Salvation in the Sun

by Lauren Lee Merewether

  Ay and Nefertiti paced back and forth in the council room. Pharaoh had refused to join. General Paaten was on his way from the North. He left his post with a granted request from Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti to attend the funerary procession for Queen Tiye, as he had been close to her and her family for many years.

  “Father, what do you suggest?” Nefertiti said.

  “We must turn Egypt back to the old religious ways, my daughter.”

  Nakht crossed his arms. “The economy in the religious sector once made up almost half of the income. If we continue like this, and with the rate we give away gold to our allies, Satau tells me Egypt will be bankrupt in the next six years. We have already seized the stores from all of the priesthoods from the other gods. We must make a decree that allows worship of the other gods.”

  “Pharaoh would have me exiled or executed and then make another decree invalidating mine,” Nefertiti said, throwing her hands in the air.

  Ay nodded. “Yes, you are right.” He paused his pacing and levied both hands on the table. “You must convince Pharaoh to turn back.”

  “How? He won’t see me. I have tried to console him, but he refuses to even open the door. I know what I must do, but when will it be too late?”

  “It might be already too late,” Ay said with a sigh.

  Just then General Paaten came into the council room. His cheeks flustered, he did a quick bow to Nefertiti and another bow to Nakht. “My Queen. Grand vizier of Egypt.”

  “General,” Nefertiti said.

  “My regrets, my Queen and Master of Pharaoh’s Horses, on the passing of Queen Tiye. I have ill news at such a time, but I feel pressed to report. I come from Lower Egypt with rumors of another rebellion forming and spies being sent to Aketaten. I cannot fully confirm their validity, but I have reason to believe that there is truth in the rumors.”

  “The Queen has already requested the Egyptian military to be returned to Egypt from our allies,” Nakht said.

  “This is good. We will need Commander Horemheb back in Egypt to help us put down another rebellion.”

  Nefertiti sat down in defeat. “Father, this is worse than I imagined. People are going hungry in the streets and cannot find work. Our treasury will be depleted. We lost Queen Tiye and the power she held, and now Pharaoh Akhenaten has stonewalled himself in his chambers . . .”

  Ay rubbed her back. He did not have the answer, and hatred burned in his heart toward Pharaoh for putting his beloved lotus blossom through so much.

  “We must return to Amun-Re and the other gods,” she said. “They punish Egypt for their lack of worship.”

  “It would seem so, my daughter.”

  “We must tell Pharaoh,” Nefertiti said.

  They all agreed that after the procession later in the day they would need to confront their disillusioned king. For the good of Egypt.

  NEFERTITI MADE an attempt three times a day to see her husband in the days, weeks, and months after the procession, but he refused to let anyone inside of his chambers and refused to leave the chambers himself. He had created a small temple to the Aten beside his window and worshiped the Aten all day and all night, sleeping where he prayed—if he slept at all.

  She found herself alone every night, and morning came earlier and earlier as the pains crept into her legs and her arms. The days hit as if a thousand stones had been dashed upon her body in her sleep, but she eventually rolled over and placed her feet on the floor—Egypt needed a ruler.

  Nefertiti welcomed the military home after long years away from Egypt with a grand feast after they were settled, hoping it would bring Pharaoh out. Instead it only caused more hatred toward their Pharaoh because he refused to see them; they were sick and injured—some missing limbs and digits, many still bandaged—but they came to the city of Aketaten for the feast, held in the largest courtyard situated in front of the palace.

  Their grumbles rose in the night air, and Nefertiti stepped before the angry soldiers and gave her address from the front steps of the palace.

  “Men of war, men of battle, honored men, Pharaoh knows of the sacrifice you make for this great country and respects you and the fallen—he does.”

  She could tell they wanted to yell out against her but because of their respect for her, they silenced their tongues—save for the myriad of coughs and hacks which simply could not be helped.

  “I, Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti, have put forth this feast to honor you for your great contribution to this country and its allies.”

  Commander Horemheb, Ay, and General Paaten stood on the steps below their Queen, staring out into the room full of ranking men.

