by Angela Hunt
At first he thought the change in Tuya’s mood related to the dismal landscape. She had always loved the gardens, so he assumed the withered aspect of the countryside accounted for her dampened spirits. But now, at the mention of Amenhotep’s name, sunshine broke across her face until she reined in her emotions and pretended indifference.
He marveled that he had not linked cause and effect together. Was this melancholy only the result of a mother missing her beloved son?
“Tuya,” he asked, grateful that they were sitting in the privacy of his quarters, “what occupies your mind?”
She managed a weak smile. “Nothing, my husband.”
“Tuya.” He slipped his hand around her neck as if he could pull her soul to him. “Talk to me. We are alone, and I speak now not as your king, but as your husband and friend. You have not been yourself in these past few months.”
Tears jeweled her lashes as she smiled down at him. “I am sorry, Tuthmosis. I should work harder to please you.”
“You have always pleased me,” he said, feeling the chasm between them like an open wound. “Have I done something to drive you away? I know I’ve been busy with my work on the monuments and Zaphenath-paneah requires a great deal of my time—”
“You have done nothing,” she said, resting her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes clouded with hazy sadness as she studied the acacia trees at the garden’s edge. “I miss the lotus blossoms. Have you noticed that they have not grown up along the river’s edge? I used to enjoy them when I was a girl, especially the fragrant blue ones.”
“There are lotus blossoms in the water gardens. Walk there, and you can enjoy your fill of them.”
“They’re white. They’re not the same,” she whispered absently. “The blue ones bloom in the daytime, the white ones don’t like the sun.” She gave Tuthmosis an incomplete smile. “Do not fret about me, most honored husband. You are a good king and wise father. I have seen how you encourage Yosef—”
She bit her lip as if she’d said too much, and Tuthmosis blew out his cheeks. “By all the gods, Tuya, why didn’t you say something sooner? Are you too proud to admit that you need to see your son?”
Her eyes widened. “Not proud, my lord. Afraid.”
He sat up and stared at her. “Afraid of what?”
She shook her head, unable to speak in the face of his anger, and he took a deliberate breath to calm himself. He ought to be more gentle. Though she had never voluntarily spoken of her past, he knew she had been a slave, and no slave had an easy life.
“Speak freely,” he said, softening his voice. “Has someone threatened you?”
She swallowed hard. “I didn’t think it would be right for me to seek the prince. He is no longer my son. He is Mutemwiya’s future husband and the kingdom’s future pharaoh. The women of the harem are jealous. Your other wives would cause trouble if a former slave became overly familiar with the crown prince—”
“And yet even the lioness who drives her cub out of the den still watches for his safety.” Tuthmosis ran his hand over the softness of her shoulder. “Our Amenhotep should thank the gods that you are his mother. Do not fret about Mutemwiya. She does not even think of him. When he is Pharaoh, he shall marry whomever else he pleases. But to ease your mind, tomorrow I shall ask Zaphenath-paneah to hold the prince’s lessons in the garden where you may walk as freely as you please. Watch Amenhotep as often as you wish, talk to him, be with him.”
Her eyes filled with a tenderness he’d never seen in them before. “You are kind, husband.” She lowered her cheek to his chest. “You are too good to me.”
He slipped his fingers through the silkiness of her hair while a lace of confused, pleasant thoughts fuddled his mind. “I should have recognized the source of your sorrow long before this.”
She sighed, the whisper of her breath warm on his skin.
“Tuya—” he squeezed her shoulder “—I am King. No one will hurt you, and no one will harm our son. This I swear to you on my own life.”
She rested in the crook of his arm like a lion cub who nestles between its father’s protective paws, and Tuthmosis relaxed in the satisfying victory. “You have missed our son,” he said, grateful that the gathering darkness cloaked the schoolboy blush burning his face and neck. “Did you not think I would miss you? I did, you know.”
When she lifted her head, Tuthmosis steeled himself for either laughter or sarcasm. Life had taught him to never reveal his true feelings to any of his wives lest they compare notes and torment him, but love urged him to risk opening his heart.
