He motioned, and a servant filled her cup and retreated. “May I assume from Your Majesty’s cheerfulness that you found Pharaoh in good humor?” he enquired, smiling.
Tiye set the cup back on the table and met his eye. “It is done,” she said. “He will release the prince. My final victory over the Son of Hapu, may Sebek grind his bones! I still cannot believe he is really dead. So many courtiers were so sure that he was sustained by the gods themselves and was immortal.”
Ay picked up his jeweled whisk and began to flick at the swarm of flies that hovered over his damp skin. “You and I discussed often enough the possibility of forcibly proving them wrong,” he murmured dryly. “When is Amunhotep to be released?”
“As soon as possible. I want you to be ready with a detachment of your soldiers from the Division of Ptah to escort him to Memphis when I send word. You had better arrange for Horemheb to take charge. He is young but very capable.”
“And he will be overjoyed to return to Memphis. Anyone would. Thebes is a stinking hole full of beggars, peasants, and thieves. At this time of year the stench from across the river wafts past my sycamores and wilts the flowers. Very well, Tiye, I will handpick the men. I am very pleased. The world is waiting to do homage to your son.”
“May the gods grant him recompense for the wasted years,” she said softly. “Pharaoh is also willing to seal the marriage contract between Amunhotep and Nefertiti. He will not give up Sitamun. I did not expect he would, and it does not matter. I have kept my pledge to the family. I have maintained our influence, and your daughter and my son will do the same. We have not done badly for the spawn of a Mitanni Maryannu warrior brought to Egypt as booty by Osiris Thothmes III.”
They sat for a moment in a companionable silence. In the days of her childhood, when she had been promised but not yet delivered to Pharaoh, Ay had been her mentor, teaching her what to wear, what to say, how to keep the interest of the boy who was destined to be her husband. He told her of the king’s likes and dislikes, his foibles, his preferences in women, reminding her night and day that she could not hope to retain her hold on a man with her body alone. The chain must be forged of intelligence and humor, a quick mind and a crafty heart. When at the age of twelve she finally stood before Amunhotep, wigged and painted, she had met his black eyes and found something that had not entered into her brother’s calculations. They had fallen in love. Amunhotep had raised her to the position of empress, and long after he had ceased to take her alone to his bed, the bond remained. She had not failed him. She came of sturdy stock imbued with a thrust for power and domination that had not abated for generations, so that her family, commoners without a drop of royal blood in their veins, had succeeded in becoming the power behind every throne since the days of Osiris Thothmes III. Each Pharaoh since had been carefully evaluated by the family, his strengths probed, his weaknesses compensated for and exploited. Tiye’s own father had been Lieutenant of Chariotry, Master of the King’s Horse, and chief instructor in the martial arts to the young Amunhotep, a task he used to bind the boy to him. Her mother had been a confidante of Mutemwiya the queen, and Chief Lady of the Harem of Amun. Land, wealth, and prestige had accumulated year after year like deposits of rich Nile silt, but such preferments could be whisked away to leave them all shivering in the cold blast of penury and royal disapproval. Therefore nothing was taken for granted, and each step required a cautious testing.
“Nefertiti is sulky, restless, and very willful,” Ay said after a while. “But none of her faults is noticed because she is so extraordinarily beautiful, and she has been spoiled by everyone from her nurses and tutors to my own cavalry officers. Whether she is also ambitious remains to be seen. At eighteen she blames me that she is not already married and a mother.”
“You may tell her that she will soon be both. Surely she strikes out at everyone now because she is bored and anxious. She will quickly learn discipline in the palace.”
“Do not expect it,” Ay said shortly. “She is my daughter, and I love her, but my love is not blind. Perhaps if her mother had lived, if I had not been so busy…”
“It is not important,” Tiye broke in. “The faults of a queen are hidden by paint, jewels, and protocol.” She lifted the wet, salty linen away from her skin and began to fan herself. “If Isis does not begin to weep soon, I am going to die of this heat. I am a goddess. Surely I can send a priest to her shrine to threaten her.”
