Salvation in the Sun

by Lauren Lee Merewether

  “It will not happen again,” Pharaoh Amenhotep said, and looked to General Paaten, who nodded in return. “The Egyptian army will remain by our side. Nakht, how much time will we need, if we outlaw the worship of Amun-Re, to deplete the priesthood’s treasury?”

  The vizier scribbled some notes and looked up. “Pharaoh, I am not the treasurer, but according to my calculations, to completely dissolve their treasury . . . and if they receive nothing more today forward . . . their treasury will be depleted in thirteen years. But we do not need to completely deplete their treasury—it is still the priesthood of our true premiere god, Amun-Re, lest we forget. We only need to dissolve it enough so that Pharaoh’s treasury is much greater, to show the people of Egypt that Pharaoh has more authority than the priesthood.”

  “And what better way to make Pharaoh forever and always more powerful than to deplete the priesthood’s treasury? And then give them a portion of the state’s treasury to regain their standing in the people’s eyes?” The Aten’s rays surrounded Pharaoh Amenhotep as he spoke. “If they accept the state’s gift, it will be ultimate humiliation in the eyes of the people, and Pharaoh will then have proved his power over the priesthood.”

  Father would be proud of me for thinking of this plan, he thought as he looked to the semi-open ceiling of the room, soaking in the rays of the Aten. Despite his initial desires, Ay had talked him into only a partial opening in the council room, so the rays only shone on his seat, to portray his divine link to the Aten, but with the partially closed roof, passersby in the hallway would have a harder time hearing their conversations.

  “Yes, son, but thirteen years? By then, the people may grow to hate you,” Queen Tiye said, clasping her hands together.

  “They may hate me, but they will also fear me for my power,” Pharaoh Amenhotep said.

  He could feel the rays of the Aten intensify upon his skin, as if guiding him to know this was what he was to do. He could barely make out the others in the room from the sun’s rays falling through his eyelashes and reflecting from his nose and cheeks. At his mother’s silence, he spoke as he stood and widened his arms upward towards the Aten.

  “Is this not what you wanted, Mother? Is this not what Father wanted? The father who thought his son who bore his name could not do? And yet, even in his death, foretold me I would not be the Pharaoh my brother would have been? Yet it is still for me to wonder, would Thutmose have lived up to the expectations of our father? For the people of Egypt to know the power of Pharaoh? To prove the power of Pharaoh over all, including the priesthood of Amun-Re? Have I not done this by declaring the Aten as the premiere god of Egypt, by committing to execution those who took up arms against Pharaoh’s house, and exiling your own daughter and her husband? Have I not?”

  His hands dropped to his sides.

  “And yet, the priesthood still gains! The priesthood will continue to gain . . . unless we bring them to the brink of death and then resurrect what is left.”

  The Aten had given him the words. The Aten had given him the strength. He felt at one with the Aten, drenched in his rays, sweat streaming down his back as if the Aten poured his blessings upon him. The Aten, the sum of all the Pharaohs before, was proud of him, and yet he still fell short of expectation, just as he had always fell short of expectation. He would please his father, and his fathers before him. He would please the Aten and finally prove to his father that he was worthy to be called Pharaoh’s son, a son of the Aten.

  Nefertiti’s body clung to her chair. Never had she witnessed such a presentation of strength and eloquence of speech from Amenhotep. In some ways it made her desire him, yet in others it made her fear him.

  Queen Tiye’s mouth hung ajar. She had seen it with her own eyes: her son’s transformation under the Aten. Now she believed it was complete, and she said a prayer to the Aten, thanking him for healing her son.

  Ay and General Paaten said nothing—as who is to argue with the Pharaoh?

  At the room’s silence, Amenhotep said, in the voice given to him by the Aten, “Thus it be: tomorrow when the Aten is at the top of the sky, Pharaoh will declare that the name Amenhotep, ‘Amun is satisfied,’ is no more . . . only Pharaoh Akhenaten—‘the living spirt of Aten’—remains.

  “Pharaoh’s Queen Nefertiti will no longer exist . . . only Pharaoh’s Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti—‘perfect are the perfections of Aten.’