“How could you miss me?” she asked, a teasing note in her voice. “You sent for me often.”
“And your mortal shell came to my bed.” Tuthmosis relaxed at the tender touch of her arms about his neck. “But you, dear Tuya, remained far away.”
“I’m here now.” She tipped her head back, her eyes glowing with fire in the rising moon’s light. Tuthmosis abandoned all reserve as he drew his arms about her and surrendered to the crush of feeling that drew them together.
As she dressed the next morning, Tuya realized that Tuthmosis would never know what a gift he had given her. Though her son lodged in his own chambers, the king had returned Yosef to her. She would be able to walk and talk with him in the garden, far away from the sniping eyes of the other wives. Best of all, Zaphenath-paneah would share in her happiness.
She knew she made a pretty picture as she dabbed her fingers in her makeup pot and colored her eyes and lips. Tuthmosis had been more understanding and sympathetic than she had ever dreamed he could be. In the years since he had learned of Yosef’s El Shaddai, the king had been increasingly open to new ideas and less apt to adhere to the traditional, formal ways of living. The gods of Egypt had failed to predict or prevent the famine presently sweeping the world, and Tuthmosis knew only a greater god could have sent Zaphenath-paneah to lead them through the catastrophe of worldwide drought.
She spent the morning listening to the idle chatter of her maids, then she slipped into the gardens where she knew she’d find the crown prince and his tutor. The sky stretched pure blue from north to south, without even a suggestion of cloudiness. A living warmth emanated from the sun, and a delicious sense of anticipation spread through Tuya’s limbs as she walked among the flowers and looked for her loved ones.
There. Ahead on the path, the prince walked with the vizier. Her son’s head came to Yosef’s shoulder, and with a tinge of pride Tuya noticed that Amenhotep’s shoulders had begun to broaden. Already she could see Yosef’s influence, for her son and his tutor moved down the path as if they were reflections of a single soul. Both walked with their heads held high, their hands clasped behind their backs, their shoulders squared.
Tuya called a greeting. “Oh, Zaphenath-paneah, live forever! And, Amenhotep, Crown Prince, may the gods grant you a hundred and ten years of prosperity!”
They turned, alike in their posture, and regarded her with pleased surprise. “Pharaoh said you might be joining us,” Yosef said, warming her with his smile. “We are honored to walk with you, Queen Tuya.”
Her son did not answer, and from the confusion in his eyes Tuya realized he did not know how to respond. She reached out and drew him to her side. “It’s all right, my prince,” she said, allowing herself to cling to him only for a moment. “Though you have a new name and a new position, I am still your mother and you may tell me anything you wish. I can keep a confidence as well as the vizier.” She smiled. “And I am nearly as wise.”
A chuckle escaped from Yosef, and the prince met Tuya’s eyes with a smile that penetrated her heart. “It is good to see you, Royal Mother,” Amenhotep said, his voice deeper than Tuya remembered it. “I have missed you.”
“And I you.” She draped her arm over the boy’s shoulder and turned to Yosef. “Now, what were you discussing? Perhaps it would be helpful to have a woman’s viewpoint.”
“Indeed it might,” Yosef answered, thrusting his hands behind his back again. And on they walked,
discussing the plight of the farmers south of Thebes.
Not until Tuya returned to her chamber did she realize that during the time with Yosef she had not once thought of the garden at Potiphar’s house.
Narmer leaned against the door to the queen’s private chamber and regarded Mutemwiya with a sly smile.
“What?” she snapped. “Why do you stand there grinning like a fool? I told you not to come to me unless you had good news.”
“Perhaps I do,” he said, slinking toward her. He sat in a chair and crossed his legs, confident of his ability to please. “What sort of news do you want to hear?”
“I want to hear something I don’t already know.” Mutemwiya swung her legs from the bed and leaned toward him, her spine curving like a curious cat’s. “Don’t tell me the Nile has failed to flood a second time. Don’t mention that the earth bakes beneath our feet and still there is food for all of Egypt. And don’t remind me that Pharaoh is healthy, young and strong while you grow older every day—”
“You grow older, too, my dear Mut,” Narmer answered, his eyes narrowing. “How many years have you waited for this rebellion? Forty? Forty-five? Or are you as ageless as the Sphinx our pharaoh honors?”
