The Egyptian Royals Collection (27 page)

I watched her body as it filled out her tiny gown and was fascinated with the way she looped two golden earrings through her double piercings. I thought,
I will never be that beautiful
. Then we looked at ourselves in the mirror: the Cat and the Beautiful One.

In the Great Hall, no man could take his eyes off her. “She is stunning,” Ipu said as my sister swept between the columns and up the painted dais. Birth had filled out the hollowness of her cheeks and brought color to her face. Hundreds of candles wavered in her path, and there was a momentary hush as she took her throne.

It seemed that every member of the Egyptian royal court had come to celebrate Meritaten’s birth. I walked outside to where my father was standing with my mother, enjoying a moment’s peace before the food was served and we would all have to sit. I looked again at the people crowding the courtyard, floating in and out of the Great Hall with cups of wine, dressed in the finest linen and gold. Only Panahesi was absent.

“How come there are so many people?” I asked. Even the nobility from Thebes had come to celebrate, beginning the journey on the Nile a month earlier when news of Meritaten’s impending birth had arrived.

“They have come to pay homage to the new Pharaoh,” my father said. I didn’t understand, so my father explained, “The Elder is dying.”

I stared at him. “But he was supposed to live another season! You told me—” I stopped myself and realized what my father must be saying. I leaned forward and my voice dropped to a whisper. “He wasn’t poisoned?”

My father said nothing.

“It wasn’t poison?” I pressed, but my father’s face was a mask. I reeled back. “Is that where Panahesi has been?”

My parents exchanged looks and my father stood up. “Whatever has happened in Thebes, the Elder won’t last the month.”

A bell rang from inside the Great Hall, summoning the guests to dinner. My father took my mother’s arm and disappeared into the crowd while I stood, still gaping at his words.

“By the look on your face, we’re either going to be invaded or you’ve just tasted something particularly sour.”

I turned, and General Nakhtmin held out a bowl of wine.

“Thank you, General. It’s nice to see you, too.”

He laughed and indicated the Great Hall with his hand. “Shall we?”

We walked together through the arched doors of the Great Hall with its magnificent columns and hundreds of guests. He would sit at the table for the military elite, I with the royal family. But before we reached the dais, I stopped him. “Tell me, General. Have you heard anything about the Elder in Thebes?”

Nakhtmin regarded me thoughtfully, then drew me away from the tables to an alcove where we could speak with more privacy. “Why do you ask?”

I hesitated. “I … I just thought you might know.”

Nakhtmin regarded me suspiciously. “He will probably pass into the arms of Osiris very soon.”

“But he’s only forty! He could live another ten years.” I whispered, “It wasn’t poison?” and searched his face for honesty.

He nodded gravely. “There’s been talk. And if there’s talk in the king’s own family—”

“There isn’t,” I said quickly.

He studied me.

“But if … if the Pharaoh dies …”

“Yes?”

“Well, what then?”

“Then your sister becomes Queen of Egypt and the Dowager Queen will bow down before her daughter-in-law. And who knows,” Nakhtmin added conspiratorially, “she may even be Pharaoh before it’s over.”

“Pharaoh?”
I repeated dismissively.

“Is that so surprising?”

“No, that’s foolish. Only a handful of women have ever ruled Egypt.”

“And why not her?”

We both looked through the forest of columns at my sister, a thick golden signet pulling her glossy hair away from her face, enlarging her eyes. She commanded a view of the entire hall from her throne, but it was Amunhotep she watched.

“He trusts her with everything,” Nakhtmin added. “They even share chambers.”

“Who told you that?”

“I’m a general. It’s my business to know. Even if I were a servant in a minor palace, I should know something so trivial.”

“But she would have to become a widow before she would become Pharaoh.” I glanced at him and he didn’t argue the point, as if he wouldn’t be surprised if Amunhotep should die. I felt a chill go up my spine and settle as a coolness on my back, despite the warm night. Guests were taking their seats, and laughter echoed beneath the ceiling of the Great Hall. The Birth Feast would last all night, but I might not get a chance to speak with the general again. I hesitated. “I thought you would stay in Thebes and live a quieter life than this.”

