“I will do as you ask,” Nefertiti said before she left Ty’s chamber with the pouch held tight in her hand.
Speaking with her daughter-in-law was like reliving her past life in Thebes. Ty saw so much of herself in Nefertiti that it saddened her that the young queen was experiencing the same turmoil that had once deprived her of her dignity.
Queen Ty went to her mirror and unsealed her last remaining pouch. She released the scorpion into a bowl and crushed it alive with a stone before it could scurry away. In a vase filled with wood scraps and linen, she sprinkled the severed scorpion pieces and topped it with pounded frankincense, then set the concoction on fire. Queen Ty recited the spell she overheard from the Amun priests in Thebes but adjusted it slightly so it would affect the mut spirits of Lupita and her cat.
4Down upon your face, evil spirits. You are thrust down into the flame of fire and it has come against you. This flame is deadly to your soul and to your spirit and to your body. This fire will prevail over you, the flame is piercing, it devours you and there is no escape. Your soul has shriveled up and the names of Lupita and her cat Bastian are buried into oblivion, silenced, and will not be remembered or will ever live again. Your spirit has come to an end, driven away and forgotten, forgotten, and forgotten.
The queen blew out the flames and pounded the ashes into a fine powder. She then mixed it with water. After a short period of contemplation on whether she was making the right decision, she consumed it all.
Moments later her eyelids were heavy and she drifted off to sleep in her bed. The hour had not even passed before she suddenly opened her eyes again. Something had stung her, shocking the queen from her sleep and directing her attention to the wall. Moving across it were the sinister shadows of Lupita and Bastian, and finally the Oracle himself exiting her bedchamber, one after the other in slow and measured steps. She tried to rise from her bed, but her legs and arms wouldn’t move. She screamed, but no sound came from her mouth. The queen gasped in pain from another sting that seized her already paralyzed body. Queen Ty fell into a fixed stare of death as a black mamba slithered from beneath her bedcover onto the floor.
CHAPTER
23
AKENATEN BELIEVED it was the Aten who rendered the judgment of death against his mother, not a mut spirit as Ay argued, nor the scorpion’s poison. The queen had dared to recite a spell she overheard from the Amun priests, and the Aten had punished her accordingly.
Akenaten could not in good conscience allow himself to dishonor the Aten’s judgment of his mother’s death with a public display of grief. Reciting a spell from the Amun priests was blasphemous, and he shuddered to admit that his mother deserved her punishment. Yet, during the seventy days of her mummification he had had not a moment’s rest fighting back the despair over losing her in his life. If he could just shed a tear for her, beat his chest in anguish, maybe the pain would subside, instead of festering through his innards like poison. The queen embodied the pinnacle of Akenaten’s life, and he knew from that day forward, no one would ever love him again the way she had loved him.
Queen Ty, the grand queen of Egypt, chief wife of Amenhotep the Third, and mother of the Pharaoh Akenaten, was mourned for seventy days by the people of Amarna, then interred in her son’s tomb hidden deep in the cliffs above the city. Never will he forget the one who had nurtured him to be the great pharaoh he had become.
While Akenaten was able to hide his grief for his mother internally, Nefertiti struggled. She mourned the death of Queen Ty the same as she had mourned the death of her own birth mother as a child. At times she’d burst into tears at the memory of the queen being interred in her tomb or when Akenaten mentioned her name in passing. She craved for her husband’s consolation, and when she tried to gravitate closer to him, he would pull away, widening the divide between them.
With her mentor and confidant gone, Nefertiti now had to contend with Kiya alone.
Both wives were in their eighth month of pregnancy, with Kiya expected to be the first to give birth. To divert Nefertiti’s attention away from Kiya’s pending day of childbirth, Akenaten commissioned a bust to be made of her beautiful face by Dutmose, who, along with Bek, was one of the finest sculptors in Egypt.
For her sitting, Nefertiti wore her favorite blue crown. It featured a golden diadem band looped around like horizontal ribbons, joining at the back, and a cobra over the brow. Around her neck hung a broad collar with a floral pattern on it, similar to the pattern on her dress—a dress much too sheer for a queen to wear in the presence of a commoner.