  “We alone will mediate between the people of Egypt and the Aten. Worship of any god except the Aten will be punishable by one hundred lashes and a fine to Pharaoh. We will restore power to the throne of Pharaoh. We will give Egypt to the greatness the Aten has declared for her!”

  CHAPTER 15

  THE TIME OF CHANGE

  “It’s a baby girl, my Queen,” Aitye told Nefertiti as she pulled the wooden stick from her Queen’s mouth.

  Nefertiti could feel the despair of that word—girl—deep within her aching belly and tired back.

  Aitye brought the water to her forehead and gently wiped the sweat from her brow. “Another beautiful baby girl,” Aitye said as she admired the crying baby in the arms of the midwife.

  Nefertiti wanted to slap Aitye in her face, but the strength to do so escaped her. Instead she muttered, “That makes four daughters, but no sons for Amenhotep.” She shook her head in bitter denial.

  “Pharaoh Akhenaten, my Queen,” Aitye whispered, ducking her head so no one else would hear.

  The desire to slap her again washed over Nefertiti, but she felt herself lose balance squatted above the birthing pot. A myriad of arms caught her as she fell, and she gave into their embrace. The messenger went to tell the Pharaoh of his daughter, but Nefertiti stopped him. “Do not tell Pharaoh he has a daughter. Tell him he has a child,” she said.

  “As you wish”—he inhaled to say her new long royal name in one breath—“Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti.”

  Nefertiti rolled her eyes at her new bestowed name from her husband, but bit her lip and turned away from the messenger turning to leave. “Aitye, come near me,” she said, taking many breaths as they continued to prop her up on her cot.

  “Yes, my Queen?”

  “Bring my daughter here.”

  Aitye went to the baby girl, who was being cleaned by the wet nurse, wrapped her tightly, and handed the bundle to Nefertiti, smiling. “She is a beautiful one. She looks like you, my Queen.”

  Nefertiti looked at her new daughter and began to cry. She missed Waset, Malkata, her father, her husband, and the name her mother gave her. Now, she held another daughter.

  “What is wrong, my Queen?” Aitye asked.

  She slapped her away as the messenger re-entered. Nefertiti was hoping to hear Amenhotep’s voice, but only the messenger’s came: “Pharaoh Akhenaten will come see his daughter after he has finished worshiping. Pharaoh says the Aten is giving him a vision.”

  “Cursed! Did I not tell you to say ‘child,’ not ‘daughter’?” Nefertiti yelled at the poor man.

  “My Queen,” he said with a bow. “I did say ‘child.’ Pharaoh said the Aten gave him the knowledge to know he would have a daughter.”

  At this, she cried even harder. The Aten gave him a vision! Of course! Even the gods knew she was cursed to only have daughters. Aitye tried to comfort her, but Nefertiti just held the baby close to her heart and pushed Aitye away. “Leave! Leave me!” she cried, and all left except Aitye, who knelt next to her where her husband should have been.

  The greater of the day passed, and Nefertiti refused to let the wet nurse take the child. The baby’s cries were incessant, and the wet nurse finally coached Nefertiti how to feed her own child. Nefertiti sucked in a quick breath, and a spontaneous laugh thrust from her lungs. The closeness, the connection to her daughter, caused her heart to race.

  “Why?” she asked the wet nurse. “Why did you not do this for me with my other daughters? This feeling,” she said as she watched her baby girl drink her milk, “is like one I have never felt before.”

  “The bre
asts get sore, my Queen, and sometimes the nipple splits, causing much pain. It is a diligent labor, unbefitting work of a queen or noblewoman. But whatever my Queen wishes, so it will be done.”

  And so Nefertiti wished for the baby to remain with her for the night and dismissed the wet nurse. She lay in bed holding her daughter, now sleeping. Lost in her thoughts, tears welling in her eyes, Nefertiti summoned her head steward.

  “Meryre, I request royal wife Kiya’s presence,” she said, and Merye left to carry the request.

  As Kiya entered the room and Ainamun closed the door behind her, leaving the two royal women of Egypt and the new princess alone, she smiled.

  “Kiya!” Nefertiti whispered with a deep breath. She needed to talk to someone. Her father was not in Aketaten but rather in Saqqara, attending the burial of a priest of Ptah, and so she needed her friend. “Kiya,” Nefertiti said again and extended her hand.

