Secrets in the Sand

by Lauren Lee Merewether

  Reaching up, the man uncovered his head.

  “You are not Egyptian,” General Paaten said, drawing his dagger.

  “No, I am not Egyptian, but a friend to Pharaoh Neferneferuaten,” he said with a bow of his head. “There is no need for a weapon, General Paaten. My name is Atinuk. Come with me.”

  “Pharaoh never mentioned a friend named Atinuk to me,” General Paaten said, lowering his sword just a fraction.

  “She did not know me.”

  General Paaten raised his sword again, debating whether to trust this foreign stranger. “Then how are you a friend?”

  “I loved the one known to you, royal wife Kiya,” he answered as he swished his cloak to reveal his Canaanite attire.

  General Paaten’s face warmed at the memory of such a sweet woman. He let his defense drop.

  “Her last request of me was to look after the daughters of Nefertiti. With the riots and rebellions, I knew it was only a matter of time before I honored her wish. I have land in Canaan. They will be safe there. The sun is about to rise, and we shall do well to leave now under the cover of darkness.”

  “Agreed,” General Paaten said, and they followed Atinuk out.

  All except Ankhesenpaaten. She stayed in the tunnel as she watched the three of them leave and not look back. She knew who killed her mother. If only she had grabbed her and pulled her into the tunnel with them, she’d be alive. Shaking her head, she pushed the thought away.

  “Pawah,” she said through her teeth. “They will know you killed her because I will tell them.”

  She watched them run to the palace wall as she felt her mother’s ka in the light breeze.

  Did she know she was going to die?

  Closing her eyes, she thought back to the last time she was with her. She had indeed known the end was coming. Even General Paaten told her that just now; that was why her mother had pushed her away. A tear slid from her eye.

  “I understand now, Mother.”

  A breath escaped her lips.

  “You will not die in vain.”

  She looked around her and knew they were still behind the city walls, close to the royal harem. She peered out, watching the four shadowy figures climb over a wall.

  She clenched her jaw. “Tut.” An image of his mangled body flashed in her mind, and she turned to go to the royal harem to find him. If she didn’t do something, he would be defenseless.

  She stopped, though, and looked back. The early lights before the sun showed that the General Paaten sat atop the wall now, and he nodded to her then jumped off to the other side, toward a life unknown. Her heart dropped another level. She knew she would never see her sister again.

  “My family is gone,” she whispered. “I am the last remaining royal save for Tut, and if Pawah got what he is after, he will kill him too.”

  She blew a kiss to the wind and prayed to Amun or the Aten—whoever was premiere—that they keep vigilant over Nefe on her way to Canaan. And then she took off toward the royal harem and her husband.

  Chapter 26

  The Time of Grief

  Nefertiti used the movement of her head to lunge her body toward the door. She fell on her arm, and the pain radiated from her chest wound in all-consuming waves. Still, she hopped on her arm and tried to crawl.

  For my baby, she told herself. I must live for my baby.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Pawah lower Beketaten to the ground and place the dagger in her hand—the dagger with Nefertiti’s blood. She heard the sounds in the hallway, and hoped this meant General Paaten had sent word to Ay and Horemheb.

  Pawah kicked Jabari’s foot as he walked past him. “Ignorant fool. You were only supposed to bring Nefertiti, and we wouldn’t have this mess.” He paused, listening for the echo of footsteps; having apparently calculated that he still had a few more minutes with Nefertiti, he sent a toe into her shoulder, knocking her to her back.

  After the pain subsided, she asked him, “Did you ever—love her?” The agony with each breath cut into her words.

  “She was useful,” he said casually. “But I cannot be the one holding the weapon used to murder Pharaoh.”

  “Why?” She tried to turn on her side and resume crawling toward the door.

  “It was more humane to kill her fast with the spear than have her die a slow death from impalement in front of the temple of Amun.” He shrugged his shoulders as he went and picked up Jabari’s dagger and hid it in his shendyt. “Because it would be my word against hers, and I am the vizier and the former Fifth Prophet of Amun. The Amun priesthood will be reinstated by the boy King, and when that happens, I will be there to lead him into subservience to the priesthood. I will be named the First Prophet of Amun, and when I am done with the boy, Pharaoh, I will have become the most powerful man in all of Egypt—not by some divine appointment, but by careful and dedicated action.”

