Secrets in the Sand

by Lauren Lee Merewether

  He clenched his jaw; his shoulders curled forward.

  “I’m sorry, Horemheb. Part of me thought they wouldn’t respond. What have I done? I can’t refuse him now. It will only make things worse. The alliance will be over before it started.” She shook her head and pushed Horemheb away. Bringing her hands to cover her face, she let out a heavy sigh and said again, “What have I done?”

  Horemheb stood looking at the floor. He had no words, no advice. Vainly, he’d thought their time could potentially go on forever, and now there was a hard stop: the next harvest.

  “What should I do?” she whispered through her fingers.

  Horemheb found her eyes. Words eluded him.

  “What should I do?” Her voice shook. Her hands trembled.

  Horemheb opened his mouth, but only a small breath escaped.

  “If I am already married by the time he comes, then he can be on his way because they took so long to reply,” she thought aloud. “But I don’t want to marry Tut, and I will never marry Pawah.” She began to pace again, rubbing her temples in agitation.

  “Marry Tut,” Horemheb finally said. “Marry Tut before the next harvest.” His voice was low and filled with a lack of enthusiasm.

  “No, Horemheb, I don’t want to marry Tut. I want to marry you,” she said, coming near and placing her hands on his bronze armor.

  “Nefertiti. I am not a royal. The people would not accept me. There is an heir. I cannot be named Hereditary Prince. No matter how many scenarios I think of where we may be together, the only one I can maybe see is if you marry Tut and we get rid of Pawah, and somehow Tut lets us be together.” Horemheb rubbed her hands. “Marry Tut.”

  “Don’t make me marry him.” She shook her head. “Please.”

  “Nefertiti, I am not making you marry him. Just know that whatever you decide, I’ll be here for you and I will protect you at whatever the cost,” he said, rubbing her arms.

  “They will find out we are together in time. Tut will be forced to carry out the law under pressure from the people . . . I can see the people thinking, ‘If Pharaoh cannot defend his bed, how can he defend Egypt?’ You will die for laying with Pharaoh’s wife.” She turned from him, one hand on her hip, the other covering her tears. She spun around again. “Marry me, please.”

  “Nefertiti, even if I did”—he emphasized his words with his hands—“the people would not accept me either.”

  “Why?” Softly, she hit his chest with both fists. “Why can’t you marry me? Do you even love me?”

  “I’ve told you why,” Horemheb whispered. “And Nefertiti, know this.” He gently grabbed her wrists and placed his forehead upon hers. “I love you like I have never loved anyone before. You have my whole heart. It is yours.”

  Nefertiti slid her hands up to his face and he laid a kiss on her palm as she looked upon him with wet eyes. “I love you.” She laughed. She had said it many times before to Thutmose, to Akhenaten; but now, as those words passed her lips, her heart became alive as her tears embodied her happiness and not her sorrow. She drew in a shallow breath and whispered again, “I love you.”

  In the dizzying whirlwind of their racing thoughts, they became engulfed in each other. His body rushed into hers as he pressed his parted lips onto her mouth. He enclosed her in his arms and pressed her close to him to imprint upon his memory her savory scent, her warm touch, her sweet taste . . . for after the coming harvest season, they would be separated forever.

  Later as the moon rose to its full height in the night sky, her head rested on his bare chest.

  She whispered, “Should I give up the crown?” She asked the question one more time, already knowing the answer. They’d had this same conversation many times before. Her mind drifted to their lives together if she could abdicate. She could live in his house in Waset and bear his children. She could even give one to his wife, Amenia, in Men-nefer, if Amenia pressed him for his philandering—even though what he did wasn’t a crime. He did not owe Amenia anything. A simple life didn’t seem so bad now.