  “Pharaoh must tend to other matters and has sent his beloved Queen, his lady of the Two Lands, his greatly beloved, to you to show he still stands behind you,” she said, hoping they would believe in the boldness with which she spoke her lie.

  A few moments passed and the men began to settle down. Once their reluctant contentment with her answer reached her senses, she ordered the feast to continue.

  “Distract them with food and wine,” she whispered to several nearby servants.

  LATE INTO THE EARLY MORNING, day one of the four-day feast finally ended, and her father, General Paaten, and Commander Horemheb escorted Nefertiti to Akhenaten’s chambers at her request.

  She knocked and a servant cracked the door open.

  “Pharaoh wishes not—” he started, but Nefertiti, with Paaten’s help, pushed the door open anyway. The servant tried to stop the Queen but found himself in the shadow of Commander Horemheb and subsequently backed away.

  She looked around his greatly disheveled chambers, empty wine goblets all around, and finally spotted her husband—on his knees, facing the rising sun, naked and worshiping, arms spread wide, eyes closed, face toward the budding light.

  Nefertiti walked to stand between him and the window.

  As soon as he felt the light disappear from his eyes, Akhenaten spoke.

  “Pharaoh wishes you to leave.”

  “Pharaoh Akhenaten, it is your wife, Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti,” she said. “There was a feast to honor the soldiers who have returned from our allies’ battlefront. You have disrespected them by not showing your face.” She wanted to slap him for the embarrassment he brought to the throne.

  There was silence for a while as he sat unmoving. “As you have disrespected Pharaoh by entering his chambers uninvited,” he said, opening his eyes.

  His comments crashed against a calloused wall Nefertiti had long since built around her heart. She could smell the wine in his sweat.

  “Your council, your country, your people, your wife, your children . . . we need you.”

  His blank stare in response sent her to rage.

  “We need you! Do you not understand that you are neglecting everything you promised to protect and love and rule? Do you even remember your vow when you were crowned Pharaoh?”

  General Paaten, Commander Horemheb, and the servant stood as still as the stone, not wanting to behold Pharaoh’s wrath. Ay only looked at the Pharaoh with disgust.

  Pharaoh remained silent until finally teetering to his knees. He spoke softly.

  “Do you wish to be banished?”

  “Do you wish this city to be overrun with rebels again? If you do not find yourself on the throne, ruling Egypt and letting the people return to their worship of the gods, the people will rise up against you. When did you last attend a meeting with Nakht? He is your grand vizier, is he not? Egypt will go bankrupt . . . bankrupt . . . in six years! We are not bringing in the money we did when the economy flourished with religion. You have starved the people of their faith. You must return them to their old ways. The cult of Amun is gone. The priesthoods of all the gods except the Aten are gone. Your mother, Queen Tiye, told us that we have the power—but you, with your neglect, are destroying what we have gained. You must obey your father and your mother and finish their plan to restore power to the throne.”

  He remained silent. His ha
nd dropped to the floor to find another wine goblet. He attempted to drink, but only a few drops fell onto his tongue.

  Seeing his nonchalance, Nefertiti added, “Your father would be ashamed.”

  The fog in his eyes disappeared. “My father would be proud. He, as a part of the Aten shows me, is proud of me each and every day. All of the Pharaohs before are proud of what I have done! They are now being worshiped as the Aten, and I am a son of Pharaoh, a son of the Aten of whom they are most proud!”

  Nefertiti wanted to shake the sense into him. “All of the dead Pharaohs are not in the Aten!”

  He glared at his wife. “The Aten will remain the sole god of Egypt,” he said, and closed his eyes again. “Now, wife of Pharaoh, remove yourself from my worship and never make mention of the man who called himself my father or of Queen Tiye ever again.”

  Nefertiti stood still. “If you will not rule, I will. Make me Pharaoh Coregent,” she demanded.

  “As you wish. But, Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti . . . if you declare the people may worship the other gods of Egypt or declare Amun-Re as the premiere god, I will have you impaled outside the temple of the Aten at the foremost of the entrance of Aketaten.”

