“I understand them completely, my king. But for good measure, maybe you should remind me again,” said Shattiwaza with an obsequious smile.
“I will require exclusive loyalty from Mitanni and its tributaries. A duplicate of this treaty will be kept before the goddess Arinna here in Hatti, and once you return to Mitanni and become king, you’ll keep a duplicate there before the Storm-god and the Moon-god where it should be read as a reminder for you and the Mitanni people. If you don’t observe the conditions of this treaty, I and the gods of Hatti will destroy you along with the Mitanni people. Do I make myself clear, prince of Mitanni?”
“Please, feel free to call me son-in-law,” Shattiwaza replied.
Suppiluliumas was not amused, so Shattiwaza erased the grin from his face.
“All that you ask, great king, I have consented,” said Shattiwaza in a more serious tone.
Suppiluliumas handed him the seal. “Then I say prolong the life of your throne, Shattiwaza. Prolong the life of Mitanni by sealing this treaty.”
Shattiwaza dipped his seal into the wax and pressed it to the tablet.
“I can’t think of any occasion grander than what has happened today, except, for what will happen tomorrow. Today your daughter, Carranda, is a princess of Hatti, tomorrow she will be the queen of Mitanni.”
Suppiluliumas feigned a nod of conformity, tolerating Shattiwaza’s infatuation with his daughter only at the prospect of having the loyalty of the Mitanni army at his beck and call.
“Will your father step down from his throne peacefully,” asked Suppiluliumas, “or will force be needed?”
“My father and I are both reasonable men. There’s nothing that can’t be resolved by a private discussion between a father and his son,” replied Shattiwaza.
Akenaten was a god, the son of the Aten, and the human image of his father—the sun-disk. Although he had the mark of the disease, he refused to believe it could harm him. Instead, his sudden affliction only reaffirmed his commitment to seek out and execute those who hid statuettes of false gods in their homes in secret. For Amarna to survive the curse of the disease, the keepers of this poison had to be rooted out and removed from the city.
Nefertiti did not share Akenaten’s zealotry. While the people gathered before the pharaoh in the grand courtyard ready to witness Amarna’s 103rd execution for blasphemy against the Aten, Nefertiti wished she had been bold enough to defy Akenaten’s order that she attend. She had no desire to be there by her husband’s side observing his excessive use of torture. Generally, the executions were carried out in the prison barracks, out of sight of the Amarna people, but Akenaten saved the execution of the pregnant woman and her husband to be an example the people would see with their own eyes.
The executioner came forward carrying a horsewhip, his face hidden under a jackal mask. The woman’s husband gasped in fear.
“Spare her please! I’m the guilty one, not my wife and our unborn child,” he pleaded.
The executioner ignored him and stepped behind the woman, and without warning, he struck her repeatedly across the back. Her husband flinched at the sight and sound of each strike of the whip slicing through his wife’s tender skin. She screamed out at first then went still and silent as the jackal continued striking the horsewhip across her body, causing it to spasm involuntarily. The pain was so intense that the woman collapsed, her body hanging limp from her rope restraints as the jackal went on lashing across her skin. Her back became a maze of cuts lined with blood, bruises, and ripped flesh.
Ranefer handed the executioner a battle ax, and the jackal tested the sharpness of it by rubbing his finger across the blade’s edge. Satisfied, he stepped forward and stood over the unconscious woman. Her head hung limp with the back of her neck exposed. He glanced over at Akenaten for approval. The pharaoh stood up and repeated the law he learned from his father when he was a child. “If your head comes off, it’s because you did not do as you were told,” he proclaimed.
Akenaten gave the executioner the nod of approval he yearned for. At the sight of this, Nefertiti rose from her seat and stormed out of the courtyard. She longed for the Aten to cure her daughter, but she didn’t believe the woman’s unborn child needed to be sacrificed in order to accomplish it.
The executioner lifted the ax above the woman’s head.
“Please! Pharaoh. Grant mercy!” screamed the woman’s husband.
