The Twelfth Transforming

by Pauline Gedge

  “Find a statue of Ta-Urt,” she ordered. “There must be one stored somewhere among my household goods. Then get me any priest willing to pray to any god other than the Aten. I don’t care whom he serves so long as he knows the prayers for women in labor.”

  “It will take some time, Majesty. I will have to send into the city.”

  “Well, send then. And hurry up.”

  It was fully night before he returned, bringing a small votive statue of the swollen hippopotamus goddess and a furtive priest who set up the incense cups and began his prayers with one respectful eye on Tiye, who stood beside him as he performed the brief ritual. When the man had finished, Tiye gave him gold and sent him away with friendly words and ordered Ta-Urt returned to whatever chest Huya had found her in. Then she made her way into the palace.

  The crowds of servants and lesser ministers clustered around the door fell back silently as she swept past them, but those within did not acknowledge her presence. Tadukhipa sat slumped on the floor, the princess’s fingers twined in her own, dozing. Pharaoh held a sleeping monkey on his lap. His head was bowed. Nefertiti was wringing out a cloth and laying it on Meketaten’s forehead while the girl moaned. The atmosphere was unbearable, a mixture of the stench of incense ash, human sweat, and agony. Meketaten began to writhe, uttering muffled cries, and Tiye realized with a shock that the princess was too weak to scream aloud. She left them.

  She was summoned again just before dawn and knew even before the solemn herald had finished bowing to her that Meketaten was dead. Tight-lipped with rage, she strode into the palace. Already the word was passing among the servants, and inquisitive eyes followed her along every passage. Steeling herself, she crossed the threshold.

  Tadukhipa had gone. Pharaoh stood with his back to the couch, arms folded. Nefertiti was sobbing openly, kneeling by the couch. The midwife was carefully lifting a covered bundle from the bloodied sheets, and quickly Tiye averted her gaze. The nobles who had been forced to be continually present had all slipped away but for Ay and Horemheb, who sat on the floor in a far corner. The midwife bent before Tiye and departed, and Tiye moved quietly to the couch and looked down. No one had closed the bewildered eyes, or yet washed the gray, foam-flecked face. Meketaten had bitten through her bottom lip, and blood crusted on her chin and smeared the little teeth. She lay with thin arms loosely outstretched, the sheet barely covering the pitifully flat breasts, her shoulders still hunched against torment. Tiye reached down and gently pushed the lids over the staring eyes. She must have groaned aloud, for Akhenaten turned and saw her. Tears slipped down his cheeks.

  “It was a boy,” he whispered, forming the words so slowly and with so much difficulty that he seemed drunk. His eyes turned to Nefertiti, now wailing with arms upraised. “You brought sorrow and anger to the god,” he managed, “and he has punished me. You broke the magic with the sculptor. You weakened the power of the god. You are to blame!” The last words were shrieked, and Tiye sensed rather than saw Horemheb rise to his feet. “My little daughter. Ah, Meketaten!” Parennefer hurried to his side, and Horemheb came forward, soothing words already on his tongue. They led Pharaoh away.

  Gathering her resolve, Tiye went to Nefertiti. “You need rest, Majesty,” she said, taking the stiff arms and lowering them firmly. “Sleep now. This outburst is not grief, but madness. Ay, take her to her apartments.” She turned to the servants huddled by the door. “Is there a House of the Dead in the city? Bring sem-priests, but first have the princess washed and tidied.” She shouted at them until they rallied and ran to obey. As she left the room, the new sun struck the walls like a burning fist.

  The harem women were already wailing, and Tiye could hear their mindless ululations as she crossed the royal garden and went through the gate in the wall. They had mourned often of late, as one small body after another was carried from the nurseries, but this outcry was frightening in its intensity. Tiye hurried into her chambers in order to shut out the sound, but even in the sanctuary of her bedroom she could hear it. Sharply she ordered wine, though the morning had scarcely begun, and stayed on her couch until she summoned Huya in the late afternoon.

  “Pharaoh resisted every effort to keep him on his couch,” he said in answer to her question. “He lies before the altar in the temple with the sun beating down on him. His ministers are afraid for his health. Word of the death has gone into the city, and the shops and stalls are closed. The queen is asleep. I took the liberty of taking the news to Prince Smenkhara myself, Majesty. Princess Meritaten was with him.”

