Ipu rolled her eyes. “That is the third person who has come here looking for lost cattle. Has everyone in Thebes lost their cow today?”
I laughed, spreading cushions in the loggia. When it was time for Djedefhor to go, we stood on the shore and waved farewell. I put my arm around Nakhtmin’s waist and asked if he thought we’d ever see him again.
“Djedefhor?” he asked. “Of course.”
I hesitated. “You are no longer part of Pharaoh’s army, Nakhtmin.”
“But the winds will blow and the sands will shift. Akhenaten won’t be Pharaoh forever.”
I stiffened in his arms.
“It’s nothing against your sister,
“My family has
Nakhtmin pressed his lips together. “Yes, and that is what worries me.”
We walked back into the house and I followed him into the loggia. “What do you mean?”
“Only that should our Royal Highnesses die, what link will there be left to the throne? Akhenaten has no legitimate siblings.” He looked over at me. “It’s only you,
“You’ve never thought about it?” he asked.
“Of course I have. But not…” I hesitated. “Not seriously.”
“If Akhenaten dies without a son, one of his generals is in a prime position to take the reins of Egypt,” Nakhtmin explained. “Why, even right now people could be whispering that I married you for a claim to Egypt’s throne.”
I watched him carefully. “So, did you?”
He wrapped me in his arms. “What do you think?” His kisses traveled downward and I closed my eyes.
“I think it was for love.” I stopped his hands from going any farther and we retired to our chamber.
Ipu knew better than to disturb us.
For the first month in Thebes, we did nothing but enjoy the quiet of a life near the water. We listened to the gulls as they searched for food along the sand, and the brassy ring of bells that farmers tied around the necks of their cattle, which grazed at the banks of the River Nile. We went to the market and picked out baskets for our new home, enjoying our anonymity. Although I wore linens and gold, I was no different from the daughters of the priests or scribes whose wrists jangled with bangles and glass.
Twice, men in soldiers’ garb from Amarna came up to Nakhtmin and whispered with him. Each time they bowed very low, even though Nakhtmin was no longer a general. “This is Lieutenant Nebut,” Nakhtmin said the second time we were approached.
The lieutenant shaded his eyes with his hand and smiled. “Did you know your husband is all they talk about back in Amarna?”
“They better not talk too loudly, then,” I told him, “or they will endanger both of our lives.”
The lieutenant nodded. “Of course, my lady. None of the men have forgotten what happened to Horemheb.” He lowered his voice. “But there is a rumor that Pharaoh will not execute him after all.”
I glanced quickly at Nakhtmin. “What will they do then?”
“Keep the men in prison,” my husband replied.
“Yes. Until the people forget. But they have chanted outside the palace gates for a month. Pharaoh’s guards beat them back, but the crowds don’t stop coming. His own city has turned against him.” His voice dropped nearly to a whisper. “The night I left, he declared any man chanting against him to be a traitor. They have put a dozen men to death already.”
Nakhtmin was shaking his head.
“Now the people stand at the gates as a silent mob.”
I imagined Akhenaten’s rage as he watched the angry mobs from his Window of Appearances, Panahesi next to him, whispering platitudes in his ear.
“He will have to resolve it soon,” Nakhtmin predicted.
“Oh, he will,” I promised. “Pharaoh will declare a Festival to Aten. He will throw gold from his chariots and the people will forget.”
A Festival to Aten was declared the next day.
My heart sank, knowing that men like Nebut must think I was just like my family, cunning and ambitious to have guessed at her plan. I knew as well that in the halls of eternity, my name would echo with Nefertiti’s, and that if the gods were to obliterate her name from the scrolls of life, they would obliterate mine, too.
All of Thebes was in the streets, and we walked through the city to watch the festivities. Dancers and acrobats crowded the quay, along with merchants selling baked catfish and pheasant. I watched men make obeisance to an image of the sun on a pillar.
“I only wonder what the gods must be thinking.” Nakhtmin spoke my thoughts, studying women making offerings to the sun.
The festivities carried on long into the night, and from our villa perched above the Nile we could hear the sounds of singing and the ringing of party bells. We went to sleep with the cries of drunken revelries in our ears, and I thought,
The next day, a messenger from Amarna arrived.
“From Vizier Ay,” the boy said expectantly.
I read the scroll, then went into the garden to read it aloud to Nakhtmin. “News from Amarna,” I said. I unrolled the papyrus and read it to him.
I hope this letter finds you well, Mutnodjmet, and that you have been wise enough to protect your new husband from village gossips and women at the wells. I do not need to say how your mother misses you. But there is rebellion in the city, silent rebellion that eats away at Pharaoh until only Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti can calm him.
“Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti?” Nakhtmin asked.
“Perfect Are the Beauties of Aten,” I said disbelievingly.
Should the Hittites invade, neither you nor Nakhtmin would be safe. Akhenaten is no fool. At the first sign of real rebellion, he will execute Horemheb, then send men to Thebes. Do not think that because you live away from court that you are safe. Should there be an uprising, Udjai will give warning and you will flee to Akhmim. Write nothing to us and send nothing to Pharaoh’s city until the tide of unrest has washed over Amarna. These are only precautions, little cat, but though your heart may belong to your husband, your duty is to family should Akhenaten ever fall.
Nakhtmin looked up at this. “Your father does not mince words.”
I let the scroll fall onto my lap. “He is only being honest.”
1347 BCE
THERE WAS NO rebellion in Amarna, though we expected it with every message that came from my father.
