The Murder of King Tut (14 page)

He took off his eye paint, which was black and extended to his temples. He rinsed his mouth from a tumbler of water on the
nightstand, then slid into bed. The pillow was cool against his bare, shaved head, and the sheets gently caressed his torso.
Like most Egyptians, he was obsessed with hygiene and cleanliness. The hair on his body was regularly removed with razors
and clippers.

Now he lay back and wondered what would happen next.

All night long the palace had been buzzing about the angry confrontation between Aye and the pharaoh. Tut could feel it in
the way the servants brought his dinner, keeping their eyes more downcast than usual.

“Egypt is once again powerful and prosperous,” the royal vizier had bellowed. “This is due to me, Pharaoh. Not you. Not your
queen. Your father ran this country nearly into ruin, and I have built it up again. Now you threaten all we have worked for
by not producing an heir.”

The vizier continued: “This thing you two call ‘love’ is a greater threat to Egypt than the Canaanites, the Nubians, and all
our other neighbors. And yet you revel in your cozy affections. You rub our noses in it. These people”—now Aye threw his arm
out toward the city—“deserve a pharaoh who puts the nation first.”

“I am pharaoh. I can do whatever I want to do. You are but a man, Scribe.”

As Tut entered his bedroom alone, after seeing Ankhesenpaaten to her room, he was aware that every person in the palace waited
to see what would happen next.

Would Aye make good on his promise to bring a handmaiden to Tut’s bed?

At midnight, with the full moon pouring into his open window, Tut got his answer. He heard two sets of footsteps in the corridor
outside. The first was heavy and labored and the other soft.

Then came a delicate rustle as the lighter footsteps tiptoed into his room. Tut could sense hesitation, perhaps fear, as the
feet came closer and closer to his bed. He could almost feel the pounding of the young girl’s heart.

What must she be thinking,
Tut wondered, lying flat on his back, his eyes still adjusting to the near darkness.
She has come to have sex with the pharaoh. Of course she is a virgin, so the mere act of making love is mysterious and frightening.

But to lie down with the ruler of all of Egypt? With me?

Tut rolled onto his side to have a look. His fierce loyalty to his queen almost caused him to send the girl away, but he held
back for the moment, though he was unsure why.

Now he saw her.

The girl looked to be sixteen or seventeen. Tut remembered admiring her at a state dinner and thinking she might be the daughter
of a local dignitary. That she was a great beauty, there was no doubt. She stood at the side of the bed, very demure, moonlight
shining through her sheer robe. Tut was mesmerized at the sight of her: her shape, her long black hair, her dark eyes still
painted. Her perfume was a pleasing combination of lemon and flowers.

“What is your name?” he said softly, surprised to feel the beating of his own heart, surprised that he cared about her feelings.

“Tuya,” she whispered.

“Take off your robe, Tuya. Don’t be afraid. There’s no need of that. Not here.”

Tuya did as she was told, pulling the fabric from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.

“Turn around for me. Slowly. You’re very beautiful. Please, don’t be fearful.”

She spun in a circle, her shoulders back and head held high. Then she took a tentative step toward him.

“Wait,” Tut said, seized by a sudden image of Ankhesenpaaten. What was his queen doing now? And what would she say if she
could see him? How would this affect their love—what Aye had called “cozy affections”?

Tuya stopped and self-consciously placed her hands over her breasts.

Tut got out of bed then and walked to her. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of him, which only increased his arousal.

Next, he kissed Tuya’s lips and found them to be soft, even more so than Ankhe’s. Her breath was fresh and sweet, and she
hungrily thrust her tongue into his mouth.

The young pharaoh didn’t think of his queen for the rest of that long sleepless night.

1324 BC

ANKHESENPAATEN COULDN’T SLEEP. The mere thought of what was happening in Tut’s bedroom filled her with jealousy and more than
a little sadness. From the time they were children, she had always loved Tut. And the men in the palace had always gotten
in the way.

She stood and slipped on a robe, then walked quietly outside into the gardens. The air was cold, and she shivered from the
chill. There was much on her mind. She thought of Tut again and that girl and then quickly banished the image from her mind.

