by D. S.
Tiye took a breath. “So I’m told, but I think you’ll find your queen is not.”
“Queen?” he sneered. “I see no queen here.”
She stepped towards him. “Then you had best open your eyes, priest, for you gaze on Tiye, the Red Queen of Thebes. You gaze on the Beautiful One of Heliopolis, the Bringer of the Flood, mother to the trueborn heir of the Uraeus Crown. You gaze on the daughter of greatness; the murdered high priest of a mightier god than yours.” She glanced briefly at her husband and raised her voice. “You gaze on the first wife of Pharaoh, lord of the sky and all beneath.” She stepped closer still to the high priest of Amun, smiling now; a cold, menacing, terrible smile. “And I will see you kneel or I will see you die.”
Papis gulped and involuntarily dropped his gaze. He took an uneasy step backwards before spinning to Pharaoh plaintively. “She … she is the daughter of slaves, mother of bastards.”
Amenophis looked to him, his eyes full of pain. He shook his head and stared at his wife, a crumpled roll of papyrus in his hands. He unfolded it with trembling fingers and read it for what must have been the hundredth time. “She says … she says you took a Habiru into your bed … your mother she … she is not your mother at all … she writes that you are bastard born. A bastard from a Habiru womb … I … I…”
Papis turned to the court raising his arms aloft, “The villainy of Heliopolis must be expunged. The Jealous God must be brought down or he will make war upon us all!”
Pharaoh fumbled for a mug of heady Theban Shedeh and took a long slow draft in an attempt to steady himself. When he spoke again his voice still sounded shaky, “When ... when men make war with gods there can be but one outcome.” He shook his head at the vizier. “I want no part of any moves against the Sun Temple.”
Papis frowned. Same as his grandfather – a coward. He gave him an encouraging glance, “Fear not, Divinity, ‘tis true that gods are more difficult to kill than men, but strike hard enough and they will die all the same. Let me send a detachment of Companions and burn it to the ground, let me hunt down the Jealous God’s followers so I may teach them the errors of their ways.”
Amenophis shook his head again, “No.” He found his wife’s eyes once more. His lip trembled. So beautiful, so gorgeous even in her anger. “Is … is it done? Is your son…”
She shot him the coldest look. “Unless the One God has seen fit carry his basket to safety or strike down those that seek to do him harm your son is being murdered as we speak.”
“The bastard must die!” Papis repeated to the muted nodding of heads from his acolytes.
Tiye graced him with dismissive glance. “Is it Papis or Amenophis that rules here?” She stared back at Pharaoh, “It seems my husband sits an impotent throne. Need I say it again? The boy is yours – ours. Will you do nothing to protect him?”
“Listen not to her, Divinity,” the priest said, “her false god sprouts false words.”
The King buried his head in his hands, “He … he is not mine … your mother … or whatever she is to you, she-”
She shrieked in frustration. “Do you not hear me, fool? While you sit and wring your hands your men take their swords to his throat. Do you not care? Have you no strength at all?”
Amenophis looked at her, water in his eyes now, “But … but why would she lie? You betrayed me … lied to me.”
Tiye approached the throne and took the King’s hand, “You’ve lost one wife already and now it seems you mean to lose another, and for what? I’ve told you no lies. Not once. Look into my eyes and see the truth in that. The boy is yours, I swear it. I swear it on his life. On his life, Amenophis! And I am no bastard,” she raised her head proudly. “I am the trueborn daughter of two whose love will echo through eternity.” She twisted her lip and drew back from him. “If that is not enough for you, then I spit on you and curse your throne.”
Amenophis’s breathing grew laboured, his fists clenched and unclenched. He looked to the priests, looked to the letter, looked to his wife. Who tells it true? He stared into those eyes just as she’d asked, stared and could not look away, so pretty, so perfect, so strong … so true. “My … my princess,” he said slowly, “my … queen.”
She saw something snap in him then, saw fear enter and fill his eyes. Suddenly, he jumped from the throne. “My son!” He surged forward, “Aker! Petemet! Fly! Fly! Save him! Save my boy before it’s too late! Salatis, Rahotep, with them now! Go! Go! Run! RUN!”