The soft slap of bare feet on the cool tiling of the terrace interrupted her, and she turned. Mutnodjme, Ay’s younger daughter and Nefertiti’s half sister, emerged from the darkness of her father’s reception hall and came sauntering toward them, naked but for a gold circlet around her throat and a scarlet ribbon trailing from her youth lock. In one hand she held a bunch of black grapes and in the other a small whip. Behind her, her two dwarfs scuttled, also naked, one dragging towels, the other a red ostrich fan. They stopped when they saw the queen and began to mutter agitatedly to each other, both scowling comically. Mutnodjme came up to Tiye and prostrated herself and then rose to plant an offhand kiss on Ay’s cheek.
“The afternoon is well advanced,” Tiye chided, noting the girl’s swollen lids and flushed face. “Have you been asleep all morning?”
Mutnodjme lifted the grapes and bit into them, wiping the juice from the corners of her mouth with the back of one hennaed hand. “There was a party last evening at May and Werel’s house, and after that we went boating, and after that we took torches and litters and roamed around Thebes. Before I knew it, it was dawn.” She chewed reflectively. “The whores along the street of brothels have started wearing necklaces of many tiny clay rings painted different colors. I think it will be the next fashion at court. I must get some made. Are you well, Majesty Aunt?”
“I am,” Tiye said, hiding her amusement.
“Then Egypt is fortunate. I am going to bathe before my skin turns to leather in this heat. Gods! Ra is pitiless this summer!” She tossed the rest of the grapes onto the table, flicked the whip languidly at the dwarfs, and walked away. Tiye watched her pass from shade into glaring sunlight, the muscles under the curvaceous hips flowing. The dwarfs trotted after her, exclaiming in shrill voices and swatting at each other.
“I pity the man who marries that one,” Tiye observed. “He will need to be heavy-handed.”
“She should have been married by now,” Ay responded. “In any case, when Nefertiti marries the heir, Mutnodjme will be too close to the throne to give to anyone whose loyalty to the family might be suspect. Her own loyalties go to whoever can amuse her.”
“Horemheb would be able to contain her very well,” Tiye said thoughtfully. “I wonder if he could be induced to marry her. I would be loath to force him. He is a good commander and takes his bribes openly, not underhandedly, as a minister of the crown should.”
“It would be better to hold her in reserve until Nefertiti and the prince are safely wed,” Ay objected. “There is still Sitamun, I know, but Pharaoh will not let her go until he is dead. She is his link with Thothmes, his son, and with his own past.”
Tiye silently acknowledged his insight, and his hardness. “You speak too disrespectfully of my husband,” she chided quietly.
He did not apologize. “I speak of political necessity, without malice,” he replied. “We both know that if the prince were allowed to choose Sitamun over Nefertiti for chief wife, Sitamun’s jealousy of you and her lack of political acumen would relegate you to the powerless position of dowager once Pharaoh dies. Sitamun would not allow you near the ministers and would not bother with them herself. If Amunhotep later wants to marry his sister, he may, but not until Nefertiti is chief wife.”
There was a moment of silence as Tiye rolled his words around in her mind. She and Ay had often engaged in this discussion, and it had always seemed like a mental exercise, a defense against the boredom of scorching summer afternoons, but now the considerations were all too real, the alternatives vital. She watched Ay’s baboons where they squatt
ed in the dry grass at the other end of the garden. They yawned and chittered desultorily to one another, scratching under their jeweled collars or grooming each other’s fur in search of lice.
At length she said, “If anything should happen to Nefertiti before a marriage contract is sealed, I would rather see Mutnodjme take her place with my son than Sitamun. But we will wait and try not to be anxious. I wish you could persuade her to remove her youth lock and let the rest of her hair grow. She has been a woman now for four years.”
Ay grinned ruefully. “I’ve given up that fight. Mutnodjme likes to be different. She likes to shock her inferiors and titillate her equals. She is the arbiter of all that is fashionable in Thebes.”
“And while she remains concerned with fashion she will not be playing more dangerous games.” Rising, Tiye clapped her hands, and immediately Ay came to his feet. A host of servants poured from the quiet dimness of the house. Tiye received her brother’s obeisance, holding out both hands for his kiss. “I will send Kheruef to you when I am ready. May your name live forever, Ay.”
“Yours also, Majesty.”
