“The only way for a Pharaoh to stop reigning is through his own death,” Beketaten said. “Otherwise, this madness will continue.”
“You want to kill our brother?” Henuttaneb whispered.
“Yes. Not me, but someone else could certainly do it,” she hissed back.
“Is that wise? He has no heir to the throne.”
“So?”
“Without an heir, the throne is up for the strongest and most influential person to take it—usually by force,” Henuttaneb said. “We could be in civil war . . . and with the state of Egypt as it is, we will never recover.”
“You make a good point.” Beketaten said, placing her hands on her sister’s shoulders. “Little Henuttaneb can think now, I see. Could Nefertiti be pregnant again? She didn’t look it when I saw her this afternoon.”
“She just had Nefernefereure a few months ago, and Pharaoh has spent many hours in the temple of Aten. I am not sure. Perhaps we can afford to wait a while.”
“Perhaps,” Beketaten said, scratching her cheek absentmindedly as she stared out the window, trying to think. Suddenly, she noticed Nefertiti and her five daughters and some servants with many bags as they boarded a barge on the Nile. “Where is she going?”
“I don’t know . . . let me find out.”
Henuttaneb left to find a messenger. A while passed before she came back, white-faced. “Pharaoh told her to leave Aketaten . . . for pardoning you.”
Beketaten threw her hands in the air. “No son from Nefertiti, though that little wretch is getting just what she deserves. How does it feel, Nefertiti? To be sent away from your home for doing what you think is right?”
Henuttaneb shrugged off her sister’s comments and instead worried about the future of their country. “With Nefertiti gone now, how will he have a son?”
“You are his wife, aren’t you? And Kiya, too? His mind is half gone now, and I’m sure we could make a compelling argument to consummate his marriages. One of you is bound to have a son—and at least for you we will time it just right.”
“Kiya will not,” Henuttaneb said. “She has made a promise to Nefertiti.”
“We will persuade our brother to command her into his bed,” Beketaten said, and cracked her fingers. Payback is gold, she thought, remembering her time spent in exile.
“For Egypt?” Henuttaneb asked, reluctant to agree to that plan.
“Yes, for Egypt. For Amun-Re. For me,” she said. For how could she say no to her older sister?
“Lotus blossom!” Ay said when his daughter graced the entry to his home.
“Oh, Father!” Nefertiti said, and fell into his arms.
“To what do I owe this surprise?” Ay said as he wrapped his arms around her. Looking up, he saw the maidservants bringing along the children. “And my granddaughters!”
“Father, there is so much that has happened,” Nefertiti said, tears welling in her eyes. “May we stay here?”
“Of course, my daughter,” he said, stroking her cheek. Akhenaten, you had better not be the cause of my daughter’s tears again.
He hugged each of his five granddaughters, and Tey came to greet her step-daughter and grandchildren as well. Nefertiti kissed Tey’s cheek. “Hello, Mother,” she said, then rubbed her belly. “Hello, future brother or sister.”
Tey opened her mouth to respond, but the wet nurse entered with Nefernefereure. She let out an audible gasp and went straight to hold her newest granddaughter.
Nefertiti laughed. Ay was relieved to hear her laugh. He had not heard it in such a long time, and with it came memories of Temehu.
“She is beautiful, just as you”—Tey pointed to Meritaten, and then to each of her other granddaughters in turn—“and you and you and you.”
“Come, Nefertiti,” Ay whispered, and pulled her into the garden.
“I see Tey has kept up my mother’s lotus garden,” Nefertiti said, smiling around her as the beautiful blossoms burst forth in the high sun.
“She has,” Ay said.
A moment passed as they walked through the garden.
“What brings you here, my daughter? Why are there not guards with you?”
“He sent me away.” She looked away toward the lotus blossoms.
“Why?”
“He thought I undermined his authority when I gave a pardon to Princess Nebetah, who had changed her name to Beketaten and had turned to the Aten just as Pharaoh had asked. I told him that if he wanted to rule Egypt, he needed to sit on his throne and rule Egypt.”