  Kiya grabbed it and sat beside her on the bed. “May I?” she asked, and Nefertiti extended the baby girl to her. “She is beautiful,” she said, admiring the girl’s soft lips and cheeks.

  “He still hasn’t come to see her,” Nefertiti said, more tears welling in her eyes.

  “Who?” Kiya said, preoccupied with the baby’s face.

  “Pharaoh Amenhotep . . . Akhenaten.” She sighed. Why can’t I just stay Nefertiti and he just stay Amenhotep—at least in the palace or when we are alone? she wondered. It would make no difference there.

  Kiya looked up at her with a gaping mouth. “He has not come? Why?”

  “Before we moved here, he promised me he would love me and only me, even if I had another daughter,” Nefertiti began. “But once we moved here . . . I’m just not sure anymore. He is different. He won’t even let me call him Amenhotep anymore—everything must be addressed to Pharaoh Akhenaten. This place . . . it has a hold over him.”

  “I don’t understand, Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti,” Kiya said.

  “Oh Kiya! Don’t call me that name. Please call me Nefertiti.” The Queen slapped the bed. “I hate that name,” she said under her breath.

  Kiya nodded in return, feeling her friend’s frustration.

  Shaking her head and looking to the ceiling, Nefertiti clenched her jaw. “He believes in the Aten, you know. He believes the Aten is the only god of Egypt.”

  “Yes, it looks that way by the recent commands he has given,” Kiya said, shrugging her shoulders. “So what if he believes it? Is it a crime?”

  “Egypt has many gods, and Amun-Re is the premiere god,” Nefertiti said. “But he is the only one who believes otherwise. This place . . . he has spent nearly every hour of daylight in the sun, under the Aten. He claims the Aten gives him visions. He had a vision of this place. He had a vision of his daughter. He had a vision for Egypt. He had a vision for his future son . . . he has a vision for everything. He isn’t the same person I married, Kiya. He is different. He speaks differently. He feels empowered by the sun, by the Aten. He has been by my side for every birth except this one, and why? Because he was praying to the Aten. He has been praying to the Aten all day. It is night now, but I’m sure he is out praying to the Aten to show his face again, like he has been doing the past weeks—nay, months. I don’t feel as important to him as I did once,” she confessed. “He has found another love . . . the Aten . . . and soon, it will spread to you and Henuttaneb and other wives he’ll take.”

  Kiya placed a hand on her thigh as she shifted the newborn into one arm. “No. If it is with the Aten, he won’t want Henuttaneb or myself. How can we compare with a god?” Kiya smiled, nodding at the Queen, trying to be reassuring.

  Nefertiti only shook her head. “Because, now, with another daughter, I’m afraid the Aten will give him a vision to be with you so you can give him a son. Amenhotep . . . I mean, Akhenaten, thinks he is one with the Aten, and it gives him a new courage to go beyond what he thought he was capable of.”

  “He will not go beyond you, Nefertiti. And as I promised you—if he tries, I will say no.”

  “You would go against Pharaoh, who may exile you for refusing his command?” Nefertiti asked with a raised eyebrow. She wouldn’t risk a life of destitution to go against Pharaoh; how could Kiya?

  “For you, I would,” Kiya said.

  Her words caused Nefertiti’s cheeks to blush at her own selfishness.

  “I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it. You are the chief royal wife, and you should bear the next heir to Egypt—not me, a rejected princess from Mitanni.”

  “You are truly a woman of nobility.” Nefertiti smiled. “And I thank you.”

  “Nefertiti, it may be out of line for me to speak what I am about to say, but I have some advice that may help.”

  “Kiya, you will never be out of line with me. You are my friend.”

  Kiya smiled and continued. “If Pharaoh Akhenaten is not the man you married, and you are afraid of losing him, maybe it would be best to start being with him. If he is out praying to the Aten to show his face again at night, then join him. Not now, of course, but once you heal.”

  “I know you don’t understand the intricacies of Egypt’s religion, Kiya, but if I am seen worshiping the Aten after Pharaoh’s decrees, the world will assume I also believe it.” Nefertiti’s chin dropped. “I won’t do it.”

  Kiya’s eyes opened wide. “Don’t you want the world to believe it? If not, are you not undermining Pharaoh’s power to make decrees?”