  “You . . . appall me . . .” she sputtered, bent over from the searing agony in her chest. The door seemed so far, and the dwindling hope of a future which she held for her life and her baby’s life fell upon her.

  He cocked a crooked grin as he knelt next to her. “The priesthood’s greed for power is the appalling thing, my blossom flower. But little do they know, when they least expect it, they will die by my hand. With the ruling elite, such as yourself, out of the way, and the boy King under my purview—whom I assure you will die young without an heir and me named as successor—I will have what I want.”

  The echoes from the hallway grew louder moments before Commander Horemheb threw open the door and stood in its threshold surveying the dead guard, then Beketaten, and finally coming to rest upon Pawah bent over Nefertiti. At seeing his love on the floor bleeding from the chest, a fire coursed through his body; his ears pounded and he stared unblinking at the man who stood over her.

  “I’ll kill you, Pawah!”

  He drew his dagger as he ran, but Pawah also drew his dagger in secret.

  Nefertiti screamed as she envisioned Pawah taking Horemheb’s life as well. She collapsed on the floor. The burn seared the inside of her chest, but she had to warn her love.

  “Dagger—!”

  Pawah tried to undercut Horemheb, but Nefertiti’s warning caused Horemheb to parry his strike at the last moment. Pawah’s blade bounced off Horemheb’s bronze armor and cut his arm; at the same time, Horemheb sliced Pawah on the side of his shoulder, just missing his neck. Pawah tripped Horemheb as he ran and then fled for the door.

  Regaining his balance and seeing his only chance, Horemheb let his dagger fly; but through his rage-filled eyes, his dagger sailed past and barely nicked Pawah’s ear, landing with a thud into the doorframe just as Pawah got to the entrance of the council room.

  Pawah turned and laughed. “You missed your chance.”

  Horemheb stood by Nefertiti. “I swear to you, Pawah, before Ammit has your heart I shall rip it from your chest.”

  Pawah laughed again. “You are the one who failed her, Commander.” He disappeared into the dark hallway—only to run into Hori and others loyal to the crown.

  “What happened?” Hori asked, holding Pawah at spearpoint.

  Pawah was quick to fake panic. “I tried to save her! Jabari—he rushed the Pharaoh. I killed him and got his spear, but it was too late . . . Beketaten—accomplices, they were—she had already stabbed Pharaoh. I had to kill my own wife to stop her attack.” He dropped his head, bringing his hand to shield his eyes as if the sacrifice was too much to bear. “Beketaten,” he said, pointing to inside the room, “she has had vengeance on her mind since the exile . . . even more so since Pharaoh ordered her sister Sitamun’s death.”

  Pawah peered through his splayed fingers. Hori kept his spear upward and pursed his lips, clearly not believing him.

  A wave of nausea overcame Horemheb as he knelt and lifted Nefertiti’s head, pulling her close to him. “Nefertiti . . .” he whispered, and her eyes opened. At the sight of him, a light smile graced her lips. His face contorted as tears welled in
his eyes.

  Nefertiti knew she could only say a few more words before her breath was gone forever. She still had so many things to tell him and her father and her sister and her daughters. A tear slid down her cheek as words raced through her mind; she tried to fight time in determining her last words, hoping they held some meaning, hoping not to waste them.

  Some wishes are never granted, she thought. Some words are better unspoken.

  “Nefertiti,” he whispered again. “I love you.” He pressed his forehead to hers, hating himself for not doing away with that murderer long before and living with the consequences. Swallowing the painful lump in the back of his throat, he leaned forward and kissed her. “I’m so sorry. I’ve failed you.”

  She shook her head. “No—” She tried to inhale. “You made . . .” Her exhale carried with it a thousand knives coursing through her chest.

  Horemheb’s lips trembled and his jaw clenched; his body felt as though it was caving in on itself, every muscle holding his utter agony inside.

