Nefertiti shifted her position so that she rested on one hip. The lamplight flickered. A shadow shaped like a wing moved across the face of the offering table. Nefertiti got to her knees and reached out with one hand. Was it the dead king's soul, come in bird form to visit her?
Suddenly a shout made her whirl around to face the door. As she moved, the wing shadow vanished. The shout had come from another room. Sebek too was looking in the direction of the shout, his hand on the scimitar at his belt. There was another shout, louder this time. Alarmed, Nefertiti ran out of the cella. Sebek launched himself after her, and they raced through the temple until they reached the outer hall. Great papyrus-bundle columns flanked an open court, where a crowd milled around two men.
Sebek thrust an arm in front of Nefertiti. "I'll go first, my queen." He gripped the hilt of the scimitar and walked up to the group of men. Nefertiti was close at his back. Sebek stopped beside a young priest at the edge of the crowd. "Make way for the great royal wife Nefertiti."
Shaved heads turned. Backs bent, and bodies scuttled to the side. They made their way to the crowd's center, where two men were shouting at each other as if they were in a beer tavern. Nefertiti recognized Wadjnas, chief priest of the mortuary temple. The man's face was contorted with fury, and he clutched the folds of a hastily donned robe. A wig sat awry his bald head until he clamped it straight with his free hand.
Wadjnas roared at the man facing him. Mery-Re. What was the high priest of the Aten doing in pharaoh's house of eternity? That was the question Sebek voiced in Nefertiti's name. The arguing ceased at once, and there was a moment of quiet while the men bowed low before Nefertiti. Although both men appeared startled at the presence of their queen, Wadjnas recovered first.
"Majesty, this-this heretic is going to erase the names of the gods. He says pharaoh ordered it. He says he will even wipe out the name of Osiris."
Nefertiti heard a mass intake of breath from the other priests. Her insides churned, and she waited for the gods to rend Mery-Re into small pieces. Osiris, renewer of life, the god who died and had been reborn-such a blasphemy could not be imagined. And yet these newcomer priests seemed confident in their sacrilege; she could see their puffed-up conviction in their faces. For years Akhenaten had been recruiting obsequious men whose sole qualification for membership in the Aten priesthood was a blind acceptance of his religious decrees. This was the result.
"The divine Son of the Sun orders the names of the usurpers to be expunged," Mery-Re said. "They are an abomination to the Aten." He motioned to the men at his back.
Nefertiti glanced at the hammers and chisels in the hands of the Aten priests. She noted their armed escort. Mery-Re was watching her. What could she do? Pharaoh's word was absolute. A cold fog invaded her body. While she hesitated, the soldiers corralled Wadjnas and his followers in one corner. Mery-Re directed his men to a wall depicting the judgment of Amunhotep's soul. Amunhotep stood before Osiris, while Anubis and Toth weighed his heart against the feather of truth. A priest pointed his chisel at the name of Osiris. Nefertiti cast a glance of appeal at Sebek, but the warrior lifted his hands in an unaccustomed movement of helplessness. The priest drew back his hammer.
Even now pharaoh might be undergoing judgment. The mist that shrouded Nefertiti's thoughts evaporated. The hammer arced toward the chisel. Nefertiti shouted, leaped at the priest, and caught the hammer in mid-swing. Pulled off balance, the man dropped the chisel. Nefertiti jerked the hammer out of his hand.
"You won't destroy pharaoh's ka." The priest shrank from her as she dropped the hammer.
Mery-Re swept toward her, two soldiers at his side.
"Thy majesty is misguided, distraught. Take the queen back to the palace."
The soldiers and Sebek moved toward each other as Nefertiti drew herself up to her full height. She stared at Mery-Re as if he were a maggot on the tip of her sandal.
"Mery-Re, you sniveling place seeker, you forget your lowly station."
"Nefertiti.'"
It was Akhenaten. Nefertiti was left standing in a sea of crouching figures. Pharaoh stalked to her, followed by a squadron of charioteers bearing swords.
Coming close, Akhenaten took her hand and searched her face. "What are you doing here? You're pale. Are you well?"
"Yes, majesty." Nefertiti stared into her husband's black eyes. "Majesty, did you order Mery-Re to wipe out the gods' names?"