“Did you think because I’m innately kind that I wouldn’t sentence you both to the harshest of punishment?” asked Akenaten.
“No, never, my Pharaoh.”
“Perhaps it was because you thought I was weak, and if you had the chance you would pounce on me like a leopard.”
“Pharaoh, I know that you’re strong. I would never—”
“You will see just how strong I am,” said Akenaten.
The pharaoh nodded at the jackal again.
“No!” shrieked the woman’s husband.
The executioner ignored his cries and brought the ax swiftly across the woman’s neck. Blood splattered in every direction and her head fell to the ground and rolled until it landed face up with the eyes wide open in a morbid stare. Akenaten smiled in approval at the sight of it.
As the husband was dragged to the post to take his wife’s place, Akenaten left the courtyard with Ranefer and Ay and returned to his chamber, convinced that he had done what was necessary to please his god.
“Have you searched every home in the city?” Akenaten asked Ranefer.
“Every home was searched, my Pharaoh, except for those of the royal family,” Ranefer replied.
“Search them all, and if any are found to have statues of gods, execute them there in their homes.”
Ranefer was shocked. “Your royal family, my Pharaoh?”
“Don’t question me when I give you an order. Kill them!” he shouted.
“As you ordered, my Pharaoh,” said Ranefer, rushing away to continue the search.
“I assume you have no objections to that, Ay,” said Akenaten.
“Not at all, my Pharaoh. My home is yours to search. May you discover and punish all who have committed blasphemy against you and the Aten,” Ay replied.
The next morning, as workers filled the royal drinking jars with fresh water for the pharaoh’s palace, Ramose spied something floating in the shallow part of the river. He ran along the riverbank to get a closer view. There, clearly visible in the midst of the water, he came upon it—carcasses, of all kinds: fish, ducks, geese, birds, and two crocodiles, all decomposing together in one black putrid heap of disease that stretched hundreds of cubits down the length of the river. Because of mass hysteria triggered by the disease throughout the land, no one had even noticed the poison that was breeding and expanding in the river.
Raucous citizens flocked to the pharaoh’s palace. Outside Akenaten’s doors, a mob of them cried out for him and his royal family to appear. The curse of the disease was ravaging the people, and in their minds, if the pharaoh, the son of the Aten god, would set his eyes upon their affliction, they would be healed.
Akenaten refused to see them. He had warned that there would be no rest from the curse until every pagan statuette was found and destroyed along with all who committed blasphemy by harboring them. His daughter, Meketa, he contended, remained in her bed suffering because of their sins. How could they expect him to have pity on them?
Still, the crowd kept growing and their cries became unbearable to Nefertiti. It was only to appease her that Akenaten finally agreed to step out into the Window of Appearances by her side.
The citizens roared with exaltation at the sight of the royal couple. Many were sick and emaciated as they begged the pharaoh to appeal to the Aten god on their behalf.
Nefertiti’s heart was touched by the sight of so much suffering. She soon disappeared into her chamber and returned moments later carrying a sack in her hand. Without saying a word to Akenaten, she tossed pieces of gold and gold jewelry off the balcony to the people. This created a fr
enzy of pushing and pulling as each one tried to grasp on to the treasure before the other.
Akenaten looked appalled. “Have you lost your senses?”
“If we don’t do something they’ll soon revolt against us,” said Nefertiti.
“The gold is scarce!” Akenaten shouted back at her.
“Only because you won’t give Horemheb his war,” replied Nefertiti, as she continued tossing the gold pieces over the balcony. The crowd became like a pack of wild boars striking each other and screaming out for more gold.
Three nights before, the grain and gold shipments Nefertiti had secretly ordered from Horemheb had arrived, along with his message that it would be the last. She believed if she gave what was left of the gold away that Akenaten would have no choice but to consent to Horemheb’s war.
As she moved to toss another handful, Akenaten grabbed her wrist.