Ay nodded, then shook his head. Nefertiti, he thought. Always right, but always speaking her mind when she should not.
“He couldn’t refute anything I said, and so, like a child, he told me to leave Aketaten.”
After her father did not respond, she stopped and stooped down to dip her hand in the water of the garden and drizzle the drops over one of the pink lotus blossoms. She shook her hand off and looked up to Ay.
“I don’t think he loves me anymore, Father.”
“Nonsense! He is only angry, and he has been acting . . . strange these past few years. Give him time, and he will miss you and his daughters and ask you return to him.”
“Kiya told me the same,” she said, looking back to the flower. “He wanted to consummate his marriage with her and Henuttaneb because I could not provide him a son.”
Ay stooped down and plucked one of the smaller blossoms. “In his mind, he may choose to do so, now that he has banished you from the capitol.”
Nefertiti closed her eyes as tears she had willed to stay broke through.
“But make no mistake, my daughter. He does love you. I think we all know he is sick in the mind. His obsession with this plan to restore the power of Pharaoh by turning to the Aten . . .” Ay filled his lungs and sighed. “He has done it, however. The people fear his position, and after the short rebellion, the people and officials do what they are told. He has restored the power to Pharaoh—so much so, he was able to overtake the treasury for Amun-Re just as he planned.”
“But he stays with the Aten,” Nefertiti said. “If he could just let the people go back to Amun-Re, everything should be as his father planned, but I’m afraid he will exhaust his power as Pharaoh and the wealth of Egypt will be expended. It will never be as it should.”
“The Aten has some sort of hold over him . . . but ‘never’ is an absolute.”
“I feel so guilty, Father. I was so afraid he would bring Henuttaneb and Kiya into his bed . . . but he promised me that so long as the Aten was the only god of Egypt, there would be only one lover of Pharaoh. I have kept reminding him of that promise even as he debates consummating his other marriages. I am partly to blame.” Tears ran down her face. “I have disappointed you, and more so, I have disappointed Amun-Re. It is no wonder he no longer hears my prayers.”
Ay sat down and pulled Nefertiti beside him. As she cried on his shoulder, he held the small pink lotus flower in his hand. “Nefertiti,” he whispered. “Do you know why the lotus blossom was your mother’s favorite flower?”
“No,” she whispered back.
“The lotus closes up at night, retreats back into the water, and then blooms again in the day. It does this every single day. Your mother . . .” He laughed, remembering her face, her eyes—not as clear as they had been, but still he remembered. “Your mother always told me, ‘Ay, every day is a new day. It doesn’t matter what you do, you can always wash yourself clean and start anew.’ ”
Nefertiti smiled at her father’s memory. “I wish I could have known my mother. She seemed like a very wise woman.”
“She was the wisest. She was my only love. Amun-Re blessed me with Tey, but Temehu will never leave my heart.” Ay stared at the lotus garden, wishing to hear her laughter. A grimace covered his face. If only he could lift away the pain his daughter felt!
“If he asks for me to return, what shall I do, Father?” Nefertiti whispered.
“Wash yourself clean and start anew,” he said, and kissed her forehea
d. He lifted up the flower and weaved it into her wig. “Go back to him, Nefertiti. Your heart is with him—I can see it. He is in a confusing place, one from which few return. Trust and truth are what makes a marriage. You must be the mind for both him and yourself. You must be the support on which he can lean, and maybe you will be to lead him out of his place of madness. You are a great woman, my lotus blossom. You are strong and wise. Be the Queen that Egypt needs you to be. Amenhotep and Akhenaten—both need you and need your understanding. You cannot reason with him like you could before.”
“I know, Father,” Nefertiti said, and buried her head further into his shoulder. “I know.”
Chapter 19
The Time of Wine
A few weeks came and went until Henuttaneb was fertile, and Beketaten said it was time.
They found Akhenaten pacing back and forth in the courtyard. Beketaten leaned against the door, watching him pace. He is much darker than I remembered, she thought. Must be his days spent in worship to the Aten. Pitiful fool.
