Secrets in the Sand

by Lauren Lee Merewether

  “Yes, I’ll go to Waset and visit my sister,” Beketaten said, and turned to leave. She spun around one more time. “Thank you, Pawah.”

  “You are most welcome, my love.” He waved to her, but sneered when she turned to leave. Upon hearing her exit, he sighed. “I never thought a daughter of the magnificent King Amenhotep III would have been so needy,” he whispered to himself. “Or so malleable. At least that trait is to my advantage.”

  Then he sat down in his chair and pondered how to adapt his original plan to overtake the throne. It had been adapted so many times before. First, he’d rid Egypt of Thutmose; but then Thutmose’s stupid brother still chose Nefertiti instead of Kasmut, the daughter of Amun’s prophet. So he’d had to marry Beketaten to gain a footing inside the royal family; but that also was to his detriment when her father exiled them for her disobedience, as she was to marry Akhenaten instead. He’d then tried to take the throne by force when Pharaoh Amenhotep III died; but when that failed, Akhenaten banished them for good. It had been his idea for Beketaten to change her name from Nebetah to Beketaten and send word she worshiped the Aten to be able to gain entry back into Egypt.

  He hadn’t lied to his wife in totality—after all, she was the one who suggested Akhenaten have a son first, and to keep up appearances with her, he agreed. He would have preferred Nefertiti be on the throne.

  She would then have needed a husband to keep her title as Coregent . . . and what better man than me?

  “I am a prophet of Amun and, at this time, the only living male royal relative,” he said as he smoothed his hand over his bald head. “A very attractive prophet of Amun, who could have been Pharaoh by now.”

  He’d snuffed out Thutmose, and it would not be hard to squash a blanket over Nefertiti’s unsuspecting head as she slept, leaving him as sole Regent of Egypt.

  “But that cursed boy Tut now stands in my way as well.” Shaking his head, he reassured himself, “To those who try and are patient, their goals will become reality. Now, to consider Smenkare and Prince Tutankhaten . . .”

  He put his feet up on the table in front of his chair, closed his eyes, and began to scheme.

  Chapter 5

  The Time of Murder

  The sun began to set as Nefertiti made her way back from entombing Merytre at Akhe-Aten. Where Amun should have been, the Aten disgraced the walls of her tomb. Merytre knew better in life, but just like the rest of Egypt, she was bound to worship only the Aten.

  “Nefertiti,” Mut whispered as they walked through one of the palace’s many courtyards. “Sister,” she said a little louder.

  Tey looked between her two daughters.

  Nefertiti sighed and hummed in acknowledgment. The world seemed to slow that evening, and a heavy weight still perched on her shoulders. She wondered when she would have to make this walk for her husband. If the rumors were already circulating about her planning to murder him, she debated how she would act: sorrowful? indifferent? weeping? No, not weeping—she refused to be associated with the Aten in any way. And yet, she couldn’t give people any reason to believe she had actually done the killing, and so couldn’t quite decide between sorrowful or indifferent.

  “I have been thinking . . .” Mut bit the corner of her mouth as she peered up at her sister. “Maybe Pharaoh will take back what he said?”

  “What do you mean, ‘take back what he said’?” Nefertiti murmured, rethinking through the events of the day.

  “Maybe if you go to Pharaoh and tell him you were wrong to ask that Egypt be allowed to worship the way they want, he may reappoint you as his successor.” Mut shrugged her shoulder. It was an idea in the very least.

  Nefertiti looked over and smiled at her naïveté. “No, Mut. I was never his successor—just Coregent. As Mother said, I am a woman. I guess I was only hoping I would be sole Regent after he died, but even then it would still go to his son.” Nefertiti’s shoulders dropped; but, glancing over at the pursed lips of her sister, she straightened her back and continued. “You know, Mut . . . if you have an idea, you should own it. Be more confident in your decisions.”

  A sheepish grin crossed Mut’s face. “But what if I’m wrong?”

  “You will be wrong. Expect it sometimes. But what do you have to lose?”

  “What do you have to lose?” Mut asked

  “A lot more than you,” Nefertiti responded.

  “But with Smenkare as the successor, haven’t you already lost most of it?”

  She is too smart for her own good, Nefertiti thought.