Tiye felt her husband’s hands on hers and then they were running, running for the great arched entrance to the hall. Four Companions tore past them, faster than Tiye could believe. Amenophis was screaming, crying, “Oh gods! Oh gods what have I done? What have I done?”
Before they made it a dozen steps he appeared in the archway in front of them, a sodden papyrus basket in his hand. When Amenophis saw it he howled and fell to all fours before him. Smenkaure took a knee and bowed his head, “I’m sorry, Divinity.”
Pharaoh clutched for his queen’s hand, buried his head into her side and sobbed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The Beautiful One stood over him, absently stroking his hair. She looked towards the basket, met Smenkaure’s eye and broke into a toothy smile. She watched as the light of Aton shone through the archway and showed what the basket contained.
“I’m sorry,” Smenkaure repeated. “I … I could not find him.”
Pharaoh raised his head. Tears had transformed the kohl about his eyes into black running streaks, “Could not … could not find him?”
The Companion stared at the Queen. “I don’t understand it. She must have hidden him somewhere in the Water Gardens. I sent men to search, but as yet they’ve found nothing.”
Amenophis rose on shaky legs. “NO! Call off the search! The boy is trueborn he is my son!”
Smenkaure shook his head. “But Lord Yuya’s wife, she…”
“Call it off I say! Call it off at once!”
Smenkaure turned and nodded quickly to Natkhmin. The man ran to do Pharaoh’s bidding.
Tiye spoke to her husband, but her eyes did not once fall from Smenkaure’s. “This dog made to kill our son. This dog murdered my father.” She loosed her husband’s hand and moved forward, not stopping until she was nose to nose, eye to eye with the man. “And I will have my vengeance.” Neither flinched, neither looked away. The whole court faded before them.
Amenophis hesitated. Not once did his ghaffir turn from the Queen, but his words were for Pharaoh, “Your Grace, I’ve served you true, all was done by your command. All was done for the Two Lands,” he paused, “Perhaps … perhaps she bears no guilt for the murder of Amenhotep. I could find no certain proof. But her mother is most definitely Habiru, why would Lord Yuya’s wife lie?” He took a step towards, Tiye. They were all but touching now. “And I did not murder him. Twice I made to spare his life and twice he refused to kneel. He made the traitor’s choice and died for of it.”
“Some men’s knees are stiffer than others. Isn’t that so, Papis?” The Queen looked over her shoulder to where the high priest was stealthy attempting to extricate himself from the hall.” She turned back to the ghaffir. I give you the same choice you gave my father then. “Kneel before his daughter or die by her hand.” She looked over her shoulder again, “That goes for you too, priest.”
Papis’s knees proved very flexible. At once, he went down, his lips all but kissing the floor. Smenkaure rolled his tongue inside his mouth, met her eye again, and spat a phlegmy wad on the floor at her feet. His cheek cracked and oozed as he broke into a challenging smile. “Let’s see you do it then, and pray your blade is keener than your father’s.”
The Queen followed the spittle with her eyes, her face a mask. She drew a knife from somewhere inside her robes, tested the edge on her thumb and looked at him again. Quick as lightening it was at his throat. She pressed it against his flesh until she saw the first trickle of blood. The man’s expression did not change.
A moment, the Queen held it ther
e, his life in her hands. Before slowly she shook her head, “No, I am not like you.” She withdrew a step and returned her knife to its hidden berth, before glancing to the empty basket one more time. And then she smiled. “I hear the Wildlands are nice this time of year,” she shrugged. “Why don’t you go there and see for yourself? You are banished from the Two Lands, under pain of death, your lands and titles forfeit to the Crown.”
Smenkaure made no effort to move. “Only Pharaoh can give such commands,” he said without undue fear. He looked to his king.
Amenophis failed to meet his gaze. He stared to either side, two lines of Companions extended all along the hall waiting on his word. “The … the Red Queen has spoken,” he said quietly. He turned from his ghaffir without another glance.
Three men came at Smenkaure two in front, one behind. For a moment, his hand edged towards his sword. And then, he paused and curled his lip. The Queen had already turned away. He bowed to her back and smiled at the Companion who took him roughly by the arm. “Remember this day,” he told the man, “such is the reward for loyalty when a tainted king bears the crown.”
Amenophis reached for his queen’s hand. This time she shrugged him off. The look she gave him was positively arctic. The disappointment in her eyes a thing half alive. They seemed to speak to him, seemed to say ‘you are not worthy.’ He shrunk from it half resembling a scolded child. “He lives doesn’t he? How did you do it? Where is he? What strange miracle got him to safety?”
Still she held that cold hard stare and Pharaoh saw there was something missing. The love … is it … is it gone? Or is it simply hidden?
“You need a Co-Regent to rule the north until your trueborn son comes of age.” She said authoritatively, “You have one now.”
Papis raised his eyes from the floor. He looked to his king, shock etched on his face. “But … but she can’t mean … she means to be Co-Regent?! But she’s a … she’s a woman!” He turned to her, “You’re a woman!”
She smiled at the high priest. “Your powers of observation grow more astounding by the minute, Papis. Belike soon enough you’ll see the nose before your face.” She turned back to her husband, “With men such as this to guide you I can see I’m not needed here. You will give me the authority of the Red Deshret Crown. And I will use it to rule the north and protect our son, since none I see before me now is able to.” She stared directly at him as she said it.
He gulped. “Such a thing … not since Hatshepsut … my grandfather would not…” he bit his lip, looked at her and nodded vaguely. “And you will come back to Thebes … to me soon? I … I need you, Tiye.” He reached for her.
Again she pulled away. “I will return when I see fit, not before.”
He sighed and bowed in one. “If that is your wish … my queen.”
She glared at him until Pharaoh was forced to drop his gaze. “The Red Queen does not wish, Amenophis. The Red Queen commands.”
Epilogue
The bells of Heliopolis rang long and loud, the streets thick with cheering crowds. Their Beautiful One had come back to them. The greatest ship in the realm lay at anchor twenty yards from the docks. Named for the One God, fifty oars to a side, its red sails glinting in the sun. Even with the river full and the waters surging, the mighty vessel was too massive to draw closer.
The plethora of smaller craft that followed in the great ship’s wake drew level on the landward side and a division of Companions were instantly under way to the shore. Only when they had docked and pushed the crowd back to respectful distance, did the Red One briefly appear on the deck of the giant ship. A great cheer went up from the masses in the city as they saw her. It seemed to catch her fine linen shawl and whip it skyward as would an insistent gust of wind. Then she too was underway, a small, dainty craft with red linen awnings carrying her swiftly to the docks. The first lady of the city had not come to greet her. Instead she was met by a slave, a boy-child in her arms, a white haired ancient at her side.
Old Solon took a knee as the Queen drew up before them and Shiri moved to follow him down. The Red Queen halted the slave’s movement with the slightest of gestures. “Shiri,” she said her voice barely audible above the cheering crowds. “No, you’ve spent long enough on your knees.” She glanced to the babe in the slave’s arms, caressed his cheeks, brushed her lips against his forehead before again raising her eyes to the slave. “No,” she said again. “It is not for you to kneel before me.”
“But ... but, my Queen,” Shiri looked about her. “There will be whispers.” She moved to take a knee a second time, and a second time her daughter stopped her.
“Whispers? Do we care so much for whispers? Let them holler and shout it, let them stand on the rooftops and call out to the gods themselves, it changes nothing, you do not kneel before me, not ever.” She met her mother’s gaze. “You do not kneel before me and you do not kneel before them,” She waved her hand in the general direction of the Companions and the throngs they held at bay. “Even if my husband himself stood before you, and the whole world bows before him, you do not kneel.”
Old Solon raised his head. “The slave who does not kneel. A noble gesture, Your Grace, but such a thing cannot be; a slave must…”
Tiye glanced at him and smiled. “Slave? There is no slave here, Solon.”
The old man’s eyes widened as realisation dawned. Tiye turned to her mother again. The slightest movement of an outstretched hand and an attendant came running. He bowed low before them; he held a small roll of papyrus bearing the mark of the Co-Regent. Tiye stepped towards Shiri and eased the babe from her arms. “Take it, Shiri. Take it and read.”
