Nefertiti

The Heretic Pharaoh had been brought before Anubis.

When Nefertiti was brought the news, she went to weep in our mother’s arms. Then she came to me. He had been a selfish king, a flawed ruler, but he had been her husband and her partner in all things. And he was the father of her children.

“We must abandon this city,” my father said, entering the chamber with Nakhtmin on his heels.

Nefertiti glanced up at him and her grief was untouchable. “It is the end of Amarna,” she whispered to me. “When we’re dead, it’s all we’ll have to speak for us, Mutny, and it’s crumbling.” Her dream, her vision of immortality and greatness, was to be covered in sand and left to the desert. She closed her eyes, and I wondered what she saw there. Her city in ruins? Her husband, ravaged by plague? She had heard the reports of men in the streets, burning their own houses in protest of Akhenaten. His image was being shattered across the city and defaced on temple walls. At first sign of the plague, Nefertiti had commanded Thutmose to close his workshop and flee. It was the one selfless thing she had done. But there was nothing left to build in Amarna. It had been built, and now it was being destroyed.

My father warned sharply, “They are burning their houses, and the palace will be next if the army flees. We must bury Akhenaten.”

Nefertiti sobbed.

“But Panahesi took Akhenaten’s body to the temple,” I said. “He is giving him a burial now.”

Nakhtmin froze. “He did what?”

I glanced between my husband and my father. “He took the body to the temple,” I repeated.

Nakhtmin looked at my father.

“Find Panahesi!” my father shouted to cluster of soldiers in the hall. “Don’t let him leave the palace.”

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“The treasury is next to the temple. Panahesi hasn’t gone to bury Akhenaten,” Nakhtmin said. “He’s gone to take the gold and challenge your sister’s reign.” My husband turned to my sister. “You must release Horemheb from prison. Release the general and the men will follow him, or you can risk Panahesi getting to the army first with Aten’s gold. And if Kiya has a son in her womb, all of Egypