Nefertiti saw at once what he was doing. “He was dressed in leopard’s robes. There was a golden light surrounding him. It must have been a sign.”
My father smiled and she laughed. They were a perfect pair of hyenas.
That afternoon, Nefertiti waited until the Audience Chamber was filled to announce to the court that she’d had a dream. “A vivid dream,” she called it, and Panahesi looked sharply up at the dais. My sister continued. “A dream so realistic that when I awoke, I thought it had truly happened.”
Amunhotep sat forward on his throne, intrigued. “Shall we call for a priest? Was it to do with me?”
Below the dais, Kiya and her ladies gathered closer together, whispering.
Nefertiti played coy. “It was to do with all of Egypt,” she explained.
“Send for a priest!” Amunhotep cried, and my father was at the door before Panahesi could even stand.
“Any particular priest, Your Majesty?”
Amunhotep’s lip curled. Until the Temple of Aten could be built, he must find his priests in the Temple of Amun. “An Interpreter of Dreams.”
When my father disappeared, Panahesi glowered, sensing something in the air. “Your Highness,” he offered, “wouldn’t it be wise to hear the dream first?”
Nefertiti laughed easily. “Why, Vizier? Are you afraid I might dream something that would embarrass the king?” She swept her long lashes in Amunhotep’s direction and he smiled.
“I trust my wife in all things, Vizier. Even her dreams.”
But Kiya, with her growing belly, would not be outdone by Nefertiti. “Perhaps His Highness would like music while he waits?” If Nefertiti could please Pharaoh with a dream, she would please him with music. She waved a bangled wrist in the direction of the musicians who followed the court wherever it went, and they struck up a song. There was no mention of the petitioners who lined up outside the palace or of the viziers who wanted to know what should be done with Horemheb or the Hittites who were encroaching on Egypt’s territories. Nefertiti’s dream had taken precedence. Nefertiti’s dream and Kiya’s music.
Amunhotep sat on his throne as the harpists played, then the doors to the Audience Chamber swung open and my father returned. Behind him, a robed priest of Amun swept across the tiles. My father announced, “The Interpreter of Dreams.”
The old man bowed. “I am the priest Menkheperre.”
Nefertiti spoke. “I’ve had a dream, Seer, that we want you to interpret.”
“Please repeat it, Your Majesty, along with any details that you can remember.”
Nefertiti stood. “I dreamed of leopard’s robes beneath the sun,” she said. I looked nervously at Panahesi, who met my eyes and knew immediately from my glance that some pot was being stirred.
“You have dreamed of the High Priest of Aten,” Menkheperre announced solemnly, and there were whisperings all around the chamber.
“I also dreamed that a vizier was picking up these robes, and that as he put them on the sun shone brighter. So bright that the rays were almost blinding.”
Everyone in the court sat transfixed and Menkheperre cried triumphantly, “A sign! Definitely a sign!”
Amunhotep stood from his throne. “Is the man from your dream standing here now?”
We all followed Nefertiti’s gaze as it fell on Panahesi, then we all looked back at the priest.
Menkheperre spread his hands, and I wondered how much of my father’s gold might be found beneath his robes as he pronounced, “The meaning is obvious, Your Highness. Aten has chosen.”
“No!” Panahesi stumbled from his chair. “Your Majesty, this was only a dream. Nothing more than a dream!”
Amunhotep stepped down from the dais, placing his hands lovingly on Panahesi’s shoulders. “Aten has chosen.”
Panahesi looked at me and then at my father, whose face was a perfect mask.
“Congratulations, Your Holiness,” my father replied with an irony that only Panahesi understood. “The god has chosen.”
Once we were outside the Audience Chamber, Kiya gloated to me. “My father is High Priest of Aten,” she said, not seeing my family’s hand in it. “With a prince in the making, now there will be no seat of Egypt my family won’t fill. And the High Priest of Aten collects the tithes,” she added. “Your sister has just helped us up the dais toward the throne.”
“No, she has just pushed you down,” I replied. “Your father may collect the taxes,” I said, “but it is my father who will count them.”
Kiya stared at me blankly.
“Before this meeting, Vizier Ay was named treasurer.”
WE STOOD ON the top of a barren hill overlooking the Nile as it coursed through Memphis. A warm wind tore at our sheaths, snapping our short cloaks in the air.
“The temple will be two stories high and two hills across.” Maya pointed across the sunstruck dunes. Their crests vaulted one after another, cones of white sand shimmering in the heat.
“Where will the materials come from?” Nefertiti asked.
“The men will use the rocks from the Eastern Quarry.”
Amunhotep was impatient. “How long will it take?”
The wind picked up, drowning out the builder’s words. Panahesi and my father moved closer.
“Six seasons, if the men can work daily.”
Amunhotep’s face darkened. “In six seasons, I could be assassinated!” he shouted. Since he had executed the High Priest of Amun, this was his fear. Everywhere he went, hired guards from Nubia accompanied him. They stood outside his door while he slept and hovered like ravens behind his chair while he ate. They were here now, clustered at the bottom of the hill, their spears ready to dispense with any enemy of the king. In the halls of the palace, Nefertiti had whispered to me that Amunhotep was afraid that the people didn’t love him. “Why?” I’d asked her, and her look plainly answered. It was because of what had happened to the High Priest of Amun. Now Amunhotep could feel the people’s anger in the streets, and none of his viziers were courageous enough to tell him this was true. But our father had warned Nefertiti. “How can you know?” she’d railed in my chamber, and he had produced a drawing found in the marketplace; it had the body of a serpent and the head of the king swallowing up a statue of the great god Amun.
Now Amunhotep paced on the top of the hill and his voice brooked no argument. “Six seasons is not acceptable!” he raged.
“What would you have me do, Your Majesty? There are only so many workers skilled enough to build a temple—”
Amunhotep set his jaw. “Then we shall use the army.”
Nefertiti stepped forward, and her voice grew excited. “If soldiers helped build the temple, how soon could it be done?”
Maya frowned. “How many soldiers do we speak of, Your Highness?”
“Three thousand,” Amunhotep replied immediately, not thinking about the war he had promised Horemheb or the borders of Egypt that would have to be defended.
“Three thousand?” Maya tried to hide his surprise. “It might take…” He paused a moment to calculate. “With so many men, it might only take three seasons.”
Amunhotep nodded decisively. “Then every soldier who has come to Memphis will be employed tonight.”
“What of Egypt’s borders?” my father asked firmly. “They will need to be defended. The palace will still need
