“But what?” Beketaten gripped the edge of the table. “We all do what we must do,” she said as she leaned toward him. “And if she must give the Pharaoh poisoned wine to save herself, her children, and Egypt . . . what coward would not do it?”
“My daughter is no coward,” Ay said, uncrossing his arms and putting his weight firmly planted on both feet.
In the back of the room, Jabari and his subordinates, Khabek, Ineni, and Hori, shuffled their feet, their eyes darting back and forth between the leaders of the People’s Restoration of Egypt, Pawah and Beketaten, and the second- and third-highest ranking commanders of the Egyptian military, Ay and Horemheb. They looked to each other, wondering where the other would place his loyalty.
“Of course our Coregent Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti is no coward,” Pawah said, sensing the tension in the room.
Beketaten’s glare snapped to Pawah.
“As you said, my wife, one way or another, he must die. If he drinks the cup laid for him tonight or tomorrow or a month from now, he will die. The Coregent did what she said she would do—she brought him the poisoned wine.” Pawah looked to Commander Horemheb, who had escorted her there and reported back that he had witnessed her pour the hemlock in the wine goblet she took to Pharaoh.
“Egypt will not suffer more if he is alive one day or seven days,” Commander Horemheb said, nodding. “It would matter,” he added, “if he were alive for years more.”
“Yes,” Pawah said, resting back in his chair. “And then more drastic measures would have to be taken.”
“Should a rebellion come, you will spare my daughter and her children in your attack,” Ay said. It was less a question than a commandment.
“It is hard to control an armed, angry riot,” Pawah said, swirling his finger over an imaginary point on the table. “Sometimes, they just get . . . bloodthirsty.” He pushed his finger into the table as his eyes lifted to meet Ay’s, making his point.
Ay took a step and leaned forward on the table, both hands supporting his hearty frame. “You will control those who fight for you.”
“Of course.” Pawah slid his hand from the table as the shuffling of feet in the corner of the room slowed and stopped. “Just as I assume you would as well.”
“My men follow my order,” Ay said.
Pawah smirked, shaking his head. “Of course, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses.”
Ay stood up straight and peered down at this enemy he had to call an ally. When this is all over, I will make you pay for forcing my hand and convincing my firstborn to murder her husband. He gritted his teeth and put his hand on the top of the dagger’s handle that hung from his belt. You can threaten your rebellion—you can imply my men will betray me . . . and now, having no other option, I have gone along with your plan to return Egypt to its former glory. But, in the end, I may even kill you for what you have made me do to my Nefertiti, my precious lotus blossom.
Pawah sneered, adding, “We will follow your wishes . . . for now.”
“Why were you defending Nefertiti?”
Beketaten cut her husband off in his saunter down an outer palace hall after they had left the council room. Her shrill hush and her firmly planted feet made Pawah pause and look her up and down.
“Because I only strike when I know I can win,” Pawah whispered, and placed his hands over her shoulders. As he waited for her response, in his mind he carefully planned his rebuttal to her every objection. When she only glared, he added, “There were men in that room whose loyalty was not with me, and I did not want to put us in danger, my love.” He traced the outline of her face with the back of his hand then patted her chin. His chest tingled at his quick wit, and with a smug smile he sidestepped her and continued down the path.
She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, placing herself in front of him again. “You always defend that woman.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “Even when she exiled us to Nubia you defended her.”
“I did no such thing!” Pawah grabbed her and pushed her against the wall. Pressing his body against hers, he whispered in her ear, “Nefertiti is only a tool to return Egypt to Amun. My dear wife, when will you trust me completely?”
Beketaten tried to push him away but his strength surpassed hers. “It is hard to trust you when you wouldn’t even stand up to my father the first time he tried to exile us. It is hard to trust you when you call out other women’s names in your sleep.”
Pawah smirked. “Those names are from a lifetime ago. Besides . . . you are a better lover when you are jealous.”
Beketaten wanted to slap him across the face, but still he held her arms down. “Even Nefertiti? You called her name once or twice.”
Pawah jutted out his chin and peered down at her. “I must have been thinking about the plan, and the movement we lead.”