In spite of the outward confidence I have always shown, I did not really believe this day would ever come, Tiye thought as she walked to the gate where her litter bearers were rising to bow to her. Amunhotep is free. Egypt has a crown prince, and the rest is a matter of mere detail. This is my greatest victory, and I am happy.
2
Tiye’s breath of command blew through the palace and the military barracks like a desert wind, so that three days after she had broken the good news of his release to her son, Amunhotep was able to leave for Memphis surrounded by the full pomp due an heir. During those three days the men who measured the height of the river had reported a tiny rise in its level, and it was both a relieved and an excited crowd that gathered on the palace water steps to catch a glimpse of the prince who was to appear among them like a rumor sprung to life. Tiye sat on her ebony throne, jeweled sun canopy over her, fans waving languidly before her. Sitamun was beside her, dressed in yellow, the plumed crown she was entitled to wear as chief wife quivering as she breathed. Ay paced between the gilded barge Aten Gleams and the contingent of soldiers standing sweating in formation, waiting for the prince to board. Mutnodjme, swathed in white linen and heavily painted against the sun, flicked her whip dispiritedly at the date palms above her while her dwarfs panted at her feet, too hot to quarrel.
A small group of priests from Karnak led by Si-Mut, Amun’s Second Prophet, stood ready with incense and systra to speed the prince on his way with prayers. Tiye, glancing at Si-Mut’s solemn, sweat-streaked face out of the corner of her eye, felt a pang of longing for her brother Anen, who had been Amun’s Second Prophet only a year earlier, before the fever had consumed him. “Give me the whisk,” she snapped at her whisk carrier and began to flick irritably at the flies that crawled over her slick neck and fought to suck up the salt around her mouth and kohled eyes.
Ay came to her and bowed. “Majesty, I have instructed Horemheb to open his house in Memphis to the prince until every servant and official in the palace there has been investigated. It is not likely, now that Pharaoh has decreed this move officially, but there may still be some who would wish to do him a favor by trying to harm Amunhotep.”
“Or he himself may regret his decision,” she answered in a low voice. “I shall be anxious until the statutory year is over and he is once more under my eye here at Malkatta. Stand aside, Ay.”
A buzz of excited talk was followed by deep silence as the soldiers and their charge approached. Horemheb came striding up to the throne, the silver arm bands that proclaimed him Commander of a Hundred flashing as he moved, the blue helmet he was entitled to wear as a charioteer framing a handsome face that, though young, was already marked by the early maturity the career he had chosen had thrust upon him. As Ay’s protégé he was destined to go far in the army and at court, and he knew it, but he had not relied on his mentor’s favor alone. The men under him had learned that although his discipline was swift and harsh, his judgment was fair. He knelt to kiss the queen’s feet.
“You understand the gravity of this responsibility, Horemheb,” Tiye said as she waved him to his feet. “I expect clearly dictated and regular reports from you.”
He inclined his head but did not reply.
She turned to her son, rising and stepping down to embrace him, and realized with surprise that Nefertiti stood beside him, tall and feminine in yellow, the waist-length ringlets of her wig wound with forget-me-nots made of lapis lazuli, the color of the hair of the gods. “Send me word of your doings as often as you can,” Tiye said as her arms went around Amunhotep. He nodded against her cheek and pulled away smiling, and then Tiye saw his gaze lift over her shoulder to the palace behind them. All at once a mask seemed to drop over the long, sallow features, and he turned abruptly. Tiye stole a glance backward. Half-hidden by one of the fluted lotus columns that fronted the reception hall and attended by only his body servant, her husband was watching. A murmur of surprise went through the crowd, and Tiye’s head jerked around again in time to see her son press his lips against Nefertiti’s scarlet mouth. “May your name live forever, Cousin,” he said loudly, playing with one glistening ringlet as she grinned at him, eyes screwed against the sun. “Come and visit me if your father will allow it. I shall miss our conversations.” Outraged at the breach of good manners, Tiye glared at Ay.
“May the soles of your feet be firm, Prince,” Nefertiti answered Amunhotep boldly, and he turned and walked up the ramp, disappearing into the shade of the little cabin. Horemheb gave an order, and the hangings were lowered. Si-Mut began to chant, the incense rose, and the soldiers took up their positions along the railing. Oars were run out. The timekeeper began to shout his rhythm, and the barge with its little blue and white pennants moved lightly away from the steps and across the lake, heading for the canal and the freedom of the river.
