Salvation in the Sun

by Lauren Lee Merewether

  He fell backward onto the bed and lay there, unmoving.

  Kiya pressed her forehead to the coldness of the iron chair leg; the tenderness of her cheek made her wince. She lowered her face and cradled her head in her elbow, lying there on the floor. Her sobs only made her head and face hurt more, but she cried anyway.

  NEFERTITI LAY in her childhood bed with three of her daughters. She looked out the window as the soft breathing of her children comforted her.

  She had found that she was with child the day prior and had debated sending word to Pharaoh, afraid it may be another daughter but hoping it would be a son. A son, she thought. I have not heard word from anyone in the palace. I wonder if he has brought Henuttaneb and Kiya to our bed.

  She shook her head as a tear rolled down her cheek. “He wouldn’t,” she whispered to herself.

  No, she thought. Amenhotep would not, but Akhenaten . . . Akhenaten might if the Aten gave him such a vision. She took a deep breath as her thoughts turned to Kiya. I do not want him to execute her for refusing him, but I want him to be faithful to me, she thought.

  She quietly cried as she prayed to Amun-Re, hoping he would take care of both Kiya and Akhenaten despite neither of them worshiping him.

  “I will send word in the morning,” she whispered.

  If he knows I am with child, perhaps he will not seek out Henuttaneb and Kiya. Yes . . . that is what I will do.

  She fell asleep shortly afterward as the stars twinkled in the night sky. Morning came all too quickly, and her three daughters poked and prodded her until she groggily opened her eyes. “Children of mine,” she said as she forced herself awake. “Why must you get up at first light?”

  “We’re hungry,” they whispered, their hot morning breath in her face.

  I wish I was at the palace so Meryre could take care of this, she thought as she wrinkled her nose and pushed herself up in bed.

  “Aitye,” she whispered to the sleeping servant girl on her floor. “Aitye,” she said again a little louder.

  “Yes, my Queen,” Aitye said with a start as she lifted her head and blinked.

  “The princesses are hungry.”

  “Of course, my Queen.” Aitye stood up and rubbed her eyes. “Come, children, I will make you breakfast.”

  Nefertiti called out to her as they left the room. “Aitye . . . also have word sent to Pharaoh that his Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti is with his child.”

  “Yes, my Queen,” Aitye said as she continued out the door, but as the words sank in, she whipped her head back around with bright eyes. “Yes, my Queen! I will!”

  Nefertiti smiled at her and knew she was hoping for a son as well.

  MORNING CAME, and Kiya awoke still lying on the hard floor. She rolled to her back and tried to sit up, but immediately felt the need to lay back down; the room spun around her, and her head felt ten times heavier. She looked to her side and saw Pharaoh Akhenaten passed out beside her, belly down and completely naked. His shendyt lay dangling off of the side of her bed.

  He must have awoken and tried to come near me during the night, she thought as she crawled to her window, keeping her head level with the floor. She curled up into a ball beneath the sill, where the floor still hid in the shadows, and began to cry again, not knowing what to do with this monster who slept in her room.

  CHAPTER 20

  THE TIME OF SILENCE

  His eyes slowly opened and rolled backward as the sunlight hit them. He went to raise his head, but the spinning of the room sent him plummeting back to the floor. Moaning, he cradled his head in his hands, shielding the sunlight from his face, and massaged his throbbing temples. After a moment of quiet, he rolled to his back, attempting to make out his surroundings.

  Turning away from the light, he murmured, “Aten,” his tongue thick and dry in his mouth. “What have you done to me?” He took in a deep breath, only to gag from a horrid medley of smells. His sweat drenched the floor where he lay. More than anything, he just wanted to shut out the sun and go to sleep, but his stomach urged him otherwise. As he pulled himself to his side, what was left of his stomach contents spewed from his mouth.

  Through her tears, Kiya watched him vomit all over her side table. Gritting her teeth, she crawled over to the bench at the end of her bed and grabbed her small stone statue of the Mitanni god, Adad. Forcing herself to stand despite the horrid condition of the left side of her face, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the statue’s base and stumbled over to Akhenaten. Raising the statue high above her head, she thought, It would be so easy . . .