  “Mother, what do you think I should do?”

  “I think your young sister makes a good point,” Tey said as she walked just in step behind them.

  They rounded the hallway to go to Nefertiti’s bedchambers.

  “He may make it worse,” Nefertiti whispered as to not be heard by prying ears.

  “How?” Tey whispered back.

  “I don’t know. He has visions that no one can predict. Sometimes I think he just says what he wants to say and tells everyone the Aten gave him the vision. ‘The Aten told me to’—”

  Nefertiti stopped speaking with a quick and nervous beat of the heart as a shadow rounded the corner. If any supporter of the Aten heard her, it could be interpreted as treason. Commander Horemheb suddenly stood in front of her with two lower-ranked military officers, and, knowing where his loyalties lay, Nefertiti felt her heart rate slow down.

  He bowed slightly from the waist, as did his guards. His jaw tightened and his brow furrowed in a frantic rush. “Coregent, I must speak with you.”

  Mut let out an audible breath as her jaw dropped.

  Nefertiti glanced to her sister and saw her sun-warmed cheeks and distant gaze upon her commander, then looked back to Horemheb, whose eyes also darted between Mut and herself. Nefertiti bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from smirking. She ran her eyes up and down Commander Horemheb. His tight leather tunic of a military warrior commander did wrap his muscles quite well as the setting sun’s rays glistened upon his bronze armor. But her urge to smirk died, knowing that even though he was loyal to Pharaoh, he along with her father had failed her the night they convinced her to take poisoned wine to her husband. A certain coldness set in her eyes.

  “Commander, what is this about?” Nefertiti asked, ignoring her sister’s instant infatuation with him. She gave him a raised eyebrow to signal she could guess the topic of urgency. A pang of hate stabbed her soul. She still couldn’t bring herself to forgive him or her father for forcing her to play a part in the plot to assassinate her husband while they hid in a back room in the dark, conspiring with Pawah and Beketaten.

  “Egypt’s new successor,” Horemheb said in a low voice, and shot a suspicious look at Tey and Mut.

  Nefertiti gestured to each of them. “This is my mother, Tey, and my sister, Mut.”

  “My pleasure, mother and sister of Pharaoh’s greatly beloved,” Horemheb said, nodding to Tey, and then turned to look at Mut and stopped.

  Nefertiti followed his gaze and elbowed her sister in the arm, causing Mut to shut her gaping mouth. Mut froze, only her eyes darting between Nefertiti and Horemheb. Nefertiti’s chest burned as she watched her sister act a fool for none other than a coward.

  Horemheb smiled at Mut and bowed his head to the sister of Coregent Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti.

  Mut giggled, and Nefertiti threw her gaze upward. He has a wife, Mut, you ridiculous child! I can’t take this any more.

  “As is ours.” Tey smiled at this man, sizing him up with a polite stare.

  “Mother, Mut, I shall meet you in my chambers,” Nefertiti said. Her stare fell on one of the officers until he stepped in line to escort the Coregent’s family members to their destination.

  Tey called back as they left: “My daughter—go to him.”

  Nefertiti looked to her, expressionless, and took a deep breath as she headed toward the council room with Horemheb slightly behind her, as was his place.

  Commander Horemheb leaned forward and whis
pered to her as they rounded the corner. “Coregent, may I be so bold as to ask: Go to whom?”

  Nefertiti looked back to him and nodded toward the other officer. Horemheb dismissed him, ordering him to send word of Egypt’s new successor to General Paaten in Nubia.

  “He is trustworthy,” he mentioned, regarding the officer.

  “I am not as lenient with my trust anymore, Commander.” Nefertiti’s eyes peered up at him and she spoke through clenched teeth. “Those who say they would die protecting me might bring me death in a wine goblet. That was what happened last time you and I were alone in a hallway, was it not?”

  Horemheb straightened his back and stopped walking. He bowed his head toward her and sighed. His gaze stayed on the floor for a moment before he spoke. “Pharaoh Coregent . . . I am sorry this fell to you.”