Henuttaneb joined her in the doorway and together they coyly sauntered up to Pharaoh.
“What troubles you, brother?” Beketaten asked him.
Ignoring her, he continued to pace back and forth, mumbling something about Aten and Nefertiti.
“Pharaoh, what troubles you?” Henuttaneb asked.
“I need the Aten,” he said, paused his pacing to stretch his arms out to the great sun-disc in the sky. Then he continued walking back and forth.
Beketaten looked to Henuttaneb and slightly shook her head. “Where is your Queen?” she asked, leaning forward with her hands on her hips.
At this, he stopped in his tracks and jerked his head toward her. He then threw his eyes to the ground. “She is with her father in Waset.”
“Why did she leave?” Beketaten asked to goad him a little more. No one exiles me, she thought. He will pay.
“Because she pardoned you!” At her feigned surprise, he continued. “She undermined the authority of Pharaoh!”
“If I were Pharaoh, I would not have sent away my Queen, the most beautiful woman in the world, because of a . . . misunderstanding,” Henuttaneb said, her arms loosely crossed in front of her chest.
“You are not Pharaoh. I am Pharaoh!”
“Yes, you are, brother.” Beketaten put her hand up to silence Henuttaneb, then added, “You are Pharaoh . . . and you have no son for an heir.”
He continued to pace.
“Now you have no other way to have a son, since you have sent away Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti.”
“I have other wives,” he spewed.
“Yes, you do . . . and they are most willing to bear the heir to the throne.”
“But I made a—”
“You are Pharaoh, and you need a son,” she said, her eyes ablaze.
Henuttaneb followed. “As the Aten has said—he has even given you a vision—and Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti can only seem to give you daughters.”
“Yes . . .”
“Here is royal wife Henuttaneb—your wife. Call your royal wife Kiya as well,” Beketaten said, thrusting Henuttaneb forward into his arms.
“But—”
“Shall we not have an heir to the throne? What shall happen if you should perish with no heir? Do you wish Egypt to fall into civil war over who is to become the next mediator between the people and the Aten?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
“No,” he said.
She had him right where she wanted him.
“Great. We shall celebrate your consummation!” she yelled, and snapped at the royal cupbearer whom she had already lined up with goblets of wine.
He ran over with three fairly large goblets of wine.
“Drink, brother. Drink, great Pharaoh of Egypt. For you shall have a son!” she said, and took a small sip.
He hesitated but then gulped down the entire goblet.
“Another for Pharaoh,” she said.
He drank the next one quickly too.
“The Aten does not give me visions when I indulge myself,” he said somberly at the third goblet.
“You don’t need anymore visions. He has already given you the vision of your son,” Beketaten said as they slowly made their way to his bedchambers. “Here—drink some more.” She lifted the goblet to his mouth.
He swallowed and said to Henuttaneb, “I will be in my bedchambers. I will call should I decide to consummate.”
Beketaten clenched her teeth. “You must! With your Queen and chief royal wife gone, you have no way to conceive a son without consummating your other marriages.”
He put his finger up as he spun to face them. “But—”
“You told her to leave . . . to be gone—those were your exact words, were they not? Do you think she will ever come back to you willingly? Do you think she will ever let you touch her again? After how you have treated her? After the embarrassment you have put her through by commanding her absence? She is the most beautiful woman in the world, is she not? She has already given you five daughters. After what has happened, do you think she will ever give you any more children?”
Silence made his shoulders slump. “No.”
“Then you have no choice,” Beketaten said. “Here—drink some more and the Aten will give you a vision showing you what is right. Go to your window and drink in the light of the Aten.”
“I will go to my window,” he said, and he turned to leave for his bedchambers.
Once there, he pulled up a chair to his window. The wine burned down his throat, and the heat from the Aten made him dizzy. He was too dazed to notice that he had never called the royal cupbearer to his room with more wine, but when he came every so often Pharaoh took and drank it anyway.