  “Aten!” he yelled again. “Help me . . . someone, please.”

  Just hit him, Kiya. Hard in the head. I could say he fell. He was drunk—everyone saw. I could kill him and no one would know. Perhaps Egypt would be for the better.

  Then he turned his head into the shadow her body cast onto his face. He dropped his head so it lay vulnerable on the floor.

  She froze.

  Do it, Kiya!

  But her arms came down and she dropped the statue on the bed.

  “Who is there?” he asked.

  “It is I, your royal wife Kiya.” Disgust filled her words. “Do you know what you did?”

  “I don’t remember why I was so mad,” he said in a daze, trying to make out Kiya’s face. “I don’t remember how I got here. Am I in my chambers?”

  “You are in my chambers,” she said, solemnity oozing from her lips.

  “Why am I in your chambers?”

  “You ordered me to your bed, but I refused. And then you came to my bed and tried to take me here by force.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said as he tried to sit up but fell back over.

  She walked around to the other side of the table so he could see her face.

  “You did. Against my will! You hit me!” She angled her face so that its wounds shone in the sunlight.

  “I wouldn’t do that!”

  “You did! Look at me!”

  He blinked a few times and shook his head in dismay. Sleep called him. His body wanted to be still. His throat thirsted for water. His chest burned inside his ribcage. The room spun all around him unless he lay perfectly still, and even so, it still twirled.

  “I don’t remember,” he finally said.

  “I remember,” she cried. “You were my friend once. Now you are dead to me!”

  “Kiya!”

  He sat up and tried to reach for her hand, but she tugged it away.

  “You disgust me, Pharaoh Akhenaten.”

  Kiya went and opened the door and called Ainamun to dress her wounds and to call the servants to help Pharaoh to his chambers.

  As the servants held Pharaoh by both arms and Ainamun charged the maidservants to clean the chambers, Akhenaten said to Kiya as he passed her out of her room, “Kiya, I don’t remember . . . but I am sorry.”

  Kiya grimaced. Akhenaten scared her, yes, but this was clearly Amenhotep. Forgiveness came to the tip of her tongue, but the memory of him striking her because she called him Amenhotep came to the front of her mind. She kept her mouth shut, and he left. Ainamun took her back into her room and shut the door as the servants cleaned her bedchambers and tended the bruises and open gashes on her face.

  THE DAY WENT into the better part of the afternoon and Pharaoh laid in his bed, curtains drawn to keep the Aten from seeing his disgrace. Slowly, as the haze lifted, as he replenished his body with water, bread, and sleep, he felt the tinge of guilt creep inside his soul as the prior night with Henuttaneb and Kiya slithered into his memory. He prayed to the Aten—in his mind, for his mouth was too tired to speak.

  Hear me, O Aten, in my grief as I hide my face from you. Why would you give me such a vision? Why would you make me send away my Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti? Forgive me, O Aten, for the pain I have caused my royal wife Kiya, and grant my Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti the grace to forgive me as well. The wine made a mockery of me, and so I sing your praises to restore me to your divinely appointed.

  Tear
s fell out of the corners of his eyes as his chest tightened. He would order silence, just as his father did with Sitamun, if it resulted in a child.

  No one will know, he thought. Aten, let me bear my burden alone. Heal my friend, my wife, Kiya. Heal my sister, my wife, Henuttaneb. Keep Nefertiti from this that I have done. Although many men hit their women, and I have not wronged another man by forcing myself on his wife, I cannot bear the thought of hurting the women in my life, O Aten. Please take their pain and place it on me and help me carry it.

  The day ended, and Akhenaten finally was able to stand up and walk to the window, where he drew the curtains back to look at the stars. His view of the sky darkened.

  “Aten, please . . . no more visions—you are asleep and yet you still send me visions? I am too weak to go to the temple to understand them.”

  He could not make sense of these new visions. The Aten flooded his eyes with them even when he closed his eyes. Dark spots danced with one another; the harder he pressed his eyes together, the more they danced. He spent the majority of the past few years staring up at the great sun-disc receiving as many visions and healing power as his body could stand before he had to break the mediation between the people and the Aten. Now he wanted the visions to stop, but they continued all into the restless and sleepless night, looking like the haunting gashes on Kiya’s face.