  “You made me—feel alive.” Her eyes danced in the dwindling torchlight as she smiled once more. Then she breathed her last and the dance in her eyes ceased.

  At that moment, Ay rushed in, Mut close behind him. A guttural yell escaped Ay’s lips. The guards standing outside the council room were cut to the heart at Ay’s yell, and knew their Pharaoh was gone. Ay fell to his daughter and pulled her away from the Commander and close to his chest. No words accompanied Ay; only yells of disbelief and pain.

  Horemheb let his hands drop to his side. He became lost in his own thoughts, wishing he were the one to have died. Ay’s screams finally broke him from his fog, and he laid a hand on Ay’s shoulder.

  Mut stepped forward to see her sister laying on the floor, Nefertiti’s dead eyes peering up at her over Ay’s shoulder. She fell to one knee as she clutched her heart, unable to yell, to breathe, to feel. Then she looked to Jabari and Beketaten and her scream, at last, escaped at the sight of all the blood.

  Horemheb jolted up toward Mut, covering her with his body. “No woman should see this,” he whispered, holding her and blocking her view. She screamed again as tears fell down her face, and he pulled her closer, swallowing his own hot burn of shame.

  I let this happen, Horemheb thought, feeling Mut’s trembles. She died because of my failure.

  “No, no, no,” Ay mumbled as he drew in shaky breath after shaky breath. He pulled back so as to look at Nefertiti’s face. After a few moments of silence, he whispered, “You are worth everything to me, my lotus blossom,” and pressed his cheek into her forehead.

  The guards let Pawah go because there was no evidence on which to arrest him.

  “He killed her, didn’t he?” Mut asked Horemheb, overhearing the conversations in the hallway. She had shrunk in the corner of the room, unable to look at the death surrounding her.

  “He says he did not, but I know he did,” Horemheb said through his teeth. He had to hold in his grief in front of Ay and Mut. He was Commander to them, not Nefertiti’s lover. With every breath, a fire raged inside of him as he tried to quell his grief for the time being.

  “He killed her, he should die a murderer of Pharaoh . . . impalement in front of the temple . . . his body burned so he cannot journey to the afterlife—”

  “Mut.” Horemheb knelt beside her and put a hand on her shaking shoulder. “The position of Pharaoh is unstable. Are we prepared to say the Pharaoh was murdered? Both of them? All three of them?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Horemheb licked his bottom lip and rubbed his forehead. “Pharaoh Akhenaten was—”

  “I know that. Nefertiti poisoned him, and you did your part.” Mut’s voice sank lower and lower, as did her naïve young soul as it perished little by little.

  Horemheb blinked slowly. “We all did our part. Pharaoh Smenkare was murdered much the same way, and now Pharaoh Neferneferuaten as well. That makes three. Three divinely appointed Pharaohs, murdered at the hand of one man.”

  “So what are you suggesting? That the council will just do away with Pharaoh?” Mut asked, her jaw dropping.

  “No . . . Mut, I know how it seems, but a lot has happened. We all knew the plan when Pharaoh Amenhotep III died, and we were all prepared to sacrifice whatever we must so that the position of Pharaoh could once again become all-powerful, even against the priesthood of Amun. You were not even born when this all happened. I know it is not fair to you, but Egypt must come first . . . and that means securing Pharaoh as a divine, all-powerful ruler.”

  Mut’s eyes filled with tears. “But he killed her.”

  “Be strong, Mut. Be strong. I know we are asking much of you. Telling the people would have a detrimental effect on the power and position of Pharaoh. We cannot let the people know. Pharaohs Akhenaten and Smenkare died in their sleep, and Neferneferuaten . . . Nefertiti died of—”

  “She was murdered,” Mut said as her father, Ay, still clung to Nefertiti’s lifeless body. “Either by Beketaten or Pawah, she was murdered. They need to face the harshest sentence Egypt has to offer.” Tears streamed down her eyes as her brow furrowed in hatred. “The priesthood of Amun was behind this—you know it to be true!”