The queen crossed her arms. “Two years ago you told me it would be simple to destroy the vizier and the brat, yet the boy is almost of age! When Pharaoh dies, Amenhotep will not need me to be his regent. And if he suspects that you are less than devoted, he will be old enough to send you to the gallows.”
Narmer lifted a brow. “That won’t happen, for Egypt will starve soon—”
“Egypt will not starve! That cursed vizier has enough grain stored for ten years!”
“But he has not made provision for everything.” Narmer uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, eager to share the plan he’d been formulating. “You are right, dear Mut, about the king’s health and power. And I suspect you’re right about the stored provisions, but none of Zaphenath-paneah’s men will discuss the matter. Apparently he has warned them about attempted sabotage, and he does not trust even the captain of the king’s guards.”
“The vizier is a clever man. No wonder Pharaoh adores him.”
Narmer shrugged. “The time has come, dear Mut, to take action of our own. We must send Tuthmosis into the underworld by the strength of our own hands.”
She did not grow pale or scream at his suggestion, but studied him as if measuring his determination. “So…how can this be done?”
Narmer leaned forward. “I have thought on it for days. Tell me, dear Mut—what does your husband our pharaoh dearly love to do?”
Mutemwiya frowned. “Refurbish the ancient temples?”
Narmer resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “He hunts. Don’t you see? The other day while I was visiting his tomb, I studied the pictures painted on the walls. The artists have depicted him riding in his chariot and pulling back his golden bow. Before his chariot, the artists have drawn the many lions, tigers, antelopes and gazelles the king has slain—”
“What,” the queen interrupted, “has this to do with us?”
“Don’t you see? The king is young and powerful, but hunting is a dangerous sport.”
Mutemwiya’s eyes widened.
Narmer gave her a tight smile. “I shall take him hunting. I shall take Pharaoh to hunt the most vicious, most powerful animals on the earth. And he shall not come back alive.”
Mutemwiya’s hand clenched his arm like an eagle’s talon. “Are you certain? He is a good hunter.”
“Don’t worry, my dear.” Narmer leaned closer. “I can arrange it. Yet if the gods take my life instead of the king’s, this conversation will perish with me. I assume all the risk…and when I return, I shall expect to be crowned with glory.”
She eyed him with a calculating look, then promised him the world in a white-hot kiss.
For ten days Tuya did not see Tuthmosis, then she heard that Pharaoh was planning a hunting expedition in the lands south of the first cataract. He would be gone for some time, explained the slave who brought her the news, and so he was busy arranging matters with his vizier and giving gifts to all his wives and concubines.
She sighed at the news, then retreated to her chambers. For some reason the knowledge that he had visited the other women sparked jealousy in her heart, and she wondered that she could feel jealous after sixteen years of marriage to a man with a multitude of wives. But Tuthmosis had been more than kind, allowing her to visit with Amenhotep and Yosef in the garden. He could have forbidden her this favor, because Amenhotep was practically Mutemwiya’s husband and legally no longer Tuya’s son. By allowing her to continue her relationship with her child, he risked causing turmoil among the royal women.
Fortunately, Mutemwiya did not seem to care what Amenhotep did.
Tuya had everything she had ever dreamed of; still she wished Tuthmosis would send for her. He had always been able to make her laugh, and his companionship had been a great comfort. After missing him for many days, she felt as if a section of her body had been torn away. Surely this was not love—or was it? The emotion was not the same as what she had felt in Potiphar’s garden with Yosef, yet sparks of unexpected happiness shot through her whenever she heard the steady tramp of the king’s guard outside her door.
Two weeks later, Tuthmosis finally appeared at her chamber’s threshold. The priests sang their hymns and symbolically put him to bed; their servants removed the double crown and the traditional elements of regalia. When everyone had gone and left Tuya alone with her husband, Pharaoh opened his arms and Tuya walked away.