  THE NEXT DAY CAME, and for the first time he decided to not go to the temple of the Aten and instead go to his throne and receive messages. His head still reeling, Pharaoh felt his throne envelop his body as he sat with arms spread wide on the armrests of the throne, his legs pressed against the front.

  A messenger entered and bowed.

  “Speak your message,” he said.

  “Pharaoh of Egypt, I come with a letter from the King of Mitanni. He requests Egypt’s help in fighting off the Hittites, who have come to take Mitanni’s western border. He requests chariots and gold and has sent silver in return for the generosity of Pharaoh. He hopes Pharaoh Akhenaten sends gifts as his father once did.”

  Pharaoh’s gaze had drifted up toward the morning sky. Pharaoh had only heard every other word or so; he was not paying attention to the message. The silence made Pharaoh realize the message was over and he said, “Oh . . . send ten debens of gold,” he said, and shooed him away.

  The messenger bowed and the scribe scribbled on his papyrus.

  The next messenger came in.

  “Speak your message,” Pharaoh said, thinking only of Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti and wishing he had never sent her away.

  “Pharaoh of Egypt, I come with an inquiry from the King of Babylon. He requests a response as to why his three convoys of precious Babylonian gifts have been unrequited with gifts of gold and silver. He also requests a response as to why Pharaoh has not sent his armed guards to the border to secure the convoys, as the last two he has sent have been attacked and robbed.”

  Pharaoh sighed. He looked up to the tiny amount of Aten’s rays that barely graced the stone wall behind his head. Aten, he prayed. Hear me, O Aten. Please . . . I need your visions now. I need to feel your rays upon my face and body. I cannot be Pharaoh without the strength you give me.

  The messenger cleared his throat and broke Pharaoh from his prayer. An awkward stare lingered between the two until the messenger squeaked out, “Does Pharaoh have a response for my King?”

  “Send ten debens of gold to the King of Babylon. Pharaoh will send some of the Egyptian military to the border where the convoys usually cross and provide an armed escort.”

  The messenger bowed again as the scribe scribbled. He turned to leave, but then Pharaoh said quickly, “To confirm our friendship, Pharaoh will also include twenty debens of silver.”

  “The King is most gracious.” The messenger bowed once more and left, muttering under his breath, “But not as gracious as the Queen or your father.”

  ANOTHER MESSENGER ENTERED, and another and another, until Aten was high overhead.

  Yet another messenger entered, and Pharaoh recognized him as Egyptian. He sat up a little straighter, hopeful this message would be easier to hear.

  “Speak your message,” Pharaoh said with a wave of invitation and a slight smile on his lips.

  “Pharaoh of Egypt, I come with a message from Waset, the house of Master of Pharaoh’s Horses, Ay. Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti wishes with gladness to declare she is with Pharaoh’s child.”

  The smile suddenly grew, and his heart became light. But as soon as the happiness came, it sulked away. He stood up, smashing his fists into the arms of the throne. Pushing his hands onto his head, trying to squash the visions of his son’s mothers out of his head, he let out a roar. He dropped to his knees and fell with his face to the ground.

  “Why do you come now? Why not yesterday?!”

  “I did, and the day before, but Pharaoh did not listen to messages then as he does today,” the messenger said.

  Pharaoh pounded the ground, seemingly trying to push his forehead through the cold stone.

  “LEAVE ME!”

  When he heard the throne-room doors close, his shoulders began to shake the tears from his eyes, and he screamed until his throat was raw.

  “AHHHHHH!”

  He lapsed into silence.

  “What have I done?” he whispered to himself.

  “What do you make me do?!” he yelled, and came up pointing to the sky. “You did this to me! You and your visions!”

  The clouds covered the Aten, and he fell into shadow on the dais in front of his throne.

  “ATEN! Help me! Do not hide your face from me, Aten! I know not what to do now!”

  He looked up to the sky, hoping the Aten would reappear, but he stayed hidden behind the clouds.