As soon as Akenaten stepped into Dutmose’s workshop, he was disturbed by Nefertiti’s appearance. He stood there in silence while Dutmose carved the stucco layers around the limestone core of the bust, appearing more captivated by Nefertiti’s beauty than by the image he was forming. It was precisely what she wanted to happen, and once she determined that Akenaten’s jealousy was thoroughly provoked, she pretended to be surprised by it.
“Is there something irritating you, my husband?” she asked, while casting a flirtatious smile at Dutmose.
“Do you think your attire is appropriate in the presence of a commoner?” replied Akenaten.
“I see nothing inappropriate with it,” she responded, and turned her attention again back to Dutmose. "Do you see anything unbecoming of my attire?"
Dutmose shrugged, afraid to say anything that might insult the pharaoh or the queen.
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks,” Akenaten said, clenching his teeth.
Nefertiti desired more than the reaction he gave her, so she continued on with her prodding.
“You’re right, my dear husband, this dress is inappropriate for such a special occasion. Perhaps it’s best without it,” she said, and with that, she pulled it off her shoulders and down to her waist, revealing her breasts. Akenaten was appalled, abashed, and furious all at once.
“Put the dress on and return to your chamber,” Akenaten said, restraining the tone of his voice.
“You commissioned him to create this bust of me and that is what he’ll do,” she replied.
“Nefertiti!” he shouted.
The stirring up of her husband’s emotions pleased her. Finally, she received the attention she craved from him.
“Tell me, Teppy, what are you feeling? It can’t be any worse than what I feel when I see you and Kiya together frolicking about as if I didn’t exist. Go on, tell me. What are you feeling, Teppy? Describe it. I’m curious to know, Teppy,” she said, intentionally repeating his birth name to get under his skin and spite him in front of Dutmose.
To Nefertiti’s astonishment, Akenaten rushed up to her and grabbed her around the throat with both hands.
Dutmose dropped his carving utensil and fled the room.
“You’ll not ever again as long as you are alive address me by that name. My name is, and will always be, Akenaten. Is that understood?”
He tightened his grip around Nefertiti’s throat, stifling her ability to answer. All she could do was nod. Never had she seen him so filled with rage, as if possessed by the evil of the Apep god—a miscreant force truly capable of killing her.
Akenaten caught sight of the fear in his sweet Nefertiti’s eyes, and what was worse; that he was the cause of it. His manner softened as suddenly as it had turned violent. Akenaten removed his hands from Nefertiti’s throat and slowly backed away from her.
She pulled her dress back onto her shoulders and glanced at her reflection in her metallic hand mirror. A bruise had formed around the entire circumference of her neck. She sighed as she looked up into her husband’s face. The way he put his head down in shame while he limped out of the workshop was proof enough that he regretted what he had done. It was her behavior that provoked him and Nefertiti blamed no one but herself for pushing him to his limit.
Akenaten had reassured her numerous times that she had no valid reason to be jealous of Kiya, that he loved her more than any woman he had ever known, that it was only empathy he shared for Kiy
a and her unborn child—never love. Still, Nefertiti found many reasons in her heart to doubt him, and as long as Kiya carried her husband’s child in her womb, her mercurial behavior toward him would continue to slip beyond her control.
In the thirty-third week of her pregnancy during an evening meal, Kiya buckled over and screamed. A severe pain had surged upward from her groin into her abdomen so excruciating that she could barely stand on her feet. Ay witnessed the liquid bursting from her womb and spilling out over the ground. The birth had come prematurely.
Teyla helped Kiya to a birthing chamber equipped with a wooden stool so that the child could be delivered. Because males were not allowed inside, Ay remained in the entryway as his wife, Teyla, helped position Kiya in a squatting position over the stool. Praying for a fertility blessing from the gods Bes and Hathor was forbidden in Amarna, so Teyla spoke only a part of the prayer, repeating, “Come down placenta, come down,” over and over again.
“It’s dying; I can feel it. My child is dying!” screamed Kiya.
Blood seeped from her vagina as Kiya bore down in haste to push the baby out in time to save it.
