She smiled wryly, and I knew she was thinking of the plague following so closely on the heels of the Durbar and her ascent to the ultimate throne in the land. If the gods had been with her, why was there plague?
“So what will we do?” I looked down at Baraka. His tiny, innocent life could be over before it even began. But why would the gods do that? Give me a child after so long only to take him away? “What does Father think we should do?”
“He thinks we should send messengers to Memphis and Thebes. To warn them.”
“You haven’t warned them?” I cried.
“We’ve stopped up the ports,” she countered. “No one can leave. The gates are shut. If we send messengers to Thebes, what will the people think so soon after a Durbar?”
I stared at the boarded windows. “It’s against all the laws of Ma’at not to warn them,” I said.
“Akhenaten won’t do it.”
“Then you must,” I told her. “You are Pharaoh now.”
Six men from the palace were paid in gold to carry messages to Memphis and Thebes, warning them of Amarna’s plight: The Hittites had carried plague to Pharaoh’s Durbar, and it had already claimed two thousand lives.
There were not enough tombs cut to hold all the dead; even the wealthy were tossed into mass graves, anonymous for eternity. Some risked death to place amulets with their loved ones in the earth so that Osiris could identify them. I had nightmares about these graves at night, and when I’d wake up crying, Nakhtmin would ask what was haunting me in my dreams.
“I dreamed Osiris couldn’t find me, that I’d been lost to eternity, that no one cared enough to write my name on my tomb.” My husband caressed my hair and swore it wouldn’t happen, that he’d risk everything to press an amulet into my palm before I was buried. “Swear you wouldn’t do that,” I begged him. “Swear that if I were to die of plague, you would let them take my body, amulet or no.”
His arms tightened protectively around me. “Of course they wouldn’t take you without evidence for the gods. I would never let that happen.”
“But you would have to let me go. Because if I were to die and you were to sicken, who would Baraka have to watch over him?”
“Don’t speak this way.”
“All of Amarna is dying, Nakhtmin. Why should the palace be immune?”
“Because we are protected! By your herbs, by our position on a hill. We are above the plague,” he tried to convince me.
“And if the people were to break into the palace and bring it with them?”
He was surprised by my mistrust. “Then the soldiers would fight them because they’re protected here and fed.” Baraka’s wail pierced the morning stillness, and Nakhtmin rose to get him. He looked tenderly at his son, placing him carefully at my breast. Tomorrow, our son would have a milk nurse.
“Nefertiti has sent word to Memphis and Thebes that there is a plague,” I told him.
Nakhtmin watched me carefully. “Akhenaten will learn of it, once the plague has passed.”
“How do you know it will pass?”
“Because it always does. It’s simply a matter of how many Anubis will take with him before he goes.”
I shuddered. “Nefertiti said they are rioting in the streets.”
Nakhtmin looked sharply at me. “Why did she tell you this?”
“Because I wanted to know. Because I have never lied to her, and she knows I would want the same courtesy. You should have told me.”
“For what good?” he protested.
“Imagine my shock if they broke into the palace. I wouldn’t know what was happening. I might not know enough to hide our son.”
“They won’t break into the palace,” Nakhtmin said sternly. “Pharaoh’s army is just outside. They’re eating the same food that we are and wearing the same herbs. For all of Akhenaten’s foolishness, he knows better than to risk losing his army or his Nubian guards. We are safe,” he promised. “And even if they came, I would protect you.”
“What if they came with Horemheb?” I asked, and by his expression I could see it was something he had thought of, too.
“Then Horemheb would instruct them not to touch you.”
“Because he is your friend?”
Nakhtmin set his jaw. He didn’t like this line of questioning. “Yes.”
“And Nefertiti?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
My voice dropped. “And my nieces?”
He still didn’t answer. Instead, a messenger knocked and requested our presence in the Audience Chamber.
“More Senet,” Nakhtmin guessed, but it wasn’t this time. My father had called us to report that three thousand Egyptians were dead.
“From now on, begin stocking bread in your room,” he told those gathered in the chamber. “And water in vessels. The plague will outlast our supplies.”
In the hall, my father looked back at the unoccupied thrones and the ebony tables. In an hour, the chamber would be filled with dancing, and Akhenaten would command the emissaries to play Senet. “An empty husk,” he said quietly. “They kissed his sandals just as he wished, and now his people will lie dead at his feet.”
We knew Black Death had entered Riverside Palace when the cook ran screaming into the Audience Chamber, sweat beading on his face. “Two apprentices are sick,” he cried. “There is death in the kitchens. Five rats and the wife of the baker are dead.”
The Senet games stopped, and the harpist’s fingers froze in horror at the fat man’s labored words.
He might as well have unleashed Anubis in the palace.
Nakhtmin grabbed my shoulders. “Get back into our chamber. Bring Heqet and her child, then seal the door and let no one in until you hear my voice. I’m going for fresh water.”
Women ran and men rushed to get away. Nefertiti met my glance, and I could feel her horror as Amarna slipped from her grasp. If there was plague in the palace, it was a death sentence for everyone inside. Akhenaten stood from his throne and summoned his guards, screaming that no one must leave him. But there was no controlling the panic as it spread. He turned to Maya at the bottom of the dais. “You will stay,” he commanded.
Maya’s face turned gray. His city, their city, once a tribute to life, was now monument to death. Amid the panic, someone ordered the children to the nursery. Every child under the age of sixteen was to be protected in the most secluded chamber of the palace.
“Who will watch them? Someone must watch them,” my father shouted. But the chaos was too loud. No guard stepped forward. Then Tiye appeared, her face ashen but calm.
“I will watch over the nursery.”
My father nodded. “Order the guards to reseal the windows,” he instructed Nefertiti. “Kill anyone who attempts to break free. They are risking our lives.”
“What does it matter?” a woman shrieked. “There is already plague in the palace.”
“In the
But no one believed him.
“You!” Akhenaten shouted, pointing to a noblewoman who had pushed her child to freedom through a broken window and was herself preparing to break free. He grabbed one of his guards’ bow and arrows. “Step farther and you will die.”