  “Silence, my daughter,” Ay whispered. “See where greed and hate have brought your sister.” He looked to her with tear-filled eyes. “I cannot lose you too.” He gripped Nefertiti’s body one last time in a firm and lasting embrace before laying her back on the floor. He placed her hands gently on top of each other, over her chest to hide the ghastly wound. Tracing her high cheekbones with his forefinger, he sighed and closed his eyes, trying to remember the sound of her laugh—but it had been so long. With the last memory of his daughter, so he lost the last memory of his precious first wife, Temehu. Inhaling a deep breath through his nostrils, he looked to Horemheb. “You are right. They cannot know the last three Pharaohs were all murdered.”

  “Father—”

  “It would have meant your sister lived in vain. We cannot let the power of Pharaoh fall to the priesthood.”

  Mut stood. “Then one day I will see justice is done for her, if you choose not to.”

  “One day, daughter, you will see why we can never have justice for her.” Ay stood up with the help of the nearby chair. He had aged ten years in the last ten minutes.

  Horemheb stayed by Mut. He reached out and grazed her arm. Her eyes shot back at him. “We all want justice, Mut,” he said, not adding, More than you know. “But for the greater of Egypt, we cannot have justice. Pawah would have been the only one to have the strength to kill both women at once. I have no doubt he killed your sister, and one day he will die—your father and I will see to that. But until then, we cannot reestablish the position of Pharaoh if we tell the people now.”

  Mut’s eyes drifted downward and saw, at the last blow of the wind through the almost-closed roof of the council room, the sand dust had begun to cover her sister’s blood drops. “A time will come when all secrets are revealed,” she whispered.

  “Mut, this secret must stay buried,” Horemheb said.

  “One day we will make Pawah pay for what he has done. Make sure Tutankhaten trusts you,” she said to her father and Horemheb. “You will make sure Pawah pays for this.”

  Horemheb nodded.

  “Promise me!”

  “I promise,” Ay said.

  Mut nodded. “Good.” She turned and left that room filled with death. She would leave the story of what happened to them with her father and Horemheb; she did not want any part of the lies.

  Ankhesenpaaten rushed to the royal harem as fast as her legs would carry her. She found Maia near the entrance. “Quick, Maia!” She grabbed her wrist and Maia fell in step beside her. “Where is Tut?”

  “Uh—” Maia spluttered, horrified at the blood splatter across Ankhesenpaaten’s face.

  “Maia, where is he?”

  “He is with Sennedjem—in the training yard,” Maia said at last.

  Ankhesenpaaten let go of her wris
t and ran to the training yard. Her heart had never beat so fast in her life. Her lungs burned within her chest, and she bent over, dropping her head into her chest, trying to catch her breath. She looked up and found Tut doing a good job against Sennedjem. She tried to call his name, but nothing but a gasp for air overtook her lips.

  She looked around: life at the royal harem seemed fine; in fact, she hadn’t seen one rebel in her haste to get here. She caught her breath and stood with a sore and dry throat.

  Pawah . . . I know now for certain that this is his doing, she thought. She walked out into the training yard and held up her hand to stop Sennedjem. He stopped and bowed to her, and Tut turned to see who it was that interrupted his training.

  “Oh . . . it’s you,” Tut said, and threw his wooden sword on the ground. “What do you want?” His eyes grew wide at the red splatter on her face.

  “Tut, Pawah entrapped us. He has killed my mother. I came to warn you.”

  Ankhesenpaaten wrapped her arms around his body, but Tut pushed her off of him.

  “Lies are your specialty, chief royal wife. Pawah told me you were a liar—just like your mother. He told me you both had conspired to kill me, and guess what my guard told me when I awoke from the sound of the door closing? Pharaoh’s steward went into my room while I slept—and I found a thick blanket by the door. I guess she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t smother a helpless person in his sleep like a coward. So I got up and ordered Sennedjem to teach me to defend myself against you and your mother’s assassination attempts!” Tut said as he swiped his cane at Ankhesenpaaten’s leg.

  “Ow!” The sting from his cane traveled up to her knee and hip. “Tut, I do not know what you are talking about, but Pawah killed—”

  “Pawah told the truth. You both want me dead.” Tut hit her again on the shin.