  “Has the body been decently removed?”

  “It has.”

  “Meketaten,” she muttered to herself once he had gone. “Such folly, such wickedness. How long will it be before the gods run out of patience with my son and truly punish him?”

  The customary seventy days of mourning were decreed for the princess and her stillborn son. The funeral seemed a quiet, drab affair to Tiye, sitting on her litter under the protecting canopy and watching Pharaoh offer prayers to his god for the survival of Meketaten’s ka. Her attention was diverted from the rites by the strained, shocked faces of the courtiers. It was not grief for the princess that had stirred them, Tiye decided, but a kind of fear. Many of them had almost unconsciously edged toward the place where Smenkhara and Meritaten stood, as though the young prince offered a protection they suddenly craved. Perhaps the long dream that has held them in thrall is beginning to fade, Tiye thought. The Aten has failed them. From now on their faith will be tinged with doubt. But such doubt obviously did not afflict Pharaoh. He wept and prayed earnestly, his light voice often drowned by Nefertiti’s uncontrolled sobbing. There was none of the dignity of proper ritual, and Tiye was relieved to escape back to her house.

  Once there, she instructed Huya. “Set up an Amun shrine in Prince Smenkhara’s quarters. The worship of gods other than the Aten has not been expressly forbidden. Do it quite openly and make certain that the people of Thebes, particularly Maya and the priests, know about it. I also think it is time for Smenkhara to begin work on his tomb. He can have his engineers design here if he wishes, but it is imperative he dig in the Valley in West-of-Thebes with as much dust and noise as possible. See to it.”

  She wanted to approach Akhenaten immediately to secure Smenkhara and Meritaten’s betrothal, but Ay warned her that Pharaoh’s temper was precarious. He was closeted in his apartments, fasting and praying, seeing no one. Grudgingly she settled herself to wait, but one week went by and then another, and Pharaoh’s grief showed no signs of abating.

  A month after the funeral one of Ay’s officers requested words with Tiye as she was about to be rowed across the river to visit Tey. He was obviously agitated and was trailed by several anxious Followers of His Majesty. “Divine Empress, your brother begs you to come at once to Pharaoh’s apartments,” the man said. “You are needed. Pharaoh is distressed.”

  Tiye nodded, looking regretfully at her little craft bobbing invitingly on the sparkling blue water. “Captain, the sailors can stand down. Huya, you had better find an escort of Horemheb’s soldiers for me immediately.” Within the hour she was seeking admittance to the private wing of the palace, and long before she passed through the doors of her son’s reception room, she could hear him shouting, his voice shrill and hysterical. His herald barred her way politely. “Forgive me, Majesty, but arms are not permitted in Pharaoh’s presence. Please tell your soldiers to wait out here with me.”

  She ignored him, and signaling to her bodyguards, she pushed past and entered. There was a flurry of indignation behind her, and a group of Followers pressed on the heels of the men Horemheb had provided her, scimitars drawn. She would have turned to settle the dispute, but at the sight of her Nefertiti sprang forward, pointing finger rigid, her face white and her eyes blazing. She had been weeping. Kohl smudged her cheeks and had been smeared across one temple with an unconscious hand. “It is her fault!” she cried out, mouth quivering, her beautiful face a grimace of distress. “She is responsible
for the lies! You did not doubt my love until she came! Ask her the truth and see if she has the courage to deny it!”

  Swiftly Tiye appraised the situation. Her son stood rocking on his heels, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as though in pain, breathing rapidly and noisily. Horemheb was beside him, grim and for once powerless. Around them Pharaoh’s retinue shuffled, glancing at one another in fear and embarrassment and trying to appear inconspicuous. Ay watched from the shadows at the far end of the room. Nefertiti paced alone, her women huddled together out of her way.

  “How can you speak of truth?” Akhenaten quavered. “You have deceived me, you have made me a joke before my people. I trusted you. I poured out my love for you, and all the time you were making light of my devotion.” He was fighting for control of his voice, his words rendered almost unintelligible by emotion. Nefertiti thrust her face into Tiye’s.

  “Tell him!” she hissed. “If you love him, how can you stand to watch him in this agony? You and Huya, that sly royal tool, dripping your poison into willing ears. What can you gain by this, except the destruction of my husband?”