"Of course," Akhenaten said as he gazed about the temple. "Words in stone make for permanent lies. The Aten's name shall replace all gods. What are you doing here?"
"I came to visit pharaoh's ka."
"Then you shall witness the beginning of reform. Mery-Re, begin."
Without thinking Nefertiti raised her voice. "No!"
Akhenaten had been surveying the temple walls with a preoccupied, hungry look on his face. At Nefertiti's shout, his eyes widened. He looked down as if to be sure that word had come from her.
"No? Did you say no?"
Akhenaten took Nefertiti by the shoulders and pulled her close so that he glared into her eyes. She put her arms on Akhenaten's shoulders and braced herself. She had gone too far this time. Either her husband would listen, or pharaoh would denounce her and send her away in disgrace. Nefertiti lowered her voice so that only Akhenaten could hear.
"Husband, you promised Queen Tiye you wouldn't interfere with pharaoh's provisions for the afterlife. Please don't make the gods angry." Nefertiti gasped as Akhenaten shook her.
"Blasphemy! There are no gods to make angry. Say it."
Nefertiti twisted the shoulders of pharaoh's robe in her fists. Anger began to replace her fear; she had always hated being bullied. Akhenaten became her unreasonable husband rather than pharaoh. She pounded Akhenaten's chest and spit out the words of a long-dead king.
"He is a fool who makes light of the judges of the dead."
Nefertiti was released suddenly, causing her to stumble. Akhenaten made a frustrated sound and snatched her arm. Nefertiti shied away as her husband thrust his face down into hers.
"The little hawk has talons," the king said.
The temple was so quiet she could hear her own breathing. Akhenaten was still glaring at her, but she refused to let him frighten her. Lifting her chin, she scowled at him. Her risk was rewarded. She could see him respond to the challenge of her defiance. He was still angry, but beneath the anger was excitement.
"By the Two Lands, you're as stubborn as my father ever was. I'm trying to save his ka."
Nefertiti jerked her arm free and poked a finger in her husband's chest. "If the Aten is all-powerful, why can he not see into your father's heart and judge him accordingly?"
"We've spoken of this many times before, Nefertiti. Father denied that the Aten was the one god."
There was no arguing with Akhenaten. No appeal to reason or the ancient ways would affect a man who knew he was the arbiter of all things. Nefertiti imagined her father-in-law's ka annihilated by the monster Eater of Souls in the Hall of Judgment. A silent cry went through her. Osiris, help me. She gazed up into Akhenaten's angry countenance. The wide, fleshy mouth looked as big as the maw of a demon. Moving so that her body almost touched Akhenaten's, she lifted her head so that her lips were near his ear.
"You promised," she whispered.
"What?"
"You promised you'd leave pharaoh's temple alone. Didn't you mean what you said?" Akhenaten released her arm, and Nefertiti moved back a step to gaze up into his black eyes. She kept her voice low and slightly rough. "I always thought I could trust you. I believed in you. How can I believe in you if you do this to your father?"
Her voice seemed to drain the anger from Akhenaten's countenance, leaving only excitement and affection. "You must believe in me."
"Then help me believe," Nefertiti said. "Keep your promise."
Nefertiti nearly cried out when Akhenaten took her hand and asked in a tone that was half teasing, half menacing, "Do you defy me?"
"No. I've never done that." Ne
fertiti made herself meet her husband's eyes, even though she was sure Akhenaten could see how much she hated to plead.
Akhenaten studied her until Nefertiti thought she would scream from the tension. Then he laughed softly.
"Mery-Re, return to the palace. I've changed my mind."
Nefertiti watched the high priest gather his men and retreat. Disapproval was blatant in his stiff posture.
Sebek came up beside her while pharaoh moved away to speak with Wadjnas. "I feared for you, majesty."
Nefertiti said nothing. She was still shaking from the risk she'd just taken. Once angered, Akhenaten could be vindictive and cruel. Although never its victim, Nefertiti had seen the results of pharaoh's wrath.
"My queen, are you well?"
"Yes." She pressed her shaking hands together. "I–I prayed for help from Osiris, and he came to my aid."