  His eyes bore into hers as she stared back at him, not responding. He never broke her stare as she debated what to say in return. Her heart wanted to scream out: Coward! Murderer! Liar! But she knew she was all of those as well, and to call Horemheb and her father such names would also mean she could add Hypocrite! to her list. Her jaw tightened then loosened, prompting Horemheb to step closer to her. A shaky breath escaped her lungs as he stepped with purpose. She wanted to slap him and spit at his feet, but knew she deserved the same.

  “I am sorry we could not do this without you,” he whispered, seeing her inner struggle and acceptance of what she had done. With his eyes he said, If I could take this from you, I would, but Nefertiti turned her face away.

  “Anyone would have done the same without second thought,” she reasoned, and shook her head, trying to believe her own lie. She found his eyes again. They were filled with . . . pity? regret? She couldn’t quite tell. She studied his face. Sincerity. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I brought him the wine.”

  “No . . . I suppose it does not.” Horemheb saw the guilt weigh down her shoulders, and he wished the Pharaoh a quick death so she could come to terms with her actions before it ate away at her.

  He opened his mouth to say more, but Nefertiti motioned toward the council room and returned to the original subject. She didn’t want to hear any more from him on the subject.

  “My mother and sister think I should go to Pharaoh and admit my wrongdoing so that he will name me successor,” Nefertiti whispered as they walked.

  After pausing in thought, he said, “If I may speak freely . . . I think you should as well.”

  Nefertiti’s shoulders rolled as she tried to release the tension in her neck. “I don’t want to face him before he drinks . . .” She bit her lip and looked up to Horemheb, shaking her head.

  A lump formed in his throat. He pushed his lips together and crinkled his eyes. Refusing to further add to her guilt at this time, he mumbled, “I am only one member of your council, Coregent. Ask the remaining members.”

  “Who is left? Vizier Nakht, who might be as much of an Aten-lover as Pharaoh? General Paaten, who is in Nubia—and my father.” At the mention of her father, she gritted her teeth and let out a hot flash of air through her nostrils.

  Horemheb opened the door to the council room for her.

  Ay, already inside, sat alone. A rage built inside of Nefertiti as she saw him. I am your little girl. You were supposed to protect me! she thought as her fingers curled into her palms.

  “Master of Pharaoh’s Horses,” Nefertiti acknowledged him as she entered. She watched his eyes wince in pain at her coldness in referring to him with his title.

  “Daughter, please,” he begged as he stood up.

  “You shall address Pharaoh Coregent as Pharaoh Coregent,” she said as she took her seat in Pharaoh’s place at the head of the council table. The callouses of her heart grew watching a little of her father wilt inside. He had promised her to return Egypt back to the gods once they had secured the power of the position of Pharaoh over that of the Amun priesthood, but never with murder.

  He used me, Nefertiti thought.

  “As Pharaoh Coregent says,” Ay said with a half-heart.

  “Commander Horemheb says you both needed to speak with Pharaoh Coregent?” Nefertiti said, waiting for the discussion to take place.

  Horemheb nodded, pushing the tension in the room from his mind. “We both know Smenkare is part of the cult of the Aten, but when the news went to Pawah and Beketaten, they were glad. Do they not know?”

  “Let us play the fool and not tell them,” Nefertiti said. “Then, when they celebrate in their folly with their followers, we can perhaps regain some loyalty.” She lifted her chin as the words flowed, regaining her composure.

  “Master of Pharaoh’s Horses,” Horemheb said as he leaned forward on the table and looked to Ay. “Your wife and daughter suggested Pharaoh Coregent go admit her wrongdoing to Akhenaten and request to be successor. What do you say?”

  “My wife and daughter?” Ay asked, befuddled. “Why are they at Aketaten? Why do they know about this?” His voice grew more bold as he looked to Nefertiti.

  “They came to visit Pharaoh Coregent and join her in the burial parade for her steward Merytre,” Nefertiti said, and sat up straighter. Her frown kept her tears from falling.

  Horemheb looked to the table, silent.

  Ay bit his tongue, and his eyes told her I have failed you again, my lotus blossom; he knew nothing in her life besides the pain her husband had caused her, and it was all his fault for telling her to marry him.

  “I see . . .” He hung his head as he drew in a deep breath. He looked to her again and licked his lips, suddenly dry, before he responded. “You may not be fond of my answer, Pharaoh Coregent, but I say . . . go to Akhenaten and attempt to secure the throne from yet another Aten follower.”