“Oh, it’s not quiet in Thebes. Anywhere there’s a palace it’s never quiet. But someday I hope to find someone who might share a quiet life with me. Away from Thebes or Memphis or any city with a royal road.”

We both looked into the hall and I nodded, understanding that desire.

“But now that the temple is finished, the soldiers wonder what will happen next. Pharaoh is afraid of the army. He won’t send us to war even though the Hittites encroach on our territory with every season that passes and Egypt offers no resistance. With Panahesi serving Aten and Amunhotep building temples to glorify Aten’s reign, your father ascends the throne of Egypt. Perhaps not literally, but in every other way he is Pharaoh,
miw-sher
. Now is the time to decide what you want in this life. Your name etched in sandstone for eternity or happiness?”

“And how do you know I’m not happy here?”

“Because you’re standing in a corner speaking with me while your sister sits on the Horus throne and your father smoothes her way. If you were content, you’d be there.” He indicated the table for the royal family, presided over by my mother and father, the two of them surrounded by bald-headed men in fine linen. “So where does that leave you, little cat?”

“As the handmaiden to Nefertiti,” I said sharply.

“You could always change that.” Nakhtmin regarded me with interest, then added meaningfully, “By marrying someone.”

“Mutny, would you find me my robe?”

I looked up from my Senet game but remained in my chair. “Where’s Merit? Can’t she get you a robe?”

Nefertiti watched me with her large painted eyes from where the milk nurse was feeding Meritaten. Sitting next to the woman, she stroked the princess’s downy hair. “I can’t leave Meritaten. Won’t you get it? It’s just in the other room.”

“Go ahead, Mutny,” my mother said. “She’s busy.”

“She’s always busy!”

My mother gave me a look that told me simply to do it, and I returned with my sister’s robe. I paused over Meritaten’s tiny face. She had her mother’s coloring, the light hue of sand, but her eyes were olive, like Amunhotep’s. It was impossible to tell whether she would have her mother’s jaw or her father’s height. But her nose was slender and long like Nefertiti’s. “She looks like you,” I said, and my sister smiled.

My mother’s shoulders tensed. “Did you hear that?” she asked quickly, tearing her gaze from the Senet board.

We all froze, even the milk nurse with Meritaten in her arms. I could hear what she was referring to. It was the sound of wailing women and temple bells.

Nefertiti rose up. “What is it?”

Then the door to the chamber swung open and Amunhotep’s grin was so wide that we knew. My mother covered her mouth with her hand.

“He’s gone to Osiris,” Nefertiti whispered.

Amunhotep embraced her. “The Elder is dead. I am Pharaoh of Egypt!”

My father entered the room with Panahesi on his heels. In her joy, Nefertiti didn’t even notice that men were in her birthing chamber. My father bowed. “Shall we prepare for the move to Thebes, Your Highness?”

“There will be no move to Thebes,” Amunhotep announced. “We will begin building the city of Amarna at once.”

There was a sudden silence in the birthing chamber.

“You will move the capital of Thebes?” my father asked.

Amunhotep exulted, “For the glory of Aten.”

My father glared at Nefertiti, who wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Chapter Fifteen

THEBES

1349 BCE

fifteenth of Thoth

AMUNHOTEP PACED. “MY
mother is in the Audience Chamber. She is wearing the Queen of Egypt’s crown. It is yours now. Shall I take it for you?”

We sat in a circle in the richest chamber of Malkata: my mother, my father, Ipu, and I. We had sailed to Thebes for Pharaoh’s burial, and now the Elder’s room belonged to Amunhotep IV. We watched while Merit painted Nefertiti’s eyes. She was beyond us now. More powerful than Tiye. More powerful than our father even. When the Elder had been alive, there had always been the possibility of appealing to him for help if there was trouble. Now, there was only Nefertiti.

“Let her keep the crown,” my sister ruled. “I will wear a crown that no Queen of Egypt has ever worn. Something
I
have created.” She looked over at Thutmose, who went wherever we did.

But Amunhotep wasn’t satisfied. “We should take the crown,” he insisted cruelly. “She could be dangerous to us.”

My father’s gaze found Nefertiti’s, who stood up at once. “It’s not necessary,” she replied.