As the boat dwindled from sight, Tiye clutched the fly whisk tightly, wanting to slash it across her niece’s flowerlike little face, but instead plying it vigorously against her own legs. Before the girl could edge away, she made a quick decision. “Nefertiti, you will have your belongings packed and moved into my palace as soon as possible,” she snapped. “Leave your staff with your father, or send them all to Akhmin, or sell them, I don’t care. I will provide servants for you. It is time you learned how to behave like a wife, not a simpering concubine.”
“I am neither yet, Majesty Aunt,” Nefertiti replied, uncowed. “Amunhotep kissed me. I did not kiss him.”
“You know very well that you should have taken a step back and gone down on one knee to show that you were both honored by his attention and embarrassed by his public display. What is the matter with you?” And what is the matter with me? she demanded of herself. Why am I so annoyed at this tiny slip on the part of my son, who is today surely filled with an exultation that must be hard to repress? Am I afraid that my influence over Amunhotep will be weakened now that he is no longer wholly dependent on me for affection? She managed a cold smile to Nefertiti and felt the jealousy fade.
“I know what I should have done,” Nefertiti replied half-defiantly, half-apologetically, “but my cousin took me by surprise. It was a gesture of great favor, and I am honored.”
The priests had moved to the edge of the lake, and Si-Mut was throwing flowers upon the water as the crowd began to disperse. Mutnodjme had come up to Tiye and was listening to the exchange with interest.
“So you should be,” Tiye said grudgingly. “We will forget it. You might as well begin to assume some of the responsibilities of a princess, Nefertiti. Envoys from this upstart Khatti prince arrived yesterday, and tonight Pharaoh is giving them a taste of Egyptian hospitality. You are all expected to attend. It is a pity Tey is still at Akhmin. I want to see her.”
“Mother cannot bear Thebes in the summer, Majesty Aunt,” Mutnodjme broke in. “She only feels at home on the old family estates. But I shall be there
. May Nefertiti and I be dismissed?”
Tiye nodded, and both girls bowed. Mutnodjme’s whip cracked over the heads of the drowsy dwarfs, and they jumped to their feet with squeals of wrath. Running one hennaed palm over her shaven head and tossing her ribboned youth lock over her shoulder, she made off in the direction of Ay’s barge, moored under the sycamores at the far end of the water steps. Nefertiti beckoned to her train of women and followed. Tiye, turning back to the palace with an inaudible sigh, noted that the pillar that had sheltered the silent bulk of her husband was empty.
The excitement caused by Amunhotep’s departure was soon overshadowed by the arrival of Princess Tadukhipa. The river had by now deepened and was flowing swiftly, tugging at its banks like an unruly horse, and though it had not yet begun to spill over onto the parched fields, the thorny acacias whose roots overhung the bank were already tinged with a green flush. The air had thickened but was no cooler. Breathing required an almost conscious effort, and every task was defeated by the enervating atmosphere. Sickness had broken out in the harem among the children.
Tiye watched the princess’s disembarkation seated on her ebony throne, beside her husband. Though her canopy shed a thin shade and scarlet ostrich fans moved ceaselessly over her, Tiye’s linens were drenched in sweat, and the pink and black marble paving under her feet scorched through her soft sandals. Amunhotep sat motionless, crook, flail, and scimitar in his lap, sweat gathering under the rim of the Double Crown and trickling unchecked down his temples. Tiye thought he might be dozing. Directly before her, cool, dark water lapped seductively against the steps. Across the river, the noise from Thebes was subdued, smothered in the heat, the thousands lining the east bank seeming to merge into one shimmering mirage. Around her, Pharaoh’s court waited in their glistening wigs and dazzling white linen, flicking their jeweled whisks idly and exchanging desultory conversation. Tiye felt sick and faint. Off to her left, Ptahhotep, Si-Mut, and the other priests from Karnak stood bunched under their own canopy, thin streams of incense clouding them and adding to their discomfort. The harem wives, Gilupkhipa among them, sat off to the right in the grass under the shadow of the palace wall, their servants moving among them with cool drinks and dishes of sweetmeats, their cats and monkeys darting among them.
The Twelfth Transforming Page 3