Akhenaten (13 page)

The tragedy came to a terrible end when Akhenaten's men decided to abandon him. I asked Haremhab to let me stay with him as his physician. He told me that the
priests would send their own physician to tend him. But he allowed me to examine him for the last time before I left. I went to the palace at once. It was empty apart from him and a few slaves and guards that the priests had appointed.

I found him in his usual solitude, praying, singing gently:

When he finished his prayer, he looked at me and smiled. I looked away to hide the tears in my eyes.

“How were you able to come, Bento?” he asked.

“Haremhab gave me permission to examine you before I left.”

“I am in excellent health,” he said calmly.

“All the loyal ones were forced to leave,” I said, my voice tremulous with feeling.

“I know who was forced and who chose to leave.” The smile never left his face.

I bowed down and kissed his hand. “It pains me that you must remain alone.”

“I am not alone. Have faith, Bento,” he said calmly. Then he continued with an invigorating determination,
“They think that my God and I are defeated. But he never betrays nor does he accept defeat.”

I cried so much that when I left the palace my eyes were like firebrands. I was certain that the physician they sent him would kill the most noble soul that has ever inhabited a human body. Since the time I left Akhetaten, I have been immersed in inescapable loneliness.

I was allowed to enter Akhetaten only with special permission from General Haremhab. There were security checks at short intervals all along the bank of the Nile. A soldier escorted me across the northern quarter of the city from the harbor to the palace of the imprisoned queen. I was barraged by a host of emotions that left me stranded between sadness and wonder. The once glorious streets of Akhetaten had disappeared beneath heaps of dust and the dried leaves of withered trees. The grand doors of the palaces were closed like eyelids on tearful eyes. The palaces were collapsed, the fences fallen. The gardens had lost their colors and were left with the remains of trees shriveled like mummies. A heavy silence covered the city. In the center were the ruins of the temple of the One and Only God, where once the sweetest and holiest hymns were sung.

It was early afternoon when I reached the far end of
the northern quarter. The queen's palace towered in the distance, set in a lush and colorful garden. My heart pounded when I glimpsed the only open window in the palace. It was the middle of autumn and the Nile was still in flood. Its mud-red water had filled the palace lake. My heart beat faster as I approached the end of my journey, as though the entire purpose of my quest was to meet this woman in her solitude.

I was ushered into a small, elegant room. The walls were inscribed with holy texts. In the center of the room there was an ebony chair with golden arms and legs, each sculpted in the form of a lion.

Finally I saw her, a vision, coming toward me gracefully in a white, flowing dress. She was elegant and beautiful. Her back was unbowed by forty years of grief and misfortune. I waited until she was settled in her chair, then she gestured to me and I sat before her. The beauty of her serene eyes was overcast by a shadow of weariness. She praised my father, then asked me bitterly, “And how do you find the city of light?”

I realized that I had been staring at her, captivated by her beauty. Abashed, I lowered my gaze, and remained silent.

“You must have heard a lot of tales about Akhenaten and me,” she said. “Now you can hear the whole truth.”

I grew up with a passion for true knowledge that was nurtured by the learnedness of my father, Ay. I lost my real mother when I was only one year old. But I did not feel that loss, for in Tey I found a compassionate, loving mother, and not merely a stepmother. She gave me a
splendid, happy childhood. Even after she had my sister Mutnedjmet, her feelings toward me did not change. She was a wise woman. At first, Mutnedjmet and I were loving sisters. Because I was better at most things than Mutnedjmet, she became jealous and built up a fair share of resentment. But that only became evident much later. Tey, however, remained impartial, at least on the surface. I was quite grateful, and when the time came for me to reward her I appointed her the queen's matron and gave her the status of princess. One day, my father returned home with a holy man, one of those who are endowed with the gift of foretelling the future. He read both our fortunes, my sister's and mine.

“These girls shall sit on the throne of Egypt,” he said.

“Both of them?” said my father, astounded.

“The two of them,” the man assured him.

For some time we faltered between our faith in the holy man and the peculiarity of his prophecy.

“Perhaps one of us will be first and the other will be her successor,” I laughed.

For some mysterious reason Tey was not pleased with what I said. “Shall we forget about this prophecy and leave the future to the gods?” she said sharply.

We tried to forget. But every so often the prophecy seemed to cast its shadow upon us, until things began to take an unexpected course and it was fulfilled before our very eyes. The first time I heard of Akhenaten was through my father, when he was appointed tutor to the crown prince. Father used to speak of Akhenaten's wisdom and maturity during our family gatherings.

“Akhenaten is an unusual person,” he once said. “He
criticizes the priests and the deities and no longer believes in any god but Aten.”

Unlike my mother and sister, I was rather intrigued and drawn to what I heard. For I, too, loved Aten and was awed by his domain that comprised both heaven and earth, while other deities abided only in the darkness of the temples.

“The prince is right, Father,” I replied innocently.

My mother and sister were not pleased with my remark. Father said with a smile, “We are preparing you to be a wife, Nefertiti, not a priestess.”

I cannot deny my love for motherhood and other earthly pleasures, but the truth is, I was also born to be a priestess. Eventually my father told us the news of the new god, the Sole Creator. There was an uproar and the prince was the subject of stinging talk.

“What do the king and queen think?” my mother asked.

“There is so much turmoil in the palace. I am not sure what anyone thinks or believes,” my father said gloomily.

“I fear that they will blame you, as his teacher.”

“He is their son. They know that he will never follow anyone, no matter how grand they are.”

“He is insane,” Mutnedjmet said. “He will lose his throne. Is there another heir?”

“He has only one sickly older sister.”