  His icy glare made her feet take a step backwards.

  “If you refuse me to allow the religious backbone of the Egyptian economy to continue, what are we to do about Egypt’s pending bankruptcy?”

  “You are now Pharaoh Coregent, are you not? It is your job to find a solution. But mind my generous warning.” He barked at the servant, “Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti is now Pharaoh Coregent Neferneferuaten. Have grand vizier Nakht declare this to all of Egypt.”

  He put his hand to his head when the bellowing sound of his voice overtook his ears.

  “The Pharaoh Coregent shall remove herself from Pharaoh’s worship,” he said, and shooed her with a few flicks of his hand. Nefertiti took a side step to allow the light to fall again on his face.

  All of a sudden, a messenger burst through the doors.

  “Pharaoh’s daughter, Setepenre, has died, as did her wet nurse. Pharaoh’s daughter, Nefenefereure, has fallen ill with the same sickness of coughing blood.”

  Nefertiti gasped. “No!” She began to run out the door toward her babies, but stopped at the entrance to Pharaoh’s chambers, looking back to see if Akhenaten was following her—but he stayed where she left him, praying to the Aten.

  “She’s your daughter!” Nefertiti yelled, gasping from disbelief that her husband would sink to such depths.

  “Pharaoh’s son is the only one of importance now,” he said.

  Nefertiti’s face contorted. She wanted to scream at him, “You are the failure your father knew you would be!” but an overwhelming rage muted her tongue. Instead, she left to tend to her sick daughter.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE TIME OF PLAGUE

  Nefertiti ran with General Paaten to the nursing chambers where her two youngest daughters were staying with their wet nurses. She threw open the doors and found one wet nurse crumpled on the floor, unmoving, the other standing in the corner of the room holding Nefeneferure as the young girl coughed up blood. Setepenre lay still as stone in the royal crib.

  Nefertiti looked first to her newborn and then to the one-year-old. She tried to go to the one-year-old, but Aitye was there by the door and blocked her path.

  “No, my Queen!”

  Nefertiti tried to knock her down, but General Paaten instinctually grabbed Nefertiti’s shoulders, pulling her back.

  “My children! My daughters!” Nefertiti yelled.

  The wet nurse holding Nefeneferure spoke, her voice calm. “My Queen, you must not. This child will die, and if you hold her, you will die as well. I have seen it spread, first from Mara”—she nodded to the dead wet nurse on the floor—“then to the little Princess.” A single tear fell down her cheek as she nodded to Setepenre. “It is now spreading to Princess Nefeneferure.”

  She patted her back as the little girl lay limp on her shoulder, struggling to breathe, blood spatter from her mouth staining the shoulder of the wet nurse’s white gown.

  “Leave us in these chambers and do not come back until we are dead,” the wet nurse said, tears now streaming down her face. “Long live Pharaoh’s chief royal wife,” she whispered.

  Nefertiti commanded her general and servant girl to unhand her, to let her go, but her words fell on stony expressions.

  “Take the Queen from this room of death,” the wet nurse said to General Paaten.

  He nodded and pulled Nefertiti out of the room, accompanied by Aitye.

  Hot tears raced down Nefertiti’s face. Her body had forgotten how to breathe.

  Aitye bit her lip, not wanting to add to the Queen’s pain, but gathered the courage as she closed the doors to the nursing chambers. “My Queen . . . I asked Meryre to hold Princess Meketaten in her chambers as well, since she was with Nefeneferure this morning.”

  Nefertiti finally took a shaky breath and stared at Aitye in disbelief.

  This is not happening to me, she thought. Amun-Re, why are you punishing me? Why? Have I not paid enough already?!

  “My Queen!”

  A messenger came running up to her, but General Paaten put his hand up and said, “Pharaoh Coregent Neferneferuaten.”

  The messenger nodded. “Pharaoh Coregent, reports are coming in from the Northern border.” He took a deep breath. “It is the plague.”