“You lie,” Beketaten hissed. “I thought you loved me. I thought you would make a life for us. But no . . . you have only used me to get what you want. You made me look the fool in front of those men.”
Pawah let out a tsk-tsk and bit her earlobe with his lips. “No. You looked a fool by yourself. I only stopped you from further embarrassment.”
Beketaten huffed.
Pawah kissed her neck a few times, sliding his lips from one spot to the next. “Remember, my love, you begged me to marry you so you would not have to marry your brother. There is a cost to going against your father’s command. This is how we planned to get out of Nubia and back into Egypt. If I have to defend Our Majesty, Coregent Neferneferuaten, then so be it. If I have to marry her, then so be it. You knew perfectly well the cost.”
“You told me you loved me”—Beketaten lowered her chin to block his lips from going farther—“and would do anything for me because you cherished me. I should be on the throne. Nefertiti banished me. She stripped everything from me. She slept in her palace while I slept on a bed of straw in Nubia. I am Pharaoh’s daughter. She is no one—and should be no one. Yet you call out her name? You defend her? You love her! You lied to me.” The burn of envy simmered in her chest as the coals in her stomach added strength to the flame.
“My love,” Pawah crooned, and he pushed her wig’s hair from her cheek. “I never lie to you.” He hovered his lips over hers. “I do love you. I do cherish you, my beautiful daughter of the King.”
“I don’t believe you,” Beketaten said, turning her face away.
He pulled her chin with his fingers so that she faced him again.
“Don’t you?” His lips brushed past hers.
“No,” she whispered, and closed her eyes, breathing in his breath.
He kissed her, and not a moment later, she kissed him back, pulling him closer.
Chapter 2
The Time of Loss
A few decans later, Nefertiti hid in the shade of the supporting beams to the outer harbor, peering out over the calm Nile waters that graced the setting horizon. She drew in a shaky breath and pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to hide the puffiness and blinking rapidly to conceal the redness in her eyes. The plague had taken so much from her four long years ago, and now the People’s Restoration of Egypt was taking so much of her own dignity. Trust she only gave to a few; even then, after her father and Commander Horemheb convinced her to become Pharaoh’s executioner, she only found solace with a few of her servants, Merytre, and Aitye.
The morning after Nefertiti had brought the poisoned wine to Pharaoh Akhenaten, Merytre collapsed while dressing her. Aitye caught the steward and waited with her as the royal doctor came at Nefertiti’s call.
“No breath, no beat of the heart,” the doctor had declared.
Merytre’s passing caused Nefertiti’s spirit to break. Her loyal steward for almost seventeen years, Merytre always knew what she needed—a bath, a moment of reprieve, a piece of bread, a wipe of the brow . . . but now she was gone. Nefertiti’s chin quivered as she closed her eyes, wishing she had not taken her servant for granted—especially now when so much was at stake.
A boat docked, and N
efertiti’s younger half-sister, Mut, stepped off and then tried to help her aging mother, Tey, who refused both Mut’s and the servant’s aid.
“Mother!” Nefertiti exclaimed with a quivery smile as she grabbed ahold of her. Safe in the arms of someone she knew she could trust with absolute certainty, Nefertiti’s shoulders let their burden down. Her mind went blank as she took in the sweet garden musk that lived in Tey’s clothes, and she instantly remembered her carefree days as a child in Waset.
Tey’s arms flew out in surprise at the Coregent’s informal actions, but soon came to rest around her daughter. Tey loved when Nefertiti called her “Mother”—even though Nefertiti’s birth mother, Temehu, had died in childbirth.
“My dear Nefertiti.”
Mut stood with her hands twisted in front of her stomach and her left foot hiding behind her right. An awkward grin and eyes of admiration defined her face. Nefertiti opened an arm to her as well, and Mut, still a child with her sidelock, bounced into their circle of arms.
Oh, to be young again and have but trivial dilemmas, Nefertiti thought.