  “Aten . . .” he whispered as he dropped his chin to his chest and spread open his arms, leaning his back into the front of the throne. “Please tell me what to do.”

  The clouds moved on and the sun shone down onto his shoulders. Pharaoh chuckled out of relief. Looking up, he slowly opened his eyes to receive the Aten’s visions.

  He finally knew what he needed to do.

  He picked himself off the floor and settled back onto his throne.

  “Messenger!”

  One of Pharaoh’s messengers standing in line outside the door rushed in. “What message does Pharaoh wish to send?” he said with a bow.

  “Summon Pharaoh’s royal wives, Henuttaneb and Kiya, to the throne room.”

  Pharaoh sat back against the cold stone plated in gold and drew in a deep breath, spending his time waiting for them to arrive worshiping the Aten from his throne.

  THE THRONE-ROOM DOORS opened and Henuttaneb looked to Kiya with wide eyes, wondering what happened to her face. They both nodded to Pharaoh as they came up just before the first step.

  “Royal wife Henuttaneb . . . royal wife Kiya,” Pharaoh said. “Pharaoh listened to his sisters Princess Beketaten and royal wife Henuttaneb when they said Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti could no longer give me a son if Pharaoh has banished her, nor would she come back after her banishment.”

  Kiya’s eyes narrowed. This was Henuttaneb’s doing? she thought. Beketaten, how could you, after Nefertiti pardoned you? Ungrateful and meddling children!

  “But Pharaoh has received word that Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti is with Pharaoh’s child,” he continued. “Pharaoh’s dearly beloved will give him his son. The Aten must have changed his mind, and as such, the royal wives of Pharaoh shall not utter a word about their consummation of marriage with Pharaoh . . . or risk the consequence of death. When royal wife Kiya’s wounds have healed, Pharaoh will request Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti return to Aketaten. If royal wife Kiya or royal wife Henuttaneb are with child, they are not to reveal that Pharaoh is the father. Although Pharaoh has committed no legal crime, Pharaoh loves Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti and promised her she would be the only lover of Pharaoh. Pharaoh does not wish his Queen to endure the truth.”

  “Pharaoh, could I, Princ
ess Beketaten, be so bold as to speak?” a voice came from the shadows. Her long body sauntered out of the darkness.

  Kiya turned to look at this monster. She wanted to stab a knife in her back for taking advantage of Akhenaten in his mental turmoil.

  “What if Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti gives birth to another daughter, and your royal wives Henuttaneb or Kiya give birth to a son? Is Pharaoh to deny his only son?”

  The question caused Pharaoh’s heart to race, and he became all too aware of the sweat on his brow. “If Pharaoh has a son,” he said, lifting his face to the Aten for strength. “Pharaoh must acknowledge the truth of the first vision from the Aten, and Pharaoh shall call him his son.”

  “And what of the Queen?” Princess Beketaten asked, her voice a sly whisper.

  “The Queen . . .” He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them wide to receive the full force of the Aten. “The Queen will”—he gasped at his new vision—“have her revenge.”

  No, Beketaten thought. I will have my revenge, you pathetic fool.

  CHAPTER 21

  THE TIME OF SUSPICION

  Nefertiti could not sleep for days after she sent her message. There was no response. Ay and Tey tried to comfort her. Her children gave her hugs and kisses. She would politely smile and kiss them back, and they did bring her a certain amount of joy.

  One night later on, when she had given up hope, Pharaoh requested her back to the palace. She looked at her five beautiful daughters as they slept.

  Meritaten, now almost ten years of age, tried so much to be like her mother. Kiya had painted her several times sitting just as Nefertiti sat on the throne, or coordinating her sisters in bringing flowers to the Aten’s temple just as she’d seen her mother do.

  She will be a good Queen. I hope she is not turned too much to the Aten. The next Pharaoh and Queen will need to go back to Amun-Re, Nefertiti thought, but she often wondered if Pharaoh still intended Meritaten to marry Smenkare. He could not turn his own back on his daughters he treasures so much, she thought. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Amenhotep would not . . . but Akhenaten might.