  “I agree,” Horemheb said. He shut his mouth before saying anything else.

  Silence filled the room as tension grew.

  “I know what you are thinking,” Nefertiti finally said. “If I had just given Pharaoh the wine that night, we would not have to deal with this.”

  Horemheb and Ay looked down and pressed their lips together. They had thought it, indeed, but they dared not say anything.

  “Well, if you wanted him gone, you should have given him the wine instead of turning me into a murderer,” Nefertiti said as she stood to leave.

  Ay closed his eyes. He had turned his lotus blossom, pure and lovely, into a snake, conniving and cold.

  “Pharaoh Coregent, where are you going?” Ay asked as Nefertiti opened the door.

  “To see Pharaoh and beg forgiveness,” she spat with the venom of an asp.

  Commander Horemheb glanced to the floor and bit the insides of his cheeks. After all, he did have a hand in this plot as well. He wished he could have taken the wine to Pharaoh and not involved Nefertiti at all. His heart ached for her as he watched her treat her father the only way a truly hurt person can treat someone closest to them: with walls; with bitterness. He longed to put a comforting hand on Ay’s shoulder and reassure him that she would eventually forgive him, but he restrained himself—there were other urgent matters that needed tending.

  Nefertiti approached Pharaoh’s bedchambers as the night began to fall into place. She noticed no guard graced his door. Looking up and down the hall, she whistled, but nothing stirred. A slight chill slithered up her spine as she remembered the last time she was here—when she left the poisoned wine in his room.

  She knocked on the door once, twice, three times. Nothing.

  She took a chance and opened the door. Peering inside, she saw Akhenaten kneeling by his window, looking out to the shadow of the Aten, praying. She tiptoed into the room and closed the door behind her. She fell in line with Akhenaten, knelt beside him, and spread her arms above her head. She heard him mumbling the same song he’d said many times before.

  Perhaps he won’t notice I came in uninvited, Nefertiti thought as she joined in his song.

  “You are in my heart,

  There is no other who knows you,

  Only your son,
Akhenaten,

  Whom you have taught your ways and might.”

  At its end, a smile curled on Akhenaten’s lips. “Ah, my lovely Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti.”

  “My beloved,” Nefertiti said, but her voice held no love. She took a long inhale to soften her heart and focus her mind. If he was going to believe her, she had to be believable.

  “At first I thought you to be the cupbearer who has failed to bring my wine for several days,” he said. “He leaves me to look for it in this room.”

  Nefertiti grew wide-eyed, realizing that the People’s Restoration of Egypt were now making their move, correcting her error in leaving the poison that night instead of making sure he drank from it. They were forcing him to find the goblet she left and drink from it.

  “My beloved, I came to ask forgiveness from you.” Nefertiti half smiled at the gentleness in her voice. That sounds genuine, she thought.

  “Forgiveness?” Akhenaten asked, turning his head to her. He stood up, looking like an old wise fool, and hovered his eyes upon each wine goblet to see if it were empty as he continued his conversation with her.

  “Yes.” She pursed her lips. “About the last night I came here, and what I asked of you.”

  “The Aten has already forgiven you. He is generous with his forgiveness, but you try his patience with your doubt,” Akhenaten said, and took a step away from her toward the wine goblets strewn about the room.

  Doubt, Nefertiti thought.

  She had no doubts—that was the first lie she’d ever told Akhenaten, even before they were wed. He’d had so many doubts of himself, and her father told her to gain his trust because he would need her, so she’d lied to him, telling him she had no doubts in his abilities; she’d encouraged him to indulge in his obsession if it meant his faithfulness to her. It was her false confidence that had brought him to this place, now accusing her of doubt. He had been a good Pharaoh for a while, maybe a few years, but then he became obsessed with pleasing the Aten, whom he believed to be his father and other Pharaohs before. Her heart suddenly fell. Had he this whole time been trying to please his father yet distance himself from him? His father withheld his love from him, his second-born son. O, the twisted irony! Nefertiti shook her head as she saw the young boy desperately trying to prove himself to his father to gain his love and respect, but at the same time hating his father for thinking him a fool and a waste.