“I-I’m sorry you lost Merytre,” Mut stammered. Her half-sister, Coregent Nefertiti, elegant and powerful, perfect in every way, rendered her mute most of the time. Her cheeks did not rise as high as Nefertiti’s, nor did her eyes open as wide; but even in her youth, a certain beauty beheld her.
The circles under Nefertiti’s eyes drew dark again as Mut’s innocent sentiment thrust her back into the present day. “As am I,” Nefertiti whispered, and pulled them closer. After a moment, she released them. “Come inside. Aitye will bring us wine to drink and bread to eat. It was a long trip for you.”
“Thank you, child,” Tey said, and they made their way to the nearest courtyard.
Silence followed them.
Once they were seated and Aitye had brought them nourishment, Tey asked as they ate, “Will they bury Merytre in Akhe-Aten, as well, with Meketaten and . . . ?” She trailed off upon seeing her daughter’s contorted mouth.
Nefertiti could not bring herself to remember the year of the plague. It had taken so many from her: three of her six daughters; Kiya, the best of friends; and Queen Tiye, her wise mentor.
Mut returned her bread to the plate and stood up. Walking over to Nefertiti, she put a hand on her shoulder.
“Yes . . .” Nefertiti’s shaky voice found strength in the innocence of Mut’s eyes. “They will bury Merytre in Akhe-Aten.”
Mut is only a year younger than my daughter would have been. Neferneferure died so young, Nefertiti thought. I see her in there somewhere. In the eyes, maybe.
Her thoughts raced to the last time she saw her daughter alive, holding the wet nurse, gasping for air, coughing up blood, struggling to live . . . her little limp body worn from the plague . . .
She pushed the image from her mind, remembering her failings as a mother: Instead of going to her, she instead went to tend to Egypt in her husband’s place. She had brought the plague into Egypt by bringing the military home from diseased lands. Because of her, they died. Because of her, they all died.
“Akhe-Aten,” she mumbled, and pressed her lips together to form a thin line. Her arms tensed, and suddenly the bread on her plate looked unappetizing. Akhe-Aten—where her daughters had made the journey to the afterlife. The thickness in her throat slid to her chest.
Tey rubbed Nefertiti’s arms and pressed her lips into a warm smile as she found her daughter’s eyes. “Akhe-Aten.” Tey nodded. She remembered the long walk from the palace to the necropolis for each of her three grand-daughters.
“Pharaoh Akhenaten will be buried here,” Nefertiti said, her voice stronger, “and, as such, I will also be buried here, along with my children.”
It is the truth. I will forever spend eternity in a place dedicated to the Aten—a place that insults the face of Amun.
“Why can’t you be buried with all of the followers of Amun?” Mut asked, seemingly reading her half-sister’s thoughts.
The tendons in Nefertiti’s neck stood on alert as she pressed a finger to Mut’s lips. “You mustn’t speak of Amun here.” Nefertiti’s voice fell to a hurried whisper.
Mut’s downward-curled mouth and big, wide eyes searched for truth. “Because Pharaoh is mad?”
Nefertiti almost laughed, partly at the pure sight of her, and partly at the obvious truth even this nine-year-old child could see. A stern grimace replaced a momentary grin. “Pharaoh thinks differently,” she said. “Now, Mut, whilst here, you must refrain from speaking directly what comes to mind.”
Tey nodded and gave Mut a raised eyebrow and a squint of the eyes. Nefertiti remembered that look from Tey well—a warning to be more cautious of one’s words—and had no envy of being young again.
“Nefertiti, your father keeps me in the dark, but I must ask . . . Is all well? He wakes in the night and spends his free time leering out the window, eyes darting.” Tey placed her hand upon Nefertiti’s knee. “Last time I saw you as well, my daughter, your shoulders seemed heavy . . . and now you hide something in your eyes, something more than just the passing of Merytre.”
“It is nothing, Mother,” Nefertiti lied.
Curse how she can read me like an open scroll! Father is right to protect her and the children. They have no business knowing what is going on in the palace. With the threat of the People’s Restoration of Egypt, she should be out of harm’s way in Waset . . . unless an angry mob targets their house. She is the wife of Master of Pharaoh’s Horses, after all.