  Horemheb rubbed her shoulder with one hand and her fingers with his other. He stared off into the darkness of the room, only lit by a dwindling candle on the table by the bedside. “Pharaoh is Amun’s—”

  “I know,” Nefertiti said, and buried her face into his chest. “Everyone wishes to be royalty,” she murmured bitterly. “They say, ‘Oh, look at their luxury, look at their privilege, look at their full bellies!’ ” She turned her face to Horemheb’s. “I told you long ago, as a young girl, I wanted to be chief royal wife so much.” She chuckled in sorrow, then took a deep breath as she rose up to give Horemheb a soft kiss on his lips. “But I believe what I’ve always wanted was love. Illness took Thutmose. The Aten took Akhenaten. And now the crown keeps me from you.” A tear slid down her cheek as Horemheb took ahold of both her shoulders and sat up, placing his forehead against hers. “Will I ever just have love?” she cried as her eyes met his.

  He took his thumb and wiped away her tears. “My most magnificent Nefertiti, you have my love,” he whispered to her as he studied her face.

  “As you have mine,” she said, running her hand over his. “But we can never be.”

  His lips pressed into a grimace. He wanted to retort her argument, but she spoke the truth. He could not even comfort her with a lie, for his eyebrow would twitch, giving him away. “We—” he started. “I—” He held his breath, trying to find the words he wanted to say. A tightness set in his chest as he watched her hope die in her eyes. “Nefertiti—”

  “You were right all along,” Nefertiti whispered, placing a hand upon his cheek. “We should have never let this go any further than it did. It is too much for me to bear.” She kissed his mouth and drew back slightly. Her tears made the kohl around her eyes streak down her cheeks. She looked from his lips to his eyes and then pulled away further.

  “Nefertiti, I would never trade this time with you. I was the wrong one. All that time spent refusing you, rejecting you . . . that was time I could have been with you. Years, instead of only two seasons—I could have been with you. It could have been more time for us.” He pulled her back to him and repeated, “I was the wrong one.”

  “No—because it is all in vain. I will be pressed to marry Tut if I don’t marry the Hittite when he comes.”

  “Before the Hittite comes, and I must watch you marry another,” Horemheb said as the perfume of her neck invited a kiss, “I want you to know . . . I will regret everyday being the son of a military man instead of that of a king. I forever want you as my wife.” He ran his hands up and down her back and let out a deep breath.

  She pushed up to look him in the face. “Then marry me, Horemheb,” she pleaded one last time. “You refused my last request, so I sent a letter in my grief to our enemy to ask for a prince.” She shook her head at her own stupidity. “The next time I may hand Egypt to Nubia.” She chuckled, more in sorrow than in truth.

  “Please don’t hand Egypt to Nubia.” He smirked, but both of their mouths curved down soon after.

  She thought about running away to a life of exile with him, but her daughters would not approve, and Egypt—even though it had given her nothing in return, she could not abandon Egypt to Pawah, and she knew Horemheb would never turn his back on his country. Pushing that alternative to the side, she rubbed her neck and thought again.

  “What if I did marry Tut? I am Pharaoh. Pharaoh has many wives. Couldn’t I have many husbands?” She chuckled again, knowing the ridiculousness of such a scenario.

  “One would think.” Horemheb smiled sadly. “But if the people aren’t going to accept a woman Pharaoh, I don’t think they would accept a woman Pharaoh with multiple husbands. And even if you could only marry Tut, it’s a crime to have another man’s wife, and Tut . . . like you said—if it were ever found out, he would probably have me killed for laying with you.”

  “I will never share a bed with that boy.” Nefertiti rolled her eyes in exasperation. “If Tut and Pawah were out of the pi
cture, would you marry me then?”

  “Tut and Pawah are the last living male royals. Without them, I think you could choose your own husband.” Horemheb leaned back to look at her.

  “Tut is already sickly,” Nefertiti said, but stopped, realizing what she had implied, and dropped her head, shutting her eyes.

  Nefertiti shook her head, lamenting the same vicious cycle. She was out of ideas and knew he was too. There were no solutions where happiness was shared by all.

  Rolling over in her bed, she pulled the sheet over her shoulder.

  Horemheb bumped the back of his head on the stone wall as he finally found his breath again. “We are wasting our time together discussing the same points that always lead to the same outcome. We both know this will have to end.” He looked up to pray to the gods one more time that this be not the case—but they did not owe him anything.

  He looked over to her and brought a hand to her shoulder.

  A soft whisper came back: “Please leave me.”