“She was my father’s wife!” Amunhotep rejoined, his voice full of menace.

“And she is
my
father’s sister. He will watch her for you.”

Amunhotep studied my father, then shrugged, as if his mother was a matter he was willing to let go. “I want to move from this city as soon as we can find a place to build.”

“We will,” Nefertiti promised, going to him and caressing his cheek. “But we must put things in order.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “We must rid ourselves of the Amun priests before they can try assassination—”

“Your Highness,” my father interrupted.

“I won’t have them disturbing my sleep!” he raged. “I dream about them at night. They’re in my
dreams
. But I will send the priests to the quarries.”

I gasped, and even Nefertiti froze at the suggestion. These were men who had never toiled a day in their lives, representatives of Amun who spent their time praying. “Perhaps we should just send them away,” she offered.

“So they can plot somewhere else?” Amunhotep demanded. “No. I will send them all to the quarries.”

“But they will die,” I blurted before I could stop myself.

Amunhotep turned his dark gaze on me. “Very good.”

“And what about the ones who will bow to Aten? They can be saved,” Nefertiti implored.

Amunhotep faltered. “We will offer them the chance. But those who refuse will be shackled and sentenced.” He left the room, shouting at his guards to keep seven paces back.

“The Elder has not been a month in his tomb and you are planning the destruction of Thebes?” my father asked furiously. “The people will see that this is against the laws of Ma’at. They will never forget this.”

“Then we will give them something else to remember,” Nefertiti swore. Her eyes were painted and around her throat was the golden symbol of life. “Bring me my crown.” Thutmose disappeared. Then Nefertiti took off her wig and those of us in the room let out a cry.

“What have you done?” my mother exclaimed.

Nefertiti had shaven off her hair. The beautiful black tresses that had framed her face were gone. “I had to shave it for the crown.”

My mother placed a hand over her heart. “What kind of crown is it?”

“The crown that will come to be associated with Egypt,” she said. As she did, I realized that even without her hair, Nefertiti was still beautiful. She was threatening and powerful and stunning. She looked at herself in the mirror as Thutmose came up behind her. He raised the flat-topped crown so all of us could see it, then fit the burden tightly around Nefertiti’s head. No one else could have worn it. It had been designed for her, tall and slender with an asp ready to spit poison into her enemies’ eyes. Nefertiti turned around, and if I had been a peasant in the fields, I would have thought I was staring into the face of a goddess.

The Audience Chamber was filled to bursting. Scribes, merchants, courtiers, diplomats, viziers, and priests stood elbow to elbow in the magnificent room with its sweeping mosaics and towering windows. The Audience Chamber of Thebes put the chamber in Memphis to shame. There was a gasp of awe as we entered the room. Nefertiti swept up the stairs to her throne and Queen Tiye, on the second step of the dais, was no longer the reigning queen in Egypt. Now she would be Dowager Queen. I heard whispers as I took my place on the third step next to my father, for no one knew what my sister’s crown meant. Was Nefertiti queen? A king-queen? A coregent? To whom should the people address their petitions? The viziers looked from Amunhotep to Nefertiti to my father. We were the most powerful family in Egypt. In the world.

General Nakhtmin stood in full regalia at the side of Horemheb. They were watching the Nubian guards behind our thrones with critical eyes. I knew what they were thinking: Amunhotep distrusted his army so much he had hired foreign men to protect him. And I knew what even they did not. That now Amunhotep would announce the building of a new capital city called Amarna. There would be no war with the Hittites as they encroached on our territories. Instead, the army would build cities for Aten.

Panahesi stood from his chair and announced, “The Pharaoh of Egypt has declared that Aten shall be praised above all other gods in Egypt!”

There was an angry murmur among the priests.

Panahesi raised his voice to speak over them. “Aten shall have temples in every city, and the priests of Amun shall bow down before him or they shall be taken from Thebes and sent to the quarries.”

There was a cry of outrage.

“The quarries,” Panahesi continued, “of Wadi Hammamat.”

The murmur rose and Amunhotep stood from his throne. “From this day forth,” his voice echoed across the chamber, “I shall be known as Pharaoh Akhenaten.
Beloved of Aten
. And Thebes shall not be where Aten’s Pharaoh reigns. I will build Aten a bigger city, a greater city, and this city shall be called Amarna.”