"Yes, majesty."
Nefertiti heard the warrior's skeptical tone. Sebek had never ventured an opinion about pharaoh. Such a liberty was not to be contemplated.
Sebek glanced over Nefertiti's head. "My queen, his majesty summons you."
Akhenaten waited at the entrance to the temple. His white robes stood out against the darkness of the stone around him. He lifted his arm; his eyes beckoned. Summoning her patience and her shredded composure, Nefertiti went to join her husband. As Akhenaten guided her outside, she couldn't help wondering if he would forget his desire to wipe out the name of Amun.
Chapter 9
Memphis, reign of Tutankhamun
Two chariots stood in the forecourt of Meren's town house. A line of servants on their way to the docks carried boxes and wicker trunks past the double reflection pools and out the front gates. Two Syrian girls, the personal maids of Tefnut and Isis, scurried after the group headed for Lord Sunero's yacht. It was already hot this morning as Meren helped Tefnut into the chariot beside her husband.
She leaned down and whispered to him, "Try not to worry, Father. I'll write so that you'll know how Isis fares."
"I'm not certain this is the best course," Meren replied.
Sunero gripped the reins of the chariot with one hand and steadied his wife with the other. "Leave it, Meren. You can't rush healing. Such things take many weeks and months. And you're not going to change your decision after I've had that mountain of parcels and boxes stuffed on board my yacht. I swear Isis has taken half the contents of your house."
"Not quite half," Meren replied with a faint smile. "Although Bener would agree with you." He touched Tefnut's hand. "Take care, little daughter."
Tefnut pressed a hand to her belly and said, "Father, you're the only one who would refer to me as little."
"I would, too," Sunero said.
"Anyone would look small next to you, husband. You're as tall as an obelisk."
"And as majestic," Sunero added.
"Ha! Certainly as noticeable."
Meren listened to the couple's exchange as they drove down the avenue to the gate. He returned their waves as they left the grounds, thinking how easy they were with each other. Had he and Sit-Hathor ever been so free with each other? After all this time, he seemed to remember only the pain of missing her and the emptiness in his heart, the emptiness he was afraid to fill.
Chastising himself for descending into another dark mood, Meren watched Kysen and Bener take leave of Isis. The chariot driver waited in the shade of the loggia while the family conversed, and a groom held the reins of the horses. Bener was talking gravely to her younger sister. Occasionally Kysen would offer a terse comment or pat Isis on the hand. Isis hung her head and listened, nodding and saying little. Seeing no improvement in her spirits, Meren sighed and realized he'd been right to agree to this visit. The old Isis would never have listened meekly to advice from her siblings. She would have given a derisive sniff and left them in mid-sentence to go her own way.
Meren joined his children beside the second chariot. As if by prearrangement, Bener dragged Kysen back to the house on the excuse that she wanted his opinion of a newly brewed batch of beer. Meren tried to catch Isis's eye, but she turned away to stroke the neck of one of the horses. Meren took the reins from the groom, who melted away to stand at the chariot driver's elbow.
"Will you at least bid me farewell, Isis?"
She glanced at him before staring at the horse's neck again. "Of course, Father. May the gods be with you while I'm away."
"And with you, my little one."
When Isis didn't answer, he sighed. "Isis, you can't live in shame forever. I'm tired of seeing you skulk about the house like a sick little jackal. You made a terrible mistake, but I know you never intended harm, and I forgive you. Now you must forgive yourself, and I do wish you would make haste about it, for I don't think I can bear this miserable humility of yours much longer."
Isis stared at him, and her mouth went slack with astonishment. "You don't hate me?"
"I love you," Meren snapped. "You would have known that had you not pretended to be asleep when I tried to see you in your room last night or had you not been avoiding me all this time."
"No," Isis said with a shake of her head. She stroked the horse's withers. "You have to hate me."
Uttering a gasp of exasperation, Meren dropped the reins and wrapped his youngest daughter in his arms, squeezing hard before releasing her. Isis gawked at him as he picked up the reins again.
"I don't have to hate you, but it seems you must hate yourself for a while longer."
