She looked at him for a moment, and then, without hesitation, threw her arms around him.
“Yes, I will!”
He raised one arm to return the embrace, the other gripping his cane to support his weak frame. His heart tingled with joy, but also with a burning, with the truth Pawah had given him. A tear rolled down his cheek as he thought of the façade Ankhesenpaaten had given him all this time.
I wish I didn’t know, he thought. Life would have been easier.
Pawah heard her response from behind a hidden connecting corridor that he used often to slink from place to place. Smiling at his accomplishment, he set off to find Beketaten. He had much to tell and much to plan.
Chapter 19
The Time of the Coregent
After Pawah’s advance, Nefertiti had the chief royal guard, Jabari, and his subordinate Ineni escort her daughters wherever they went, and she had Commander Horemheb escort herself. It had been a year and one season since she had become Pharaoh, but it already seemed like a lifetime.
She and Horemheb walked in silence most of the time, knowing the days drew near when she would have to make a decision on whom to marry; the people pressed harder and harder. She’d asked Horemheb to stand guard by her bed while she slept, but he insisted he would stand by her door instead, along with Khabek, whom she’d commanded to guard her door again. She relented and let him do what he felt he needed to do.
And yet, she still felt tingles in her fingers and her toes each time he drew near to her, and she cherished that little bit of secret joy . . . but she wondered if he still felt that way after her as well.
For all that it mattered—she would have to marry someone else soon, whether it be the boy Tut or the Hittite prince if they ever responded and sent one. The other alternative would be to give up the crown altogether, which would only reduce Pharaoh to an elected figurehead instead of Amun’s divinely appointed, something Horemheb would not stand for.
He dutifully kept his distance; even when she would slow down whenever they walked into more quiet areas of the palace, he would keep behind her instead of walking beside her as he did before. He would only whisper, “Pharaoh, I can only protect you,” although he longed to reach for her hand and pull her into his arms. The sadness in his voice and his rejection of the opportunity she gave him caused her heart to break each time.
Soon she stopped her advancements, knowing when he said I can only protect you, he was trying to protect her from heartache when the time came to marry another.
Soon after these new measures of escort began, Mut found Nefertiti in the corridor one day. Tey had just given her a woman’s wig, as she had turned twelve years old. Her eyes lingered at Horemheb, who stood off behind her sister. He smiled at her, thinking she looked a lot more like Nefertiti with her woman’s wig. She smiled back halfheartedly, knowing he was part of the plot to kill Pharaoh Akhenaten—but then again, so was her sister, whom she admired regardless.
Nefertiti turned to see Mut standing there. She blinked. “Mut? What is it, Mut? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you in the royal harem?”
“Nothing, I . . .” Mut suddenly lost her voice, quelled beneath Horemheb’s gaze.
“Do not stutter, Mut, it is not dignified,” Nefertiti told her. “Tell me what is wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to tell you what Ankhesenpaaten told me.”
“And what is that?”
“She . . . she wants to marry Tut.”
A grimace passed over Nefertiti’s face. She stood up straight and began to pace with her hands folded behind her back. The silence that had risen between the three of them suffocated any stray comments, until Nefertiti finally let out a sigh. The idea came to her as if in a dream.
“I will order Ankhesenpaaten to marry Tutankhaten”—her shoulders fell—“and name him Coregent. That should appease the people.”
She looked to Horemheb, who returned her gaze. They held each other’s eyes for a long time, each trying to think of a way they could still be together; but in the end, they both came to the same conclusion: Pharaoh does not abdicate. Pharaoh has never abdicated. The next Pharaoh only takes the crown when the current Pharaoh dies. There would be no hope for a life together—maybe an affair in secrecy, but nothing real, nothing that could be allowed to flourish with time.
Mut’s smile disappeared as she noticed Horemheb and Nefertiti’s intense gaze upon one another. Her eyes darted between them, as they had seemingly forgotten her presence. Her stare eventually fell upon Horemheb’s face: his furrowed brow, his wanting eyes, his sad half-smile. All for her half-sister. She wondered what had taken place between them, if anything; certainly he cared for Nefertiti. But Mut was a woman too now, even wore a woman’s wig. She chewed her bottom lip. Would he ever look at her the same?