Ay pretended to be concerned for the well-being of Kiya and the child, but his only interest was for his daughter, Nefertiti. He had purposely neglected to inform Akenaten of the birth so that the pharaoh wouldn’t insist on being present during the child’s delivery. A male heir born from Kiya would not only diminish his daughter’s standing as chief wife to Akenaten, but as the queen’s father, his position of royalty might be challenged as well.
Teyla pushed down hard around the outline of Kiya’s abdomen, massaging it, hoping to help ease the release. Instead, it made her scream louder as more blood dripped down onto the stool.
“Push!” Teyla shouted. “Push! It’s coming!”
Kiya pushed with the last bit of her strength. It felt like the child was reaching up inside of her, pulling, twisting and squeezing her internal organs. The sudden strain triggered a blood vessel in Kiya’s left eye to hemorrhage. It stained the white of her eye bright red. The child’s head had not tilted down toward its mother’s pelvis where it could push on the birth canal and free itself. Instead, the child had curled up against it, causing the shoulder to emerge first. Teyla quickly repositioned the child and the head passed through, then she gently turned the child’s shoulders again to help them move past the pelvis. After the abdomen and legs passed through, the baby dropped down into Teyla’s waiting hands; a boy that was silent except for a creaking noise he made, like that of a pine tree bending from the wind. Teyla cut the umbilical cord with a flint knife and pinched the baby’s arm. There was not another sound from him. Moments later, there was no sound from Kiya either. Ay sighed in relief and left the entryway thanking the Aten god.
The pharaoh’s firstborn son had died in childbirth, and the child’s mother, Kiya, who desperately tried to give him life, had lost her own.
It was the will of the Aten that Kiya and Akenaten’s son did not survive in Amarna. Ay accepted the child’s death as fate and advised the grief-stricken pharaoh to do the same. Ay never speculated about the real cause of Kiya’s early labor and death in childbirth. Though he suspected his daughter, Nefertiti, had a role in the tragedy, he remained content that no such proof of it existed. The second scorpion pouch that he had given to Queen Ty had long disappeared.
It had been four years since Akenaten left the city of Thebes. In the first year of his absence, the capital came under the control of Sia, Horemheb, and his brother Kafrem—the priest-appointed mayor. Rumors of Queen Ty’s death in Amarna had spread throughout the city, and Horemheb made plans to travel to Amarna under the guise of paying homage to her. The true reason being to quench his curiosity of whether the rumors of Kiya’s and Nefertiti’s pregnancies were factual and to see with his own eyes the city the pharaoh had built in reverence to the Aten god.
Horemheb loaded gifts of lapis-lazuli and talents of gold onto a sailing barge, and with a boat crew of twenty men, he sailed the river seven days and nights until they came upon the shores of Amarna. He was astonished at how meticulously the new city, though still incomplete, was planned out with its foundations set up on markers above the cliffs. Most shocking to him, however, was how all the statues, art, and drawings of Akenaten scattered throughout the village depicted his body the way it actually appeared. His curved feminine hips and ample potbelly were blatantly displayed and not altered as they had been for his statues in Thebes.
When Akenaten was informed of Horemheb’s arrival, he sent Ay and Ranefer—the captain of Akenaten’s guards, out to greet him, specifically to learn the motive for the general’s visit.
Ay and Ranefer approached Horemheb as he guided his crew off the barge and onto the banks of Amarna.
“It’s quite a surprise to see you here, general,” said Ay. “The pharaoh would like to know the reason for your visit.”
“Queen Ty is dead, is she not?” asked Horemheb as he continued directing his crew in unloading the shipment containers.
“The queen is entombed here in Amarna,” replied Ay.
“Then that would be the reason I’m here. Tell Pharaoh Teppy that I have brought gifts of gold and lapis-lazuli for the queen’s tomb and for the newborn children of Kiya and Nefertiti.”
“How is it you know so much about the state of affairs in Amarna?”
“Why does it matter? Though we are two separate cities, we are still one country.”
Ay capitulated, telling the general what he wanted to know. “Kiya and her newborn died in childbirth, and Nefertiti has yet to give birth to her child.”