“General Horemheb does not rule Egypt,” he growled. “There will be no consent for war, nor will you give out another piece of my gold to these vile people,” he commanded.
Nefertiti didn’t look him in the eye as he spoke to her. Instead, she stared at his arm. Her expression was one of utter terror. As he was clutching her wrist, the purple bruises of the disease on Akenaten’s arm were visible, bruises that had spread down from his forearm to his wrist.
“What have we done to deserve such horror? You are a god; you are his son. Why has the Aten forsaken you?” said Nefertiti confused by it all.
He had no answer for her, so she rushed away into the palace, leaving the crowd below still crying out and begging for more gold. Akenaten soon followed, abandoning them to their clamoring, and entered his chamber. There was a sickness brewing in his intestines. It was rising from his abdomen into his throat. The sudden pain caused him to slump over and he vomited. The disease cannot harm me, he reasoned to himself. He was immune to its poison, and to the fever now raging inside him—all of which he wanted so desperately to believe.
CHAPTER
28
MEKETA’S ENTIRE BODY was covered in bruises, and she dripped sweat from the fever as she slept. Teyla had nursed her throughout the night, constantly wiping her dry with a cloth and reminding her that she was a daughter of the Aten and would soon be healed.
Meri-Ra walked into the room carrying a tray of onions and water that he placed on the platform next to the girl.
“I would think you would want to be at your home while the guards are searching it,” said Meri-Ra to Teyla.
“What guards?”
“I’m told the pharaoh’s guards are searching every house of the royal family for false idols from Thebes.”
Teyla disguised her fear and pretended she knew of the pharaoh’s search. “Yes. I’m aware, but perhaps you’re right,” she said. “It would go easier if I assisted them in their search. I’ll return here in the morning.”
As soon as Teyla departed, Meri-Ra placed his palm over Meketa’s forehead to check the severity of her fever. She opened her eyes and stared at him, bewildered.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Where is my sister, Mayati?”
Meri-Ra peeled three of the onions and squeezed the juice into a jar without answering her. Only when she began to cry because of her delirium did he speak to her. “Your sister will return here soon, but for now this will help rid your body of the evil spirit that’s causing your fever,” he said comforting her. He gently lifted Meketa’s head and helped her to drink.
Teyla arrived home in time to find Ranefer and the pharaoh’s guards making their way to her bedchamber. Teyla rushed in front of the chamber’s entrance.
“My husband is the father of the queen. You will be reported to the pharaoh if you don’t leave my home,” said Teyla. “There are no statuettes of gods to be found here.”
Her mock display of anger failed to convince the guards.
“The pharaoh has ordered every home to be searched regardless of relation,” replied Ranefer. “Move or I will remove you myself,” he threatened.
Teyla left her bedchamber entrance consumed with fear. Her copper chest was blatantly visible, and the guards headed straight for it. As they pried it open, she took a step backwards, her heart racing.
Teyla looked away as the guard lifted the lid. When they immediately closed it, she turned back, surprised.
“It’s empty,” said the guard.
“Indeed,” replied Ay, entering the room. “I am the royal adviser to the pharaoh, and the father of the queen. It’s preposterous to suspect us of harboring statuettes of gods from Thebes. Leave my home!”
Teyla stared at Ay in disbelief.
“We’re all aware of who you are. We will continue the search,” replied Ranefer.
On Ay’s heel, Ramose entered the room. “As he said, the search is over. You will respect this man,” Ramose commanded. “That is my order as the Master of the pharaoh’s horses,” he said.
Ranefer was silenced, and he and his guards, along with Ramose, finally left Teyla and Ay alone in their home.
Teyla was still staring at Ay, waiting for him to speak—to explain what happened to the statuette she had so carefully hidden away from him in the copper chest. Instead, he went into their bedchamber without saying a word.
Teyla followed him into the room.
“What did you do with it?” she asked.
Ay turned to face her, furious that her only concern was for the statuette and not the catastrophe she nearly caused by hiding it in their home. “Is it your plan to have us both executed? Let me assure you, the pharaoh will spare me. Only you will pay for your blasphemy.”