Something seemed to be on Tut’s mind the next day. He had failed to counter any attack from Sennedjem and a scowl replaced his usual smile. At Ankhesenpaaten’s request, Tut’s nurse left them alone. She held Tut’s hand like she’d seen her mother and father do when they were happy.
He wrenched his hand away from hers. Ankhesenpaaten hurried and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Tut, tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He hobbled around her.
“I don’t understand you, Tut,” she said, going to stand in front of him again. “First you ask me to marry you and then you act like you want nothing to do with me.”
He thinned his lips and averted his eyes and proceeded to walk around her again.
“No—” Ankhesenpaaten blocked his path with her arm. “Tut . . . did I do something to anger you?”
His eyes filled with hot tears. “No!” he yelled at her. “Just leave me alone!” He quickly hobbled around her and off toward the Kap, repeating, “Leave me alone.”
“Tut!” Ankhesenpaaten called after him. He didn’t turn around, so she sped up until she was by his side again. “Tut, please tell me.”
He stopped and looked at her, searching her eyes for something—but what? He opened his mouth to speak, but then Nefe called after them as she ran up behind them.
“You don’t ever wait for me!” Nefe huffed as she approached them.
“We were having a private conversation,” Ankhesenpaaten said as she turned her shoulder to her sister. Nefe grabbed Ankhesenpaaten’s shoulder and yanked it back toward her. “Ow!” Ankhesenpaaten yelled looking at the scratch mark on her skin.
“Would you both just leave me alone!” Tut screamed at them. “Just go to the temple already!” With that, he turned and hobbled his way to the Kap.
Nefe muttered, “What did I say?” Then she peered up to her older sister in accusation. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything.” Ankhesenpaaten jumped at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. Looking up to see who it was, she gave a guarded smiled. “Oh . . . it’s you.” Her mother’s warning of Pawah rushed to the forefront of her memory.
“I think a little more enthusiasm would behold a vizier,” Pawah said as he patted the two girls’ shoulders.
“Why are you here?” Nefe said, crossing her arms.
“I have come to talk to the Crown Prince,” Pawah said. “Something it seems the two of you do not do so well.”
Nefe’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t say anything!”
“He was fine the other day,” Ankhesenpaaten protested, shoving Pawah’s hand from her shoulder.
Pawah’s face was smug. “Why the hostility, my young royal wife?”
Ankhesenpaaten crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him, believing more and more in her mother’s warning about this man. “Every time he talks to you, Tut is mad at us! What are you telling him?”
Pawah let out a chuckle and pressed his lips together. Looking them up and down, he said, “You are a keen girl,” then patted her wig, adding, “or perhaps . . . a young woman of marriageable age?”
Ankhesenpaaten swatted Pawah’s hand away from her head. Her stomach gurgled at his
touch. She huffed, “Tut asked me to marry him.”
“He is only but nine years old. Are you sure he knows what marriage truly entails?”
Ankhesenpaaten threw her hands in the air. “I was married at seven! I knew what it was.”
“Yes, you were,” Pawah said, tapping his finger on his lip as if in consideration. “It seems to me that you will be passed from Pharaoh to Pharaoh.”
“Tut is not Pharaoh.” Nefe put her hands on her hips when she spoke.
“Ah, but the people want Tut to be Pharaoh.” Pawah leaned forward. “But—”
“Well, he is not Pharaoh. My mother is Pharaoh.” Ankhesenpaaten crossed her arms again, defending herself against Pawah’s lies per her mother’s warning. Never before had Ankhesenpaaten wanted to stand up for her, but something inside her knew this man had told Tut something to drive them apart.
“Hmm . . . yes, well. We shall see for how long she stays Pharaoh,” Pawah said, his lips curling into a smile.
“What does that mean? Are you threatening Pharaoh?” Ankhesenpaaten tapped her foot, trying to keep the rest of her body from trembling. It was a bold accusation for a young woman to make against the vizier—albeit against a man who was fully capable of twisting her neck without so much as a notice from any guard.