"But-"
"But you're not going to do it in front of me," Meren said. He took her arm, guided her into the chariot, and signaled the driver. "I have made sacrifices for your safe journey, my Isis. Have mercy on Tefnut and try not to sulk so much. Your frowns will curdle the spirits of the child in her womb."
"What I did-"
Meren handed the reins to the driver and stepped away from the chariot. "Farewell, daughter. You are always in my heart."
The chariot jumped into motion, and Meren waved to Isis as it clattered down the avenue. His last glimpse of her was of a wide-eyed, lithe, and beautiful young girl staring at him in astonishment.
When she was gone, Meren walked to the loggia and paused to lean against a column. Behind him the polished cedar of tall front doors gleamed even in the shade. The solar orb cast glittering fans of light across the reflection pools. Once again his thoughts turned to his investigations. Dilalu had returned with a small caravan of horses with which he tried to tempt his noble customer. During that interview the merchant had hinted of his extensive trading contacts and the ease with which he obtained rare items, and dropped the names of several of his more warlike customers. Meren assumed that the oily foreigner was testing his openness to the clandestine purchase of arms.
He'd spun Dilalu in a web of sweet anticipation of profit, but said nothing definite. In the meantime there was Yamen. Kysen had persuaded him to delay dealing with the officer when Meren expressed a desire to reach down his throat and rip out his spine. Now he realized he may have allowed his terror over Kysen's near-death to influence his view of Yamen. He would invite the officer to the house for a meal with several other military friends.
Meren was headed inside to summon a messenger to go to Yamen when the sound of more chariots made him turn. To his surprise, Maya, the royal treasurer, and General Horemheb came into view. Preceded by several attendants, their chariots sent pebbles flying as they drove up to the loggia. Grooms rushed to see to the horses, and Meren's steward and servants hurried to attend the guests.
Only a formal greeting was possible until Meren led his friends into the reception hall, where Bener and Kysen waited with refreshments. Once pleasantries had been exchanged, a look from Horemheb caused Meren to dismiss his son and daughter. He could see Bener's curiosity, but he gave her a warning glare, and she vanished.
Meren refilled Horemheb's goblet with beer from a straining vessel and handed it to the general. "Whatever brings you here must be momentous to draw both of you to my house so early."
Maya exchanged glances with Horemheb. Meren had always liked the treasurer. Born into an old noble family, Maya had never been one of those men ready with a vicious tongue and betrayal in his heart. His love of efficiency had claimed advancement for him when his lack of ambition might have hindered him. Maya's real interest was gossip and meddling in the lives of his friends for their own good. He swore that Meren was too serious, too wary, and vowed that his friend spent too much time in royal service and not enough in his own. He'd given Meren the name Falcon long ago, saying that it described his predatory attitude toward pharaoh's enemies and his vigilance in defense of the king.
"Well," Meren said. "What have you come to say to me? If you're going to try to arrange a match between me and another of your cousins, Maya, enlisting Horemheb's aid won't help."
Maya popped a date in his mouth and held up a finger. "Ah, speaking of matches, my Falcon. Are you mad to try to seduce Princess Yia? Of all the women at court, Hunefer's wife, by the gods! Pharaoh, may he have life, health, and prosperity, is not pleased."
Scowling at his friend, Meren didn't answer at once. Although somewhat younger than Meren, the treasurer had a face that looked like the wind-scoured floor of the desert. Scarred by some childhood illness, the skin of his cheeks was stretched tightly over thin bones. He had a narrow-lipped mouth and eyebrows that seemed to form a horizon supporting an expansive forehead, upon which lines had been grooved as if by a master jeweler. Nevertheless, the entirety of his features combined to fascinate. Perhaps this was because of Maya's artless charm and easy manner, and perhaps it was because his eyes always seemed lifted at the corners from mirth. However, charming though Maya might be, Meren had no intention of allowing his friend to intimidate him into a meeting with yet another eligible relative.
"I have spoken to his majesty about Yia already," Meren muttered.
Horemheb's voice rumbled forth. "Damnation, Maya. You're delaying on purpose. Get on with it." He rose from his chair and put a hand on Meren's shoulder. "I don't believe any of it, my friend."
Drinker Of Blood lm-5 Page 10