He’s not enjoying it,
she assured herself.

Oh, yes he is,
shot back an inner voice.

That night at dinner she’d overheard the servants laughing at her, scornful that a queen was incapable of bringing children
into the world.

Yes, I can!
she’d wanted to scream.
I have brought two wonderful children into this world. The gods have seen fit to send them to the afterworld, but I will bear
more.

Why does no one point the finger at Tut?

Why does he not endure the pain of childbirth, only to have the infant perish? Why is he allowed to take a woman to his bed
to produce an heir, while I am left here alone? What if I felt like taking a man to my bed? What then? Maybe I do feel like
it sometimes.

She stood and paced. The queen was barefoot, and the path had many small pebbles that dug into the soles of her feet, causing
her to step gingerly. One sharp stone made her stop completely. Yet she reveled in the petty annoyance.
This is nothing like childbirth, Tut! That was pain!

She considered racing to the other side of the palace and confronting the lovers, all tangled and sweaty in his bed.

You told him to do it,
she reminded herself.

Yes, but I didn’t mean it.

She would march in and claw the girl’s face until her beauty was gone forever. And then she would strike out at Tut.

No, I can’t do that. I do love him. He is my king, the king of all of Egypt.

But he abandoned you. He is in another woman’s arms this very minute. They are speaking intimate words—whispering and laughing
and touching one another. That’s treason, in its own way. Why shouldn’t he die?

He is a pharaoh, and pharaohs have harems. This is just one girl.

But we promised each other. We promised to be true.

He would kill me if I broke that promise.

No, he wouldn’t. He may never touch you again. But he wouldn’t kill you.

It doesn’t matter. I could do it. A simple thrust with a knife is all it would take.

Be smart about this. Take a breath and think.

I am the queen. I am the woman of full noble birth. It was through marriage to me that Tut gained his throne.

I can do the same with another man. Just watch me.

1324 BC

“IT’S
YOU,
PHARAOH.” Aye smirked, and nobody in the palace could smirk like Aye.

They marched side by side to the royal stables, the air smelling of manure and sweet green alfalfa. Tut was already late for
his chariot ride.

Tuya had kept him up all night again, and rather than sleep the day away he was determined to revive himself with a hard gallop
across the desert on the east side of the Nile. In truth, he was troubled and confused—about Tuya—and about Ankhesenpaaten.

“What are you talking about?” he said. “Your words are a muddle.”

“Tuya is not with child. The problem is not her, Pharaoh, and it is not your queen. You are the reason there is no royal heir.
It’s you!
”

Tut flushed angrily. “That is not possible! My manhood is beyond question.”

He had reached his chariot and now grabbed the reins from a young stable boy. The horses lifted their heads from a trough
of alfalfa and whinnied in anticipation.

“From the looks of things, there are no arrows in your quiver,” continued Aye.

That was the last straw. “Guards,” commanded Tut. “
Seize him.
”

The contingent of six royal guards moved forward and towered over Aye, yet they were apprehensive, as if looking to Aye for
leadership rather than Tut.

“
Now!
” Tut screamed, rage and humiliation pouring through. He was the pharaoh. He could impregnate every virgin in Egypt if he
wished. It wasn’t his fault that Tuya was having trouble bearing a child. Maybe Aye had chosen her because she was known to
be infertile, all part of his scheme.

Aye didn’t struggle as the guards clamped their hands on his arms and shoulders. No—all he did was smirk.

“I am the pharaoh, Aye. You will remember that from now on.” Tut stepped into his chariot.

“I am going for a ride,” he told the captain of the guards, a Nubian with huge biceps. “By the time I return, you will have
administered fifty lashes to the royal vizier. Am I understood?”

The smirk was gone from Aye’s face now, much to Tut’s delight. “As you wish, Pharaoh,” Aye muttered in supplication, “so it
shall be.” Even ten lashes would have been too much. Fifty would lay Aye’s back open to the bone and leave permanent scars
that would be a brand of shame for the rest of his life.

