him, the less he prayed to Amun-Re, forsaking his divine appointment from Amun, the premiere god of Egypt.
“Father,” Amenhotep asked Pharaoh as he lay in bed.
“Yes, son.” Pharaoh’s hand took to his jaw, and he drew a deep breath to release the pain. His body was pale and the beads of sweat around his face looked like little raindrops.
Amenhotep leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I would like to take down the roof of the throne room.”
Pharaoh responded immediately: “No.”
“Father, the Aten heals me and makes me stronger. When I am in his rays, I feel like the son you wanted,” Amenhotep said, emphasizing these last words.
“Do not touch my palace,” Pharaoh said.
Amenhotep lowered his eyes.
Pharaoh continued, “You are free to live here until you have your own palace, but this one is mine. You will not remove the roof of the throne room.”
“But Father—”
“No. Thus Pharaoh says.” He grabbed his throat; the voice that came out sounded like a sandstorm had blown over his vocal chords.
Amenhotep opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing for fear of what might happen if he were to speak against Pharaoh’s command. As an indirect way around the request and final edict, Amenhotep said, “If we are to go to the Aten, should we not be making strides to turn the people?”
“We are. I have made the Aten my personal god, just as you have and will do once I am gone,” Pharaoh said, wincing every time his jaw came together.
“Do you believe it is enough?”
“Yes, for now. When Meryptah dies, you will give the order to turn to the Aten. The people should follow you.”
“If they do not?”
Pharaoh glanced over to his son, sitting there bent over. Pitiful. Yes, son, I know what you are doing, he thought. “If they do not, then you have failed them as a leader.”
Amenhotep looked up, fire suddenly in his eyes. “Me? Why me? Would it not have been you? You are the one who has led them for over thirty-five years!”
“No, son,” Pharaoh said, too exhausted to become upset at the backlash.
Amenhotep’s eyes burned a hole through the hot, dry air toward his father.
“You will need to inspire them to make the change,” Pharaoh said. “Make them want to worship the Aten.”
“How?” Amenhotep asked. “How do I make them want to worship another premiere god besides Amun-Re?”
“This is why I wanted Thutmose on the throne. He could answer these questions for himself. As for you . . . Tiye and Nefertiti will help you.”
Amenhotep felt slapped in the face. “Thutmose is dead, Father,” he said. “I am what you have left.”
“Yes, and I have asked Amun-Re why Thutmose every day since his death.” Pharaoh closed his eyes.
“And he did not answer, did he?” Amenhotep said. “You should have prayed to the Aten.”
“Amun-Re answers in his own way,” Pharaoh replied.
Before Amenhotep could respond, the door flung open.
“Pharaoh and Pharaoh Coregent.” The messenger bowed. “I bear great news. Queen Nefertiti has sent me to declare she has borne another child of Pharaoh Coregent.”
At once Amenhotep’s face rang with excitement, only to hear his father’s words creep to him from his bed.
“Hopefully a son . . . for an heir,” Pharaoh said weakly. “And perhaps another to replace my own son, should he perish.”
Amenhotep turned to his father, his face growing red. “And hopefully the replacement does not fall ill of expectations.”
Amenhotep wanted to yell, Why, Father?! What have I done? Was it because I cannot run? I cannot shoot the arrow? I don’t like hunting? I don’t like to throw the ball? Is it because I have a long face? Is it because my nose is not perfect like yours? Is it because I bear your name and look nothing like you? Why have I always fallen short of expectations?
But the messenger was still there, and the door was open for all to hear.
This should be a happy time for Nefertiti and me, he thought. I will not let this man ruin it.
“Messenger,” Amenhotep said, still looking at his father.
“Pharaoh Coregent,” the messenger said as he took a step forward.
“Take me to Nefertiti,” Amenhotep said—and watched with delight as his father winced at his use of me rather than Pharaoh.
The messenger bowed as Amenhotep stood to follow him out.
They made their way down the hall in silence. Amenhotep wondered why Nefertiti would have the messenger say “child” instead of “son” or “daughter.” It is most likely a girl, he thought. She knew I’d be with my father and knew he would probably berate me more if I had another daughter. I love her so.
As the door was opened, he found Nefertiti laying in the cot, propped up and holding a tightly wrapped bundle. He came immediately to her and dropped to his knees. She beamed up at him, and he caressed the back of her head and kissed her on the lips.
“Would you like see your new daughter?” she asked him as she turned down the wrap. The newborn’s tiny sleeping face rolled toward her mother’s arm.
“She is the most perfect child,” he said. “The Aten has formed her well.” He ran his pinky across her brow and watched her tiny mouth open and a little breath come out.
“What shall we name her?” Nefertiti asked.
“I gave Meritaten her name,” he said, asking with his eyes if she would like to name this daughter.
Nefertiti volleyed back with a playful smile, wanting to name her Meketamen but knowing full well her husband would not agree to a name honoring Amun.
“How about Meketaten: protected by the Aten,” she said.
Amenhotep agreed and declared another temple to the Aten be built in Heliopolis in front of the temple of Amun.
CHAPTER 9
THE TIME OF DEATH
Pharaoh died, and his words died with him.
Amenhotep sat on the stone steps to the courtyard with his hands on either side of his head, his elbows resting on each knee. His shoulders absorbed the rays of the Aten upon his body.
The chill in his spine hurt as it thawed in the sunlight. He numbed his thoughts as he sat there for hours, unmoving, the pain in his tailbone unnoticed.
Kiya, walking by behind him, pau
sed to sit down next to him and let out a deep breath. “I am sorry for your pain, Amenhotep.”
His eyes focused on the stone floor before him.
“I remember the stories you told me about your father, before you were wed to Nefertiti.” Her eyes drifted back to him to see if he would move. He did not even a blink. At his silence, she put her hand on his arm. “I am sorry he could never see you how I saw you.”
Amenhotep’s chest filled with air and then he released it, but no words followed.
“We have not talked much since you were married to Nefertiti. I miss our long talks about our fathers.” She chuckled, a tear escaping from her eye. “It made me feel not so alone.”
His stare at the stone floor intensified.
“I know you hurt, Amenhotep. I will go find your wife . . . perhaps she will ease your pain,” Kiya said, rubbing his back. She stood up and walked away, stopping at the end of the hallway to look back at his still unmoving form.
He had hurt her, too. When his brother was still alive, they had spent many an hour together. He loved Kasmut, but Kiya loved him. He never saw her in that light, and she accepted it just as she had accepted her father’s rejection of her. It hurt more that he chose such a beautiful woman as Nefertiti to be his chief wife, one whom she could not compare.
Looking to the floor, she made her way to find Nefertiti and found her in the dining hall.
“Queen Nefertiti, Pharaoh Coregent sits in the courtyard of the northwest wing,” Kiya said.
“Thank you, Kiya, royal wife of Pharaoh,” Nefertiti said. She had been looking all over the palace for him; she should have known he would be in the courtyard, where the Aten’s rays fell.
“Queen Nefertiti, he says nothing. His pain is great,” Kiya warned. “But perhaps he will speak to his chief wife?”
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