The news alarmed Horemheb, but not enough to warrant a reaction.
“And the pharaoh is no longer known as Teppy. His name is Akenaten,” added Ranefer.
“Who is this?” asked Horemheb, pointing at Ranefer as if he were a mere servant.
“He is Ranefer, Pharaoh Akenaten’s captain of the royal guard,” replied Ay.
“Akenaten?” repeated Horemheb with a smirk. “His father named him Amenhotep the Fourth, and he is known throughout every country and kingdom as Teppy.”
“Here he’s known as Akenaten, and as long as you are a guest in this city, that is how you will address the pharaoh. Any other name will be considered a sign of disrespect,” said Ranefer.
Horemheb ignored him, and after his crew unloaded the last shipment container, he ordered them back to the barge.
“Would you like to speak to the pharaoh before you depart?” asked Ay.
“No, but you can make sure he receives the talents of gold and the lapis-lazuli stones in honor of our departed queen mother and the coming birth of Nefertiti’s child.”
“Your thoughtfulness is surprising, general,” said Ay. “It’s no secret you and my sister, Ty, shared a mutual animosity for each other.”
“Regardless of our supposed animosity, she was the chief wife of Amenhotep and will always have the right of respect as the queen mother of Egypt,” said Horemheb.
With that, Horemheb gave Ay and Ranefer a scroll with one last message.
“The scroll is a letter for Nefertiti from her sister, Mundi, my wife. Please tell this ‘Akenaten’, as you call him, that when he’s done tinkering with his primitive capital city, we’ll be waiting for his return to Thebes, the known and established capital of Egypt, with welcoming arms.”
“Pharaoh Akenaten has vowed never to take a step outside the boundaries of Amarna,” said Ay.
“And I made a vow never to set foot here. Vows are broken as often as bones, Ay,” replied Horemheb.
Days later, Nefertiti was overcome with birth pangs and had to be prepared for childbirth. Premonitions that her unborn child would be stillborn haunted and frightened her. Though relieved at first by Kiya’s death, she pitied the death of Kiya’s child, an innocent life that never had a chance to be nurtured in the way that it so deserved. There was a special place in Nefertiti’s heart for children—all children. The chance of Kiya’s child becoming A
kenaten’s heir threatened her, but if it had survived, she would have loved it as if it was her own. Kiya and her child’s death was supposed to bring Nefertiti solace, yet in the end, the horrific manner in which they died caused her to suffer even more anxiety about her own life and the mortality of her unborn child.
Nefertiti squatted over the birthing stool and prayed for a boy, but expected another girl. Akenaten entered her chamber before the moment of birth. It was unthinkable for a pharaoh to stand in the same room at the actual birthing of his child, but after the shock of Kiya’s death, Akenaten couldn’t stay away from his Nefertiti. If he lost her in childbirth it would be unbearable. He went to the birthing chamber to make sure that whatever happened to their child, that at least his sweet Nefertiti would survive.
Not long after he said a prayer to the Aten for her and the child’s health, their baby pushed out unencumbered from the womb into Teyla’s waiting hands. Nefertiti cried tears of joy as her stepmother severed the umbilical cord and the infant was freed to be placed in her arms. Nefertiti had given birth to the son she so badly wanted.
Her excitement so overwhelmed her that she had no concern that his tiny foot was deformed and he appeared to have a slight cleft palate. His boisterous cries were like music to her ears and confirmed the boy thrived with good health.
Nefertiti handed the newborn to Akenaten, and for the first time he cradled his son in his arms, crying tears of joy. His heir was the son of a god, and that day he named him Tutankhaten—the living image of the Aten.
CHAPTER
24
NEFERTITI AND AKENATEN sat together in the grand Amarna courtyard along with their daughters Mayati, Meketa, and Senpaten, who had all grown up to be beautiful young girls resembling their mother. They watched with bated breath as Tutankhaten’s arrow hit the target precisely in the center of the gazelle’s picture. His sisters jumped up from their seats applauding and cheering him.
VALLEY OF THE KINGS: The 18th Dynasty Page 19