  Tiye looked past the fierce eyes to where Akhenaten was watching her, leaning tensely toward her, his gaze nakedly begging her for reassurance. She turned to meet Ay’s glance. “Stand away, Majesty,” she said coldly. “The royal cobra on your brow is no match for an empress’s disk. Your own lust has brought you to this moment. If I were Pharaoh, I would have you immediately disciplined.”

  “I knew!” The howl was from Akhenaten. Flinging out his arms, he fell to his knees and then buried his face in his trembling hands. “Meketaten died because of you. You have never been the Aten’s choice for me, but I was weak and loved you and made you my queen. If Sitamun had lived to wear the crown, Meketaten would not have died. It is a judgment on my willfulness!”

  Nefertiti walked to him, ashen, shocked from her rage by the pitiless words. “As my heart must be weighed against the Feather of Ma’at, Horus, I swear I loved my daughter as fiercely as you,” she managed huskily. “I would never have harmed her. Meketaten died of your lust, not mine. Think about that before you pass judgment on me. I have supported you since the days of your imprisonment and deserve better from you than this public humiliation. I know that I am quick-tempered and often foolish. But if you punish me for something I have not done, you will be losing the strongest ally you have.”

  The room had fallen so silent that far to the west the sound of oars splash ing in the river and the singing of sailors could be faintly heard. Flies circled lazily, the everyday sound strangely out of place. Pharaoh’s breath rasped in the quiet air, and he made no answer. His eyes were closed, his nostrils flared. I did not imagine anything like this when I gave Huya his instructions, Tiye thought in horror. I wanted a strain, a small estrangement, room between them into which I could insert my hand, not a void large enough to swallow us all. What if he orders her execution? “Majesty,” she began, but at the sound of her voice he screamed, “Be silent!” and came to his feet, every movement of his lumbering body a slow warning. Turning to Nefertiti, he whispered, “You have forfeited the right to belong to the family of the god. Leave my sight. Take your lover with you. Because the Aten is a benevolent god, I will not harm you. You are banished to the north palace.”

  Nefertiti’s regality momentarily deserted her. Crumpling, she clung to his knees and began to sob. “Akhenaten, I have done you no harm, I have given you beautiful children, I have shared your visions. Do not cast me away, I beseech! Who will nurse you when you are ill? Who will stand with you when you rise to pray in the night? I will do anything you ask, I will cast soil upon my head, I will shave and mourn, I will have the sculptor killed if you but indicate the desire, but do not place yourself once more between the claws of the vultures who hate you.”

  At her first broken words Akhenaten had visibly softened, swallowing repeatedly, but Nefertiti’s tactless mention of Thothmes caused him to stiffen. His gaze wandered to the window, and his ringed hand gestured impatiently at his guard. The captain came immediately, lifting the queen reverently but firmly and leading her to the door. Dazed, she did not resist until she came level with Tiye. Then she shook herself free of the restraining soldier and lifted both clenched fists under Tiye’s chin. “You will die for this,” she murmured so low that Tiye had to strain to hear. “And I do not care what method I devise to do it. I am already disgraced. There is nothing for me to fear any longer.”

  Tiye, looking into the tearstained, distorted face, put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I am not sorry, Majesty,” she replied softly, knowing that her words could be interpreted in many ways. “Go with dignity.”

  Nefertiti was convulsed. She launched herself on Tiye, but the empress smoothly stepped aside, the Followers sprang to her defense with practiced skill, and the doors soon closed behind the queen. Horemheb, after one glance at the king, began to shepherd the others out.

  Akhenaten continued to gaze dreamily out of the window, eyebrows raised and a small smile on his lips, but his body jerked intermittently as one tense muscle after another spasmed.

  Ay took his sister’s elbow. “You have won, but I do not like the cost,” he breathed.

  Tiye rounded on him. “I have a good mind to go back to Malkatta, where I ought to have stayed in the first place, and let you all destroy yourselves,” she said bitterly. She would have gone on, but feeling eyes on her back, she turned to see her son’s unnaturally brilliant gaze fixed unblinkingly on her. Ay bowed and departed. Horemheb would have gone to Pharaoh, but at a violent, dumb dismissal he also bowed, lips pursed, and was gone. Tiye and Akhenaten were alone.