After drinking all afternoon and into the evening, Pharaoh watched in a haze as the sun began to set on the horizon. Still no vision . . . he slammed his fist on the window sill.
“Aten!” he cried out, his words slurred, and almost lost his balance. “Please give me direction. Show me the mother of my son!”
He fell over and grazed his head on the chair. The sunlight came just over the sill, directly into his eyes—and there he saw Henuttaneb and Kiya as the mothers of his son.
Too drunk to rationalize why his one son had two mothers, he pushed himself up after the Aten had left him and finished off his goblet of wine and knew he had to consummate with both wives—because the Aten had showed him he must.
The royal cupbearer came in almost immediately with another goblet. Pharaoh grabbed it from the tray with so much force that wine was sent flying across the room.
“Call . . . Que-Quee . . . Henuttaneb . . . to my bed!” he ordered, and threw the wine down his throat. “And bring more wine!”
A messenger came to Henuttaneb’s chambers. “Pharaoh wishes you to his bedchambers.”
Beketaten, who had been pacing back and forth in front of the window, stopped and smiled at her sister. “Go and make a son,” she said, and walked over to Henuttaneb, who was slowly standing up from her chair, looking at the messenger like a child looks to a menacing stranger. Wrapping her arms around her, Beketaten saw her reluctance and ordered, “You will have a son.”
“Yes, sister,” Henuttaneb said, averting her eyes.
“Make Egypt proud and produce an heir.”
“I will.”
“Make sure he calls Kiya as well,” Beketaten ordered as Henuttaneb left the room.
Henuttaneb rolled out of Pharaoh’s bed and wrapped her fine white linen dress about herself. “Pharaoh, call royal wife Kiya as well in case I do not have a son with you—for the Aten has told you in a vision.”
“The Aten has showed me you and Kiya are the mothers,” he said as he grabbed some more wine from the bedside table. “Kiya!”
Henuttaneb called the messenger to bring royal wife Kiya to Pharaoh’s bedchambers. She scurried away, biting her lip and hoping her older sister would be proud of her. She felt only a desire to vomit.
Kiya sat in her chambe
rs watching the stars begin to light up the night sky when the messenger came. “To his bedchambers?” Kiya asked. Her heart paused and goosebumps covered her skin. She had wanted to hear that call years ago, but not now . . . not after her promise to Nefertiti, and not after seeing the man he had become.
“Yes, my Queen,” the messenger said with a slight bow.
“I . . . I refuse to go.”
“My Queen.” The messenger stood with his hands clasped in front of his stomach as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “Your refusal will be unwise. Pharaoh has had much to drink.”
“I’m not going.” Kiya turned back to the window.
“I will tell Pharaoh your response.”
“WHAT?!”
Pharaoh threw the almost-empty goblet of wine against the back wall. “She dared to not do what I say?”
He stumbled out of bed, grabbing his shendyt from the bed and trying to wrap it around his waist as he yelled and stormed out of the door. Going from one side of the hallway to another, he finally made his way to royal wife Kiya’s chambers, gulping down another large goblet of wine.
He threw open her doors. His face flustered red and his mouth turned up into a fit of rage.
“KIYA!”
“No!” She shrunk back from his bloodshot eyes and hot stare. He came closer to her. The stench coming from his body and breath were almost suffocating. “I will not!”
“I am Pharaoh!” he yelled. “Aten has showed me you!”
“The Aten is wrong!” she yelled back.
At this, he reached for her, ripping her dress as she pulled away, but he caught her by the arms, picked her up, and threw her on her bed. Stumbling forward from the sudden change in weight upon his feet, he fell on top of her.
She tried to get out from underneath him, but his weight was no match for her delicate painter’s arms. “The Aten is right, all the time,” he said, and exhaled a deep breath into her face.
She tried not to breathe, for the smell burned her nostrils. “Please . . . please don’t do this.”
Salvation in the Sun (The Lost Pharaoh Chronicles Book 1) Page 18