“It’s a curse that I have not been able to conceive a child. Hathor is the only god capable of making me fertile again.”
“You’re an old woman. Your time for bearing children has long passed. How dare you conceal a statue in our home!”
“I regret what I did, but if I could keep it for just three more nights, it would be time enough to heal my womb. Please, my husband, tell me where you’ve hidden it.”
“I burned it and crushed it to pieces. And if you’re found caught with another, I will be delighted to assist the executioner in giving you a hundred blows across your back with the horsewhip before your decapitation,” Ay replied.
As Meketa continued to suffer from the disease, Akenaten had begun executing children, not because they were found to have pagan statuettes in their possession, but because they made the mistake of unknowingly uttering the name of a god other than the Aten. Akenaten summoned Meri-Ra to make an animal sacrifice to the Aten on Meketa’s behalf and to render judgment over her condition. When he completed it, he returned to the pharaoh with an answer.
“My Pharaoh, as I told you before, this disease has to be the work of the Oracle. He would be the only one capable of conjuring powerful magic without reciting an incantation,” said Meri-Ra.
“And again, you overlook the fact that we’re not in Thebes. What harm could he conjure against us here?” asked Akenaten.
“An accomplice may live among us.”
“What you speak is preposterous! The Aten would have revealed his identity to me. Stop with your baseless assumptions and tell me if my daughter can be saved.”
Meri-Ra gave him the answer he dreaded to hear.
“No, my Pharaoh, her ailment has been judged untreatable.”
Those simple words were enough to crush him. Akenaten had never considered that he could lose his daughter in death. The Aten would certainly intervene before death occurred, and she would be healed as the royal daughter of the Aten so deserved. The shock of it all flooded his mind. How would he tell his children that their sister, whom they love dearly, would die? How would he console his sweet Nefertiti and explain to her that she would no longer have the embrace of her beloved daughter? Akenaten struggled to contain his grief as he went to inform his family of Meketa’s fate.
To help lift their spirits, Nefertiti had allowed the children to go horseback riding along the riverbank. Senpaten a
nd Tut enjoyed riding more than anyone and would often ride together escorted by Ramose. As always, Mayati lagged, nervous from the animal moving beneath her. Riding on the back of horses was not one of her favorite things to do, but it was a chance to cavort with Tut and Senpaten, a substitute now for her dear Meketa.
Her brother and sister led the way, guiding their horse easily through the mud and silt.
“Who do you love the most, Senpaten?” asked Tut.
“The answer is easy. Mother and Father,” Senpaten replied.
“Then who do you love second most?”
Senpaten pondered for a moment before replying. “I’m not sure. Who do you love the most?”
“Hard to say.”
“Why? What about Mother and Father?”
“Second most.”
“If you know whom you love second most, then you must know whom you love foremost,” said Senpaten.
What she said made perfect sense to Tut, and no matter how awkward it might be, he had to give her an answer.
“I think I love you the most,” he said.
“No you don’t. Stop teasing,” she giggled.
“Really, Senpaten. I mean it,” Tut said, now with a serious look on his face.
Senpaten was quiet. It was the reaction Tut feared he would receive. To release himself from the embarrassment, he laughed. “I’m kidding. I love Father and Mother the most,” he said, so that Senpaten wouldn’t see through his lie.
Up ahead was a fisherman kneeling on the ground and digging holes in the dirt around the river’s edge. Defying Ramose’s rules, Tut and Senpaten dismounted their horses and went over to the fisherman to get a better view of what he was doing. The man stood up quickly and bowed when he recognized the garments the children wore.
“For what purpose are you digging those holes?” asked Tut.
The man hesitated before he answered.
“The river water is cursed with disease. Fresh water can only be extracted from deep holes in the earth where it is cleansed,” replied the fisherman.
VALLEY OF THE KINGS: The 18th Dynasty Page 22