“What’s this?” Concern edged his voice. “Don’t tell me you’re angry because I’m going away.”
“You’ve been away already,” Tuya said, pretending to pout. “You’ve kept yourself from me as you said goodbye to all your other wives. Your servants told me what you were up to. You were so busy taking the others gifts—”
“I had to give them something,” he said, tossing the ceremonial bedcovers away. He stood and approached her. Though she felt his breath on her neck, he did not touch her. “They are my wives, Tuya. I must honor them.”
She opened her hand. “Fine, where’s my gift? I suppose I can toss this gold necklace into the treasure box with the others.”
“No.” When a smile rippled through his voice, Tuya turned to discover that Tuthmosis had thrust his hands behind his back. “No gold necklace for you, bride of my youth. I married you because you were beautiful, you know. I keep you because you are honest.”
His teasing smile brought a warm tingle to her heart. “Wives can be too honest, my husband. Now give me my present so I can wear it tomorrow as we watch you depart the palace. I don’t want to be the only royal wife without whatever it is you are offering.”
His eyes steadied upon her face. “I offer you my heart and soul.”
She nodded. “I accept. Now give me my trinket so you can be on your way.”
She stepped toward him, trying to reach whatever he had hidden behind his back, but he dodged her with athletic grace, grinning the entire time. Finally, breathless and smiling, she propped her hands on her hips. “Tuthmosis—” she struggled to keep laughter from her voice “—give me the cursed necklace!”
“I didn’t bring you a necklace. I hope you won’t mind being the only wife without one.”
“What, then?”
“Put out your hand and close your eyes.”
Tuya did so, reluctantly, and gasped when a feather-light object brushed her palm. When she opened her eyes, she saw that her husband had given her a blue lotus blossom.
“Oh.” She breathed in the heady scent. “Where did you find it?”
“I’ve had my most trusted men searching for blue lotus plants ever since you told me you loved them,” he answered, his eyes fastened to her face. “We found some growing far south of here, and we will plant them in the pools of the garden where you walk every day. Zaphenath-paneah is to bring you a bowlful of blossoms every morning as long as we a
re apart. They are my gift to you, Tuya. Only you.”
She ran her finger over the flower’s delicate petals. “It’s beautiful.”
“Do you truly want a golden necklace?” Tuthmosis asked. “I could get one for you—”
“—with no trouble at all,” Tuya finished, lifting her gaze to meet his. “And the gift would not mean nearly as much as this flower. I don’t want gold, my husband. All I want is—” she extended her hand to him “—right here.”
He opened his arms and she came into them, resting her head on his shoulder. Tuthmosis was more comforting than challenging, but he had invested more of himself in this gift than in a thousand chains of gold. In that moment she realized that Tuthmosis loved her with his life; she was his heart’s companion. Though Mutemwiya wore the crown, though other wives were younger and more vivacious, she knew her husband best.
She lifted her head and looked at him. “Did you mean it when you offered me your heart and soul?”
“Yes.” His hand brushed her hair. “And my love, Tuya, is yours if you will accept it. Now that I am a man, I know what love is, and I know I love you more than life itself. That is why I waited to come to you. I saved the best for last.”
Why had her heart spent so much time yearning for the past? Yosef had been the love of her youth, the boy who taught her to lift her hopes above slavery, the man who taught her to dream. But love, genuine love, existed in the king who had given her a son, the heart that brought her lotus blossoms and called her friend.
His hand traveled up her back, and Tuya tilted her head to study his face. Had her infatuation for Yosef caused Tuthmosis much grief? She suspected he knew far more than he revealed, yet his was a trusting soul. Even knowing that she and Yosef shared a past, he was brave enough to trust Yosef as vizier, and loving enough to allow Tuya to spend time with Yosef and Amenhotep.
“Beloved husband—” she wrapped her arms about his slender waist “—I accept your love with gratitude and freely give mine in return. You are a good king and a wise man.” She flushed as a wave of warmth swept through her. “God blessed me when he brought me to you. May he preserve you while we are apart.”