As they talked I felt such emotion that I was afraid I would faint. To me, the crown prince represented an irresistibly attractive, fabulous story. But I did not come to any particular conviction then. One evening I overheard my father secretly reciting one of the hymns of the new god:

The words became imprinted in my heart forever, and I was elated with joy. I repeated the hymn and let its sweet nectar infuse my soul. Its words attracted me as a butterfly is drawn to light. And like the butterfly, I was burned by that light. I was filled with faith. What a beautiful and peaceful feeling it was! “My Only God,” I whispered, “I believe in you eternally.”

I presented myself to my father and sang the hymn.

“You were listening,” he said with a frown.

I ignored his gentle reproach. “Father, what do you think of the voice he heard?”

“I do not know,” he replied cautiously.

“Can he be lying?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “He never lies.”

“Then it must be true.”

“Perhaps what he heard was a dream,” he said reluctantly.

“Father,” I confessed, “I believe in the One God, the Sole Creator.”

Suddenly he became pale. “Beware, Nefertiti!” he cried. “Keep your secret in your heart, until I can rid your heart of it.”

Then we were invited to the palace for the Sed festival. Tey saw in it an opportunity for her daughters to meet eligible suitors. “You must be seen in the most beautiful dress,” she said. But I was only anxious to see
one person—he who had shown me the light of the truth. In the grand hall of the palace I met people with whom I later walked the path of life, with its sweetness and its bitterness—Haremhab, Nakht, Mae, and many others. That night, however, my heart saw no one but Akhenaten. When I first saw him, I was taken aback by his strange appearance. I had pictured him a token of perfection. Instead, he was thin and feeble. His appearance called more for pity than admiration. I admit that I was rather disappointed. But it was a momentary disappointment. I saw beyond his strange features and feeble body a spirit that was singled out by God to receive his divine love, and I secretly vowed my loyalty to this frail creature. He was seated to the right of his father, observing the dance without enthusiasm. My eyes never left him. Indeed, many people noticed that he was the focus of my attention. I shall never forget what Mutnedjmet said to me, suffering the sting of jealousy: “You have set your goal, Nefertiti. Now you will stride toward it.”

I wished that he would see me. And he did. He glanced in my direction and our eyes met for the first time. He almost looked away, but his eyes moved back and he fixed his gaze upon me. I believe he was rather startled at this young woman who regarded him so intently, and with so much longing. I looked at the Great Queen Tiye and saw that she was looking at me. My heart pounded quickly, and my dreams soared in the highest sky. But I never anticipated what followed.

I returned to our palace heaving with excitement and vague desires. Mutnedjmet, however, was sullen.

“I am quite sure now,” she said when we were alone
in our room. I asked her what she meant, and she continued, “He is sick and insane.”

“You have only seen him from outside. You know nothing of what is in his heart.”

The next day, when my father returned to the palace he told me that the Great Queen had asked to see me. His announcement shook the entire family, and we looked questioningly at each other.

“I suspect,” my father continued proudly, “that the queen will appoint you one of her maids of honor.”

I went to the royal palace in the company of my father. I was ushered to the queen's resting place overlooking the garden. I bowed before her until she called upon me to rise and sit on a sofa to her right.

“Your name is Nefertiti?” she said. I nodded and she continued softly, “Nefert-iti, The Beautiful One Has Come, a well-deserved name indeed.” I blushed with joy. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen years, my Queen.”

“You look more mature.” She paused for a moment then continued, “Why do you think I summoned you?”

“A fortune beyond what I deserve.”

“Well said, young woman,” she smiled. “Have you acquired some education?”

“Reading, writing, poetry, history, theology, algebra, and home-making,” I replied.

“What do you think of Egypt?”

“Egypt is the mother of the world, and its pharaoh the king of kings.”

“Who is your most cherished deity?” she asked. I detected a keenness in her question.

“Aten, Your Majesty.” I was compelled to hide the truth.

“What about Amun?”

“Amun protects the empire, but Aten circles it every day.”

“One cannot control what the heart loves, but you must realize that Amun is the master of all deities.”

“Indeed I do, Your Majesty.”

“Tell me in all honesty,” she continued, “has your heart ever known the love of a man?”

“No, Your Majesty,” I replied without hesitation.

“Have you had any suitors?”

“Many asked for my hand in marriage, but my father did not consider them suitable.”

She scrutinized my face for a while, then said, “You must have heard what is said about the crown prince's peculiar ideas regarding Amun and the deities. What is your honest impression?”

For the first time I was not able to reply. I remained silent until she continued in a voice laden with authority, “Speak only the truth.”

“What is in the heart belongs to the heart. But the traditions established between the throne and the priests must be preserved.”

“Well spoken!” she said. She appeared relieved. “Speak to me of your dream man. What is he like?”

“He has the strength of a warrior and the soul of a priest.”

She laughed. “You are extremely ambitious. If you had to choose, would it be the warrior or the priest?”

“The soul is more important.”

“In all honesty?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You are not like other young women,” she exclaimed.

“Life without faith is barren,” I said.

“What is faith without life?”

“There is no faith without life, and no life without faith.”

She remained silent for a while as I struggled to hide my rising excitement.

“Have you seen the crown prince?” she asked at last.

“At the Sed festival, my Queen.”

“What do you think of him?”

“He has a mysterious power that distinguishes him from all other men.”

“I meant, what would you think of him as a husband?”

I was silenced by the surprise. She repeated her question.

“I cannot find the words, my Queen,” I replied, my voice trembling.

“Did you ever dream of being a queen?”

“My dreams have only risen as high as my humble heart.”