Tey searched her face for a moment, then sat back, removing her hand. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Nefertiti said, more to herself than to Tey, hating herself for lying to her mother.
Tey nodded and bided her time.
Mut glanced back and forth between them, but, remembering Tey’s warning from moments earlier, decided not to say anything else.
They ate the rest of their meal in silence, peering up at each other every now and then. Once they sated their hunger, Aitye and another servant came to take their plates and cups.
Tey looked to her daughter, eyeing her golden-banded modius crown; she skimmed her face next, noting the dark circles under her eyes, her hollow cheeks, her pallid skin.
“What, Mother?” Nefertiti asked, annoyed at her mother simply looking her over.
But perhaps it is my guilt of lying to her, and Mother’s stare only reminds me of it.
“Nothing. We are your guests. What would you have us do? The sun is almost set.” Tey tapped her finger on her knee and lifted her chin toward her daughter.
Her response took Nefertiti back a little—she had expected her mother to ask her again about what secrets she held. “We shall . . . adjourn to my chambers.”
“Very well,” Tey said.
“Mut,” Nefertiti said, diverting the conversation to get out from under Tey’s stare. “Tell me of your studies. How do they go?”
Mut began to drone on about her tutors as Nefertiti led them to her chambers.
Once the door closed, leaving them alone within the walls of Nefertiti’s bedchambers, they settled in the living area and silence once again fell upon the women.
“Any suitors yet, Mut?” Nefertiti asked. “If I’m not mistaken, you only have a few years left before you are of the age to marry.”
Mut’s cheeks turned red and her once-straight spine bent and caved around her chest. Mut’s sheepish grin betrayed her. “No—”
“She likes the servant boy,” Tey said with a shake of her head. “He is beneath her, and she cannot marry him. He has nothing to offer for her.”
“Don’t say that, Mother!” Mut stood and threw her arms across her chest.
Tey’s raised eyebrow came forth and Mut sucked in her cheeks and sat down, her arms still pressed into her stomach and her hands clasped as fists.
“She is not as lucky as you, Nefertiti, having a cousin to wed,” Tey said, watching Mut as she scrubbed a hand on the side of her face.
“Yes, lucky.�
� Nefertiti thought of Prince Thutmose, and even though it seemed another life, she wished he were alive—then maybe she would have been lucky.
“Well, you could do as Queen Tiye did for you.” Tey’s eyes grew wide with meaning.
“What?” Nefertiti hunched her shoulders, already anticipating the response.
“Just as Queen Tiye asked you to marry her son, you could ask Mut to marry Prince Tutankhaten.” Her eyes lit at this new potential match.
“Mother, please don’t put such thoughts into our heads.” Nefertiti curled her lip and threw her hands up. “That boy will never have any of my family as his wife. Not if I have anything to say about it!” She stood and walked away to regain her composure. Placing her hands on her hips, she looked to the floor and took a few breaths while her mother spoke.
“What’s wrong with him? He is a prince of Egypt, and the one time I have met him, he was kind and polite enough.” Tey shrugged with an impatient sneer. “So he may have a bit of a temper. He is only a child—what, two years Mut’s junior? There is still plenty of time for him to—”
“No!” A sour taste filled Nefertiti’s mouth, and she yelled again for good measure, “No! He is the product of Akhenaten and Henuttaneb. Akhenaten betrayed me with her! That boy is a constant reminder that my own husband, who promised to love me and only me, didn’t think I was enough. His broken promise to me lingers in that boy’s very existence. In his madness, he loved that boy more than he would ever love me!” Nefertiti sucked in her breath, wishing she could pull back her words.
A sly smile crossed Tey’s face—and Nefertiti let out an audible sigh; her mother’s trickery had worked, and she knew her prodding would come soon enough.
“So you do think him mad?”
“Mother!”
Nefertiti clenched her fists. She knew the prodding would come, but not as quickly as it did. Another thought crossed her mind and she looked around, noting the servants peering up from their duties. In her anger she had forgotten they were there. Her eyes darted to and fro as the presence of those in the room fell upon her mind.
Secrets in the Sand Page 2