With the slightest of nods Shiri slipped the papyrus from the attendant’s fingers. She glanced briefly to Solon and then back to her daughter. She was met by Tiye’s smile, there was a little water in the Co-Regent’s eyes now. “Read it, Shiri. Read it.”
The slave traced a finger along its length as if considering something, then ever so slowly she broke the seal and did as her mistress commanded, her lips silently mouthing the words. Her breath grew a little ragged, she looked into her daughter’s eyes again, saw the water in them and realised it was but a trickle compared to the sudden flood erupting in her own. “Tiye … you … you can’t, you mustn’t.”
Tiye shook her head imperiously. “I can and I will.” Something entered her countenance then, “I only wish I could do the same for all the others, but I fear, even now, I do not have such power. Pharaoh will allow me much, but he will not allow that.” She caressed the baby’s head, stared at him as she spoke, “But perhaps … perhaps one day somebody will find a way.”
Shiri turned to Old Solon, saw him smiling back at her. He didn’t need to be told what the decree had said but she told him all the same. “I … I’m free, Solon, I … I’m not a slave anymore,” she turned to her daughter, “I’m free.”
Tjuya paced back and forth across the gardens in half a panic. She could hear the cheering drawing ever closer as the royal procession made its way towards the Sun Temple. Not a single man had stayed by her side, not one priest not one ghaffir. All had gone to bend the knee before the Red Queen. She’d sent desperate word to her son, begging the lord of Akhmin, the new made vizier to the Deshret Crown to come and take her part. Only he might dare to stand before the Co-Regent and mayhap blunt her wrath. Ay had not responded. Even he’s abandoned me, just like all the rest.
She turned to her bodyslave, her voice trembling, “M… Meira, fetch me some Memphite Red.” The slave was slow to move. “Meira, fetch it now.” The Habiru smiled and strolled towards the wine cellar nonchalantly. There was a burst of trumpets and Tjuya spun.
A huge Companion all leather and plate lead the way. His beard was black, his eyes were hard. Three score more followed him through the archway. They spread out across the gardens in a giant fan. None so much as looked at her. And then she came. She stood a moment at the centre of the fan. A silver dress streaked with blue and gold. The Red Crown carried on a plinth b
y her side, a babe in her arms. And then she was moving forward.
Tjuya stood still as stone, her heart pounding. Her slave presented her with a goblet. “Your wine, m’lady,” she said it with a sneer. Something in that sneer was terrifying. Tjuya stared at her bodyslave wide-eyed. The slave made a face, turned and walked away without permission.
Tjuya met his daughter’s eye and bowed. She broke into a straining smile and moved to hug her. The beard thrust his spear against the ground with a noise that made her jump. “Back!” Was all he said as he gazed at her outstretched hands. Tjuya pulled back.
And then the Red One spoke. “He shares my father’s look don’t you think? Perhaps he’ll share his dreams too.” She kissed the babe before looking on her again, her gaze piercing, “I loved my father well.”
Tjuya felt the menace in those words, saw the anger in her eyes, “I loved him too,” was all she managed before the Queen brushed past her. Tjuya watched her move to the Sunpool and kneel, brushing her fingers idly through its silky waters as if struggling to remember a youth long past.
For an age the Queen remained there, staring at her reflection through the ripples, thinking hidden thoughts. At length she saw Tjuya’s image appear beside her own, a watchful Companion close behind. She spoke to the image, “You stand accused of bringing death to my father and meaning the same for my son.”
Tjuya blinked. “Is this … is this a trial?”
The Queen answered with silence and Tjuya wrung her hands, “No! No it’s all lies! Lies from the tongue of that filthy slut!”
“Slut?” The Beautiful One rose and for once her face contorted until it was almost ugly. “This trial is at an end. Your plea matters not at all. I deem you guilty.”
Tjuya fell to her knees, “No please!” Questing fingers reached to touch Tiye’s toes and this time the Queen’s man shoved her off.
Tiye turned away. “I loved him well,” she said again. But I think perhaps there is another that loved him even more. She waits inside.” She nodded to her father’s villa. “I leave your fate in the hands of the one you’ve hurt most, be it death or bondage the choice is hers alone. Best not let her wait too long.”