  Nefertiti hung her head. She longed to hold her babies, but General Paaten’s hard grip on her arm made her mind silence her heart.

  Egypt needs me now. I must put aside my daughters.

  Tears welled in her eyes as she looked into the room where her sick and dead children lay. She would not be the one to hold them while they died.

  “Pharaoh Coregent,” the messenger said again. “Many messengers have come.”

  “Yes.” Nefertiti stepped away from the nursery. Her heart cried out, Children, forgive me! but with the will of her mind, she kept her eyes dry and her mouth shut. “I shall hear the messengers.”

  Her heart sank deep within her chest, and some of her soul died along with her daughter, Setepenre. If Nefeneferure and Meketaten were to die as well, surely she would only be half alive.

  AS SHE SAT in her throne, it became apparent that it was the return of the military abroad which had brought home the plague. She ordered all halt of the military and that the soldiers be confined and isolated.

  As she closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the cool stone of the throne, she thought, I did this, I killed my own daughter. I ordered the military home from a diseased land. I am to blame.

  She forced her eyes to open, feeling the stares of all who stood in the throne room. Stares that begged the question, What do we do? She straightened her back and cleared her throat.

  “Pharaoh Coregent wishes to send correspondence.”

  The scribe pulled out papyrus and readied the inkwell, nodding to Nefertiti when he was ready.

  “The plague from our Northern allies descended upon Aketaten and all of Lower Egypt with great speed. It is a fast killing disease,” she announced. “It has taken Pharaoh’s youngest daughter already, within a fortnight of showing symptoms. Two more of Pharaoh’s children are at risk of death as well. Take precautions and isolate anyone showing signs of the plague. Wishes be it takes as few as possible.”

  The scribe nodded that he had completed her letter.

  “Make copies of this letter and send it to all of the officers of Upper Egypt. Have messengers send copies to our allies in the South.”

  The messengers bowed and left to complete their tasks.

  MORE MESSENGERS POURED IN, one after the other, from their northern allies, crying out to Nefertiti.

  “Gold!”

  “Help!”

  “Disease!”

  She looked up to the Aten, who shone high over her head, drenching her body in sunlight. The Aten calmed her for a brief second before sweat began to pour fr
om her back. She took in a steadying breath.

  I cannot send any more money to our allies, I must take care of Egypt first, she thought. I cannot bankrupt this great nation’s treasury for allies abroad when we, at home, are dying.

  Having made up her mind, she crafted answers to deny the pleas of aid and gold.

  THE MITANNI KING sent his own response once he received Nefertiti’s answer, but by then, Setepenre and Nefeneferure were both dead and buried. Meketaten, though having not fallen ill with her encounter with her sister that one dreadful morning, fell ill in the months afterward.

  OH HER WAY back to the throne room, Nefertiti stopped in the courtyard and noticed the eerie silence. She wandered the palace looking for her children. Finding them in the temple of the Aten, her heart stopped. Meritaten and her husband Smenkare, Ankneserpaaten, and Neferneferuaten Tasherit were all kneeling, facing the sun with their arms open wide. Their father prayed aloud to the Aten to heal their sister, Meketaten, with his rays of light.

  She shrunk into the shadows of the corridor.

  I have taught them to worship the Aten, she thought. What have I done?

  A messenger was nearby, and she ordered him to go bring forth Smenkare and Meritaten.

  They came out to meet her. “Pharaoh Coregent Neferneferuaten wishes to speak with us?” Smenkare asked.

  “Prince Smenkare. Your mother, the royal wife of the Pharaoh before, Sitamun . . . did she not teach you about Amun-Re?” she asked him.

  “Yes, she did, but having spent the past year with Meritaten as my wife in Aketaten, I have come to know that my mother spoke lies. The Aten is the sole god of Egypt,” he responded with the sun in his eyes, and Nefertiti’s daughter, Meritaten, held to his arm, gleaming with a proud smile.

  Nefertiti took a slight step backward, her mouth ajar. I have done this, she thought again.