For just an instant, Tut thought that Aye’s tone was sincere, and he considered rescinding the punishment. But the defiant
look in the vizier’s eyes was still there, and Tut sensed the humility was an act.

With a final glare, Tut whipped his reins and raced across the desert.

1324 BC

THE FORGIVING ELM WHEELS of the chassis provided the only shock absorption, but the terrain was smooth and so was the ride.

A lone man could be seen in the distance, but otherwise Tut had the desert to himself, as he liked it.

Within a few minutes, his forehead was sweating, and the dust from the horse’s hooves covered his chest. This was what he
loved, but today even a fast chariot ride didn’t help.

Tut was so caught up in thoughts of Aye’s insolence and his own inability to produce an heir that he didn’t notice that the
desert had become more rugged in the few miles since his journey began.

And he didn’t see the deep cleft that had probably been created by a flash flood.

That is, not until it was too late to avoid it.

Hitting the rut, Tut was thrown headfirst from the chariot. He landed hard on the ground and was knocked unconscious for a
time.

He came to slowly, moaning, and found himself staring up at the face of the man he had seen in the distance.

The man was kneeling over Tut, checking for signs of injury, clearly unaware that the man before him was Egypt’s pharaoh.

Instead, the robber—and that’s what he was, Tut now realized—relieved the pharaoh of the expensive floral collar, then frisked
the royal body for money.

Tut would have told the man who he was, except that—-strangely—he seemed unable to utter a word.

Only when the man was sure that Tut wasn’t carrying a purse did he leave, but not before stealing Tut’s sandals and kilt.

Night was falling as Tut faded back into unconsciousness.

1324 BC

“WE NEED TO TALK.”

“I’m listening.”

It was an hour before dawn. The entire palace was astir. After the largest manhunt in Egyptian history, the pharaoh had been
located in the desert west of Thebes. Tut had been robbed of all his possessions, no doubt by a nomad. The young pharaoh was
still unconscious.

In addition to a high fever, his body was covered with bruises and abrasions. Now Aye and Horemheb stood on opposite sides
of his bed, looking down at their comatose ruler. The cavernous bedroom was dark, save for the moonlight shining in the window.

Aye said, “We should take this conversation into the hall.”

Horemheb pursed his lips. A long straight scar ran diagonally across his face, the result of a Hittite sword. When he was
tense, it took on a reddish hue that made it stand out, even against his sun-damaged skin.

“If we go anywhere else, we will be observed. Obviously, the pharaoh cannot hear us. It’s better if we talk here.”

Aye didn’t like to be contradicted, but Horemheb was probably right. Besides, the royal vizier was still in great pain after
enduring the humiliating lashes Tut had ordered. The guards had gone easy on him because of his status, but a few of the lashes
had sliced into his skin. Now his back was a swollen mess, oozing blood and crisscrossed with whip marks.

“All right. Here then,” said Aye. He glanced about the room to make sure no one was there to overhear them. “I am getting
to be an old man. I have served my nation since I was an adolescent and learned the serpentine ways of the royal court. We
both witnessed the ruin brought on by Akhenaten’s reign, and we know that Tut is moving too slowly to fix the damage.”

“Are you saying—”

“Yes,” Aye stated flatly. “And if you help me, I can ensure that you will be my successor. I will not live long, but in my
short time as pharaoh I can return Egypt to her former glory. You will complete the task, General.”

Horemheb’s scar was now a vibrant magenta. “How would we do this? Look at him. He’s a boy. No doubt he’ll recover from his
fall.”

Horemheb sighed. He was nervous, yet he reveled in the notion of being pharaoh. “I never thought the day would come that I
would speak openly… of killing the pharaoh.”

Before Aye could respond, they heard sandals shuffling on the tiled floor. They turned to face the sound, and Horemheb instinctively
moved to block the door.

“Show yourself,” said Aye. “Come out now. Who’s there?
Who?
”

Yuye, the queen’s lady-in-waiting, a tall girl with green eyes, stepped out of the shadows. She was just a teenager, and the
palace knew her as Ankhesenpaaten’s confidante. If anyone would tell the queen of their discussion, she would.