  Nefertiti opened her mouth, but her mind could not formulate a response. Of course, she is right . . . but I don’t want to.

  “When he is out worshiping the Aten, join him. Take your children with you to show him you and your children are just as important to him as the Aten. I will sit at the edge of the temple or the courtyard and paint the picture for the sculptures and records keepers to chisel into the rock so the world may forever know the love you had for each other.”

  “Or forever know we were heretics,” Nefertiti said, crossing her arms.

  Kiya placed the baby in Nefertiti’s arms. She scooted next to Nefertiti’s side, both of their backs against the headboard. “No . . . I think the world will see the love, my Queen. In a time where Pharaohs and men of noble stature have many wives, and many children from those wives, and he, Pharaoh Akhenaten—or if he goes back to Amenhotep one day—only loved one wife and only had children with one wife, especially after four daughters . . . I think the world will see how much you and your daughters mean to him.”

  “Thank you, Kiya,” Nefertiti said, tears falling from her eyes.

  Kiya gave her a much-needed hug and kissed her forehead.

  A servant opened the bedchambers door and escorted the Pharaoh inside.

  “Ah! The Aten has blessed Pharaoh with three lovely women in his bed! The Great of Praises, Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti, the Beloved of the King, Kiya, and my newest daughter, Princess of Egypt!”

  “Pharaoh Akhenaten,” Kiya said as she stood up and bowed. She turned to look at Nefertiti and bowed to her as well. “It is late, and I shall retire for the evening. Bless the night to you both.” She turned and left with the servant.

  “My beautiful Queen!” Pharaoh said, and walked to her with his arms raised. “And my stunning new daughter!” He lifted the baby girl from her mother, high into the air and back into his arms again. “She looks entirely as her mother does.” He buried his head into the baby’s chest. “Your sisters will be jealous,” he whispered, “for they take some after me.”

  “I missed you this morning,” Nefertiti said. “You are usually by my side when our children are born . . . or you have come right away in times past.”

  “My love,” he said, turning to face her, and shrugged his shoulders. “I was with the Aten! He has given me a vision that one day I will have a son.”

  “We will have a son?” Nefertiti asked, hoping she was in the vision, yet still wondering if he saw another woman as the mother of his son.

  “Who else would it be but you, my love?” He bent to kiss
her, but also to hide his expression as he thought, I do not want to admit I did not see who the mother was in the vision. It was only of my son and me.

  But Nefertiti took what she wanted to hear and peace grew in her heart. “Amenhotep,” she said softly.

  “My name is now Akhenaten,” he said in a firm voice. “You will call me Akhenaten.”

  Nefertiti shook her head and let out a huff. “I thought your re-naming conventions were to show the people of Egypt we belong to the Aten. Are we changing our names in moments like these as well?”

  “Thus Pharaoh says.”

  His back was to her, so she lifted her head and hands in prayer to Amun-Re to give her patience. She folded her hands in her lap, deciding to give Kiya’s suggestion a try. Perhaps she could coax him back to her by indulging in his obsessions for a while. “Well, then, Akhenaten, when I have my strength back, I would like to join you in the temple if you would have me.”

  “You want to join me in the temple and worship the Aten?” he repeated, spinning around and almost dropping the baby in his haste.

  Nefertiti lunged forward to catch her daughter, but he held on to her and pressed her close to his neck. She looked up and said, “Yes, if you will have me.”

  “Praise the Aten! I have prayed for this day to come! My beautiful wife to join me in my daily worship!” He grabbed her hand and kissed it all the way up her arm and to her lips. The baby girl’s face contorted in screaming silence.

  Giggling, Nefertiti wrapped her arms around his neck and slowly kissed him back. Maybe Kiya was right, she thought. Just for a time. I will still worship Amun-Re, though—in my mind, since he has outlawed all other gods but the Aten. She stroked her baby’s head until the wrinkles disappeared and peace rested on her face.

  He raised their daughter between them and asked, “Have you decided on a name?”

  “I was waiting for you to come to see her.”

  “The Aten did not give me a vision for the name of the child. However, as I see that she looks like you in every way, we should name her . . . Neferneferuaten Tasherit—your younger, your junior.”