  Horemheb kept his hand on her shoulder. “Nefertiti, you and I both know you don’t want me to leave.” He rolled her over to face him again. “I want to stay.” He couldn’t fix the situation, but he could say something he knew was truth. “I love you, Nefertiti.” He leaned down to her and kissed her forehead and then her full lips.

  “Don’t think about it anymore.” Horemheb put a gentle hand on her jaw and guided her into another kiss. “We have a few more hours until the sun breaks.” He moved her underneath him and kissed her neck. “Be here with me now.”

  Chapter 22

  The Time of Truth

  “Pharaoh Neferneferuaten,” Pawah said with a nod of his head as she entered the council room.

  She did not even peer at him, but rather took her seat at the head of the table, hating the fact she was early enough to arrive before General Paaten and her father. Now she had the burden of speaking with Pawah and Beketaten on her own.

  “You, my Pharaoh,” Pawah said with a tsk-tsk, “are an extremely stubborn woman.”

  “The People’s Restoration of Egypt demands the boy King,” Beketaten said. “Abdicate the throne to Coregent Tutankhaten. It has been over a year since he has been crowned Coregent, and the people no longer want a woman ruler. A true divinely appointed King is a man, just as it has always been.”

  “Well, that is one way to start a meeting of council.” Nefertiti smiled at the little bit of evil that tugged at her soul. “When Pawah tried to seduce me into marrying him ‘for the good of my own life’ ”—she watched the fury build in Beketaten’s eyes—“I assumed he had other motives.” She stood, pushing her hands on her hips. “But I know master manipulation when I see it. I could smell it on his breath.” Sitting back down, she leaned back in her chair and lifted her chin. “O great Vizier Pawah, formerly Fifth Prophet of Amun, how do I know you truly speak on behalf of the people? Is this not just another manipulation to get the crown yourself?”

  “O great Pharaoh . . .” Pawah chuckled. “Don’t flatter yourself. We are both master manipulators, you and I. If I truly wanted the crown, wouldn’t I just kill you and take it?”

  “No, because the crown would then go to the boy,” Nefertiti answered, speaking rather quickly so as to shoot down his attempt to intimidate her. “But I wouldn’t put it past you to kill both of us, and Vizier Nakht, so that you would be Vizier of the Upper and of the Lower, husband to the King’s daughter, and a former priest of Amun.” Nefertiti took a quick breath. Her eyes narrowed as the final goal of the man who sat in front of her came to her mind. Her mouth became dry and a lump formed in her throat, realizing his full conspiracy. Nausea kept her mouth closed for a moment, until her whisper finally leeched out: “You could easily slip into the throne whether the people wanted you there or not.”

  A hesitant smirk appeared on Pawah’s face; she had figured it out. His wife spoke first.

  “Be careful, Pharaoh,” Beketaten said. “You will not insinuate such things about my husband.”

  “Why are you even here, Beketaten?” Nefertiti scoffed at her. This woman was not a member of Pharaoh’s council, and Nefertiti was done with her empty threats. “You hold no officer’s title. Shouldn’t you take your rightful place in the royal harem with the rest of the women and children?” Nefertiti said as she threw some nonchalant fingers toward her. “Be gone.” Nefertiti commanded a guard to take her away.

  Beketaten chewed her bottom lip as she kicked her chair out of her way to stand. Pawah stayed seated, allowing the guard to take his wife from the room. Beketaten pulled on his shoulder, but he ignored her as the guard helped her along. Beketaten’s eyes fell upon Nefertiti. “You will wish you had not done this . . . any of it!”

  If there were other witnesses to her threats, I would kill her like her sister, Nefertiti thought to herself, but her eyes stayed locked with Pawah’s.

  Beketaten slammed the door behind her.

  Silence fell over the room.

  Pawah sat in his chair, slightly beguiled by Nefertiti’s show of power. “She is right, you know,” he finally murmured.

  And if the time comes when I can kill you as well, I will seize it with every passion. Nefertiti smacked her lips trying to regain the moisture in her mouth.

  “She is only jealous because you tried to marry into the throne.”

  Pawah chuckled and leaned his head back. “Which you so rudely rejected.” He clasped his hands over his belly. “You will learn, Pharaoh, one way or another, where your place is.”