“No, I am not.” Pawah straightened his back. “But think about it, royal wife Ankhesenpaaten: to be a chief royal wife at such a young age . . . to be able to run the entire royal harem by yourself at age thirteen—”
“I’m fourteen,” she snapped.
“Yes, well . . .” Pawah shrugged off her correction. “It would be some accomplishment. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Yes . . .” Ankhesenpaaten thought about the privilege she could carry as chief royal wife. “But that won’t be for many years, and only if Tut becomes Pharaoh and names me chief royal wife.”
“Well”—Pawah bounced his head as if weighing options—“I could make sure that was your future . . . but you would have to get your mother to abdicate the throne first.”
“Why would she do that? She’s Pharaoh. Pharaoh doesn’t abdicate the throne—it is a divine appointment,” Nefe said, rattling off the lesson she’d learned in the temple the prior day.
“For her own good. The people want Tut as Pharaoh, and when the people feel something is amiss, the people rise up.” Pawah shrugged casually.
“No, they don’t. To do so would be certain death,” Nefe said, adamantly shaking her head.
Pawah ignored Nefe. “You were only a babe, royal wife Ankhesenpaaten, but the people have rebelled already before. They stormed your grandfather’s palace at Malkata.”
“The people would never do such a thing to the Aten’s divinely appointed!” Nefe yelled, furious at being ignored.
Pawah gave a pitying tsk-tsk. “It is actually Amun’s divinely appointed. Your father led Egypt astray to the Aten.”
“That’s what Mother says, too.” Ankhesenpaaten chewed on her lower lip, trying to accept the truth about her father; maybe her mother was right on all accounts.
“In that regard, she is right . . . but if she stays on the throne, the people will rise up again. You must do what you can to save her,” Pawah said, leaning toward her and shaking his finger. “If she is killed, you will have to live knowing you didn’t try . . .”
“Why should I believe you?” Ankhesenpaaten took a small step back, trying to distance him from her.
“I am Vizier. I know many things. You would do well to trust me.” His s came out like a snake’s hiss—trussst.
That will be the last thing I do if Mother is right, Ankhesenpaaten thought. If . . .
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find our young Tutankhaten.” With that, Pawah left Nefe and Ankhesenpaaten in the corridor of the royal harem, the latter replaying the conversation over and over in her mind.
“Where did he go?” Nefe asked.
The long corridor didn’t have any connecting corridors that they knew of; they should have still seen him walking down the path. Ankhesenpaaten looked after him—but he’d already disappeared. She shook her head, silent.
“Do you trust him?” Nefe asked quietly. “I don’t want Mother to get hurt.”
“I don’t know,” Ankhesenpaaten muttered, shaking her head. “I don’t trust anybody right now . . . well, except you, I guess.” She playfully pushed her sister’s bald head.
Nefe smiled and grabbed her sister’s hand.
Ankhesenpaaten looked to Nefe. “I’m glad we are sisters. I know we fight, but I still love you.”
“I love you, too.” Nefe squeezed her hand.
Mut had told Ankhesenpaaten about Nefertiti’s initial reaction upon hearing about Tut’s proposal. Her mother “grimaced and paced in frustration,” per Mut’s words.
Ankhesenpaaten marched back and forth in her room, debating whether or not to be mad at her mother, fuming that she still didn’t know the whole truth. Her mother kept secrets from her, and Pawah was filling in the gaps. But she wasn’t to trust him . . . right? He was the enemy . . . right? She let out an angry breath as she sat on the edge of her bed. She had to find out who was telling the truth and why her mother disliked Tut so much.
An idea struck her: Maybe she should act as if she believed Pawah to see what her mother did or said in response. Maybe that would coax the full truth out.
Nefertiti stood at the edge of the dais in her throne room.
“Pharaoh Neferneferuaten decrees: the royal wife Ankhesenpaaten, King’s daughter, shall marry the Crown Prince Tutankhaten, thus securing his claim to the throne. He shall be Pharaoh’s Coregent.”
She had hoped this would quell the rumblings in the street. Even though it ate at her stomach that she had ordered her own flesh and blood to marry the embodiment of her husband’s betrayal, a small part of her was not ready to be ousted from the throne; on top of this, she knew abdicating would only show Pharaoh’s weakness, something Horemheb would not want her to do—nor any of her council, except perhaps for Pawah.
Ankhesenpaaten entered the throne room just as the scribe took down her last decree. Haven’t not heard the final words, she asked, “Who shall be Pharaoh’s Coregent?”
Her presence startled Nefertiti, as she thought Ankhesenpaaten would have been in the royal harem at this time. “Oh! My daughter!” Nefertiti opened an arm wide to embrace her, but Ankhesenpaaten stood where she was and repeated her question.
“Who shall be Pharaoh’s Coregent?”
Nefertiti dropped her arm with a thud. Last time she was with her daughter, Nefertiti received a genuine hug of sympathy from her and thought maybe things would be different between the two of them. Perhaps she was wrong. With a defeated breath, Nefertiti responded to her daughter’s question.
“Your soon-to-be new husband, Tutankhaten.”
“Pawah told us all about your schemes.” Ankhesenpaaten put her hands on her hips. “You are ordering us to marry so you can keep the crown.”
“Silence yourself,” Nefertiti snapped, and rose a finger. “Don’t trust a word that man says.”
“He says to not trust you.” Ankhesenpaaten crossed her arms and dropped her chin.
Her daughter’s words echoed in her heart as it began to race.
“So, as of now,” Ankhesenpaaten said, “I trust him more than I trust you.”
“Daughter, you will come to regret your choice.” Nefertiti shook her head and returned to her stately position on the throne.
“He said you won’t abdicate the throne, potentially causing the people to rise up against Pharaoh,” Ankhesenpaaten uncrossed her arms and held them at her sides. “Maybe you will regret your choice.”
Nefertiti blinked with an exaggerated sigh. “Think what you will, but know this—in the end, you will be chief royal wife, and who you trust will decide your fate. That goes for the boy as well.”
“His name is Tutankhaten, Mother. Think what you will of Father, but that ‘boy’ has done nothing to you except show you t
he respect and honor deserving of his own mother.” Her arm sliced through the air. “A horrible mother you turned out to be.” The last part slipped out before she could shut her mouth, wishing she could take back her words.
“Silence your tongue, Ankhesenpaaten!” Nefertiti slammed her fist into the throne’s arm. Her eyes filled with rage—not at her daughter, but at herself.
The two women glared at each other. Nefertiti waited to see if Ankhesenpaaten would say more. Ankhesenpaaten seemed to wait to see what her mother would say. At the scribe’s clearing of his throat, Ankhesenpaaten’s shoulders relaxed, and she leaned back from her enraged stance. Her face fell solemn.
Nefertiti’s hand still grasped in a fist, she muttered, “I have already apologized for not being there for you. I pray to Amun you will be a better mother than me.”
“I will be,” Ankhesenpaaten whispered, but Nefertiti chose to ignore her.
“May you produce a son, so your husband does not have to go to another wife’s bed to get an heir,” Nefertiti said, and she relaxed her hand. She closed her eyes and turned her head toward the throne doors, away from Ankhesenpaaten. Opening her eyes, her shoulders once again fell back into rigid alignment with the throne’s back as she brought her chin parallel to the floor.
Ankhesenpaaten crossed her arms. “Tut has done nothing wrong. He has done nothing to you.”
Still ignoring her, Nefertiti went on: “We all make choices. Some of which we are not proud, but we make them anyway. The true test of your character”—she looked over her shoulder to her daughter—“is whether or not you can accept the consequences of your actions, good or bad.”
“Tut didn’t have a choice,” Ankhesenpaaten said as she walked around to the front of the throne, forcing her mother to look at her. “But you do. Why can’t you at least call him by name? You are disgusted to think I would marry him out of my own will, so you use us to your advantage to keep the crown and quiet the people. You have made a lot of choices, Mother, and they affect more than just you.”
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