Now chaos erupted in the Audience Chamber: shock that Amunhotep would change his name, and that a new capital would be built to replace the greatest city in the East. Akhenaten looked to Panahesi, who demanded silence. But the crowd had grown violent. The priests were shouting, the viziers were trying to calm the priests, and the merchants who had supplied the temples of Amun with costly herbs and gold were making deals with the new priests of Aten. I looked at my mother, whose face had gone white beneath her wig.

“Guards!” the newly proclaimed Akhenaten shouted. “Guards!”

Two dozen armed Nubians swept into the crowd. Akhenaten stood and took Nefertiti’s hand in his. He turned to the generals of the army and shouted above the noise, “You will empty every temple and turn the statues of Amun, Isis, and Hathor to gold. You will give the priests and priestesses one chance to turn to Aten.” Akhenaten looked at Nefertiti and she nodded. “If they refuse, chain them and send them to Hammamat.”

At the word
chain
, the room fell silent. Guards stood poised at every window and entrance in case further trouble should erupt, only now the people in the chamber understood. Akhenaten didn’t want to elevate Aten over Amun: he wanted to tear down every statue of the gods and goddess who had protected Egypt for two thousand years.

A vizier stood from his seat below the Horus throne. “But the Amun priests are nobility. They are the foundation upon which Egypt rests!” he cried.

There was a murmur of consent in the room.

“The Amun priests,” Akhenaten said slowly, “will be given one chance. They may become priests of Aten or they may give up their lives for a god who no longer rules in Egypt. Is Pharaoh not the mouthpiece of the gods?”

The old man stared at him, at a loss for words.

“Is Pharaoh not the mouthpiece of the gods?” Akhenaten repeated, shouting.

The old man fell to one knee. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Then who knows better the will of the gods,
them
or me? We shall build Aten a city that shall be greater than any city that has come before it.”

Queen Tiye shut her eyes and General Horemheb stood forward.

“The Hittites have taken control of Qatna and the governor of Kadesh has requested three times that we come to his aid. His letters have not been answered by anyone but Vizier Ay, who can do nothing without Pharaoh’s consent.” He glared up at Akhenaten. “If we fail to send men this time, Your Highness, we will lose the territory the Elder won with the lives of three thousand Egyptian soldiers.”

The blood rushed to Akhenaten’s face. He scanned the room to see who agreed. “You say you wish to fight the Hittites?” he asked.

General Horemheb heard the threat in Pharaoh’s voice. “My wish is to protect Egypt from invasion and to save the territories that my father and I fought so hard to procure.”

“Who here agrees with the general?” Akhenaten shouted.

No one moved in the Audience Chamber.

“Who?
” he bellowed.

Five charioteers stepped out of rank and looked around them. Akhenaten smiled widely. “Very well. Here is your army, General.” The Audience Chamber shifted, not sure what game Akhenaten was playing. Pharaoh turned to my father. “Send them to the front lines of Kadesh, for this is the army that will save Egypt from the Hittites! Who else would like to join this war?” he asked menacingly.

I held my breath, wondering if Nakhtmin would volunteer.

Akhenaten grinned. “Five warriors then. Let’s all rise for the heroes who will defend Kadesh from the invading Hittites.” He began to clap in mock approbation, and when no one clapped with him, he clapped louder. The Audience Chamber erupted with nervous applause. “Your heroes!” Akhenaten turned to his Nubian guards. “Take them away. Take them all the way to the fronts of Kadesh!”

The courtiers who filled the chamber watched in stunned silence as General Horemheb and his five men were led away. No one moved. I don’t think anyone even dared to breathe.

Panahesi straightened his cloak. “Pharaoh will now receive petitions.”

Panahesi marched in to the holiest of holies with his army of Nubians and the great temples of Thebes were stripped of their statues. Images of Isis were shattered or burned. Hathor was toppled from her place above the river and Amun was defaced. People cowered in their homes and the priestesses of Isis wept in the streets. Akhenaten’s new army of Nubian guards ripped the robes from the chests of Amun priests and new robes were issued adorned with the sun. Those who refused them were sent to certain death.