  “Are you a vulture?” he said conversationally. “Will you pick at my entrails?” He was trying to lift a cup of wine to his mouth, but his arm thrashed so uncontrollably that the liquid was slopping onto the floor. Taking a deep breath, Tiye strode to him, guiding the cup, forcing him onto a chair. At her touch he suddenly went limp and clung to her, burying his face in her lap. “I have lost daughter and wife in the space of a few weeks,” he wept. “Surely now the Aten is appeased! I am in pain, Mother! Put your arms around me. Swear you will always be with me!”

  Tiye embraced him, shrinking from the frenetic clutch of his hands. He soon ceased to sob aloud, and she was able to extricate herself, urging him onto his couch and drawing the sheet over him. He pulled it up to his chin and lay with eyes open. She asked to be dismissed, but he did not answer. After a while she bowed shortly and went away.

  Nefertiti had moved disdainfully into the north palace by the next day, leaving her staff to begin the task of packing her belongings. Those courtiers who fed on intrigue were disappointed to see that she left subdued and pale but with head high. Most attendants believed, however, that the rift between the queen and Pharaoh would be temporary. Nefertiti’s crime had not been serious. Pharaoh had acted hastily and would regret it, and the queen would come gliding back to her quarters. The empress was too old to take the queen’s place, and no amount of concubines would give Pharaoh the close relationship he had shared with the empress’s beautiful niece. The court also waited for the sculptor’s banishment, and several ministers tried to hint to Pharaoh that their loyal service entitled them to the river estate he had been given, but in a peculiar way Akhenaten blamed his wife, not the handsome and talented young man, for the spectacular lapse. She had been one of the enlightened ones; she should have known better. Thothmes was not even forbidden to visit the north palace. Pharaoh merely turned his back on queen and sculptor alike.

  But those courtiers who expected a reconciliation after a suitable period of chastisement had not understood the subtleties of Akhenaten’s religious philosophy. A member of the Aten’s sacred family had turned elsewhere for the affection that made the circle of protection around Pharaoh so strong. In Akhenaten’s eyes, Nefertiti’s worthiness to be a magic link was now suspect. The month of Athyr passed, and Khoyak. The Nile overflowed and turned the west bank into a calm lake that
mirrored the winter softness of the sky. The empress was seen in the halls of audience and in the temple every day, haughty and unapproachable, accompanying her son wherever he went, and though the royal pair smiled at each other and talked together, there was none of the extravagant display of physical affection to which the court had become accustomed. Not even Pharaoh’s closest staff knew on what level mother and son communicated, and Parennefer was too much the well-trained servant to let slip the fact that pharaoh and empress did not share a bed.

  At the queen’s dismissal, Tutu realized how precarious his own position was and attempted to return his office to a semblance of order, but the weeks went by, and it became obvious that the empress was not going to have her way. Pharaoh’s temper was unpredictable, and any pressure brought to bear on him either was studiously ignored or resulted in outbursts of passionate rhetoric. Ay, Tiye, and Horemheb finally acknowledged that Pharaoh’s refusal to consider the chaos outside Egypt’s borders came from his deep conviction that his god would bring order through nothing but his prayers, and they changed their policy. No day passed without the name of Smenkhara being dropped into his ear: how devout the young man was, how loyal to his pharaoh, how well he fitted in to the royal sun family. Their brotherhood was reiterated time and again, but care was taken not to mention the fact that Smenkhara’s father had been the man Akhenaten still hated. Pharaoh listened, smiled indulgently, but made no comment.

  Tiye had recruited fresh spies from among Horemheb’s soldiers, placing them in the north palace, but it was difficult to get news. Nefertiti had withdrawn completely into herself, and her staff remained loyally silent. Traffic through the high double wall that separated the north estate from the rest of the city was slight and noted assiduously by the guards on the gate. Access was easier on the river, but even then Tiye’s men ran a great risk, for the west face of the north palace rose above a series of garden terraces that climbed down to long water steps, and anyone standing at a window had a full view of all movement on the river. Tiye’s spies in Horemheb’s household fared better. A stream of whispered information flowed into her house, but since most of it was in nocuous, she was forced to conclude that Horemheb had already spotted her men but let them alone.