  “I know the power of Pharaoh.”

  “Do you know?” Pawah shook his head. “For you, it should be by my side, with me as your husband. It’s your last chance, lotus flower.”

  Her cheeks burned. She knew he’d said that just get under her skin, so she calmed her anger. “You failed at your last attempt to marry into the throne, and you will fail again.”

  Ay walked in and stopped short, with General Paaten behind him. Ay set Pawah ablaze with his glare. General Paaten put his hand on Ay’s shoulder and guided him to his seat.

  “How did you try to marry into the throne?” Ay spoke through his teeth to Pawah, as if he thought the man had tried to violate his daughter.

  Pawah seemed to absorb the tension in the room—almost as if it empowered him, emboldened him. With a sly smile, he responded, “Now I cannot go sharing all of my secrets with you, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses.”

  Ay slammed his fist on the table. “I’ll have you killed for those words!”

  Nefertiti stared at Pawah, not showing the happiness in her soul that her father had come to her side after his hiatus.

  “Try it, Master of Pharaoh’s Horses,” Pawah said, a hand on his chest.

  Ay stood up as if ready to kill his daughter’s greatest adversary. Pawah’s cool, unflinching body and growing smile enraged him even further.

  “Sit down,” General Paaten commanded. Ay stood still. “Sit down,” General Paaten instructed again, and this time Ay obeyed.

  Pawah chuckled. “Do your men obey you, Ay, as well as you obey the General?”

  “Ay,” General Paaten said. “He will have his day. For now, we are tied to this devil.”

  “Yes, listen to your General. He knows best for all.” Pawah’s attention turned back to Nefertiti. “Wait until the people hear about Pharaoh Neferneferuaten’s latest act of glory. First, the execution of royal wife Sitamun, and then the banishment of Pharaoh Amenhotep’s last remaining daughter to the royal harem.”

  “I didn’t banish her. That is where she is supposed to be.”

  He laughed. “My dear Pharaoh, no, no. That is not the story the people will hear.”

  “If you spread false rumors about Her Majesty,” General Paaten started, “then—”

  “Then what? You will arrest me? Kill me?” Pawah questioned with a sneer, and kicked his feet onto the table. “No. We are back in that same dreadful cycle again.” At their silence, he plopped his feet back to the ground. “You see, you can’t do anythin
g. Your hands are tied. You can’t touch me.” He stood, his lips pulling into a victorious grin. “I also know something that the two of you don’t,” he said, pointing between General Paaten and Ay.

  They sat there, unamused, as Nefertiti closed her eyes and held her breath, bracing for the shame that would come over her when he said it. Her mind raced—what did he know . . . about Horemheb, about the Hittite? Or both?

  He will tell and force me to marry him.

  His voice rose with an evil ring almost like the sound the wind makes right before a sandstorm, and he said: “A foreign prince is coming.”

  General Paaten and Ay turned to look at her. Nefertiti opened her eyes and let her captive breath escape into a shameful huff of air. Part of her rejoiced that he did not know about her and Horemheb—or at least he had chosen not to reveal that he knew—but as she stared at Pawah, feeling her father’s and the General’s heavy gaze upon her, she wished nothing more than to curl up and die. Now what to say?

  Pawah’s gleeful eyes beamed as he struck his prey. “So, Pharaoh Neferneferuaten, are you not marrying the boy, seeing as you requested a foreigner? The boy would be the better choice—it would be easy to sway him and tell him what to do, especially since he adores you. Well . . . adored you.”

  “No, I’m not marrying Tut.” Nefertiti shook her head. “And what do you mean, ‘adored’ me?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just . . . he now thinks you hate him and want him dead like his father.”

  “Why would he think tha—”

  She stopped and slowly pulled her jaw closed as a sneer grew on Pawah’s face. Her stomach tightened into a knot and forced her breath out.

  How have I let him get away with all of this? How much has he done to undermine me?

  Her lips pulled back in disgust. “You are truly evil, Pawah. May Amun curse you for your nefarious acts of treason against Pharaoh and Egypt.”

  “Your god Amun will honor me for always working. And sooner or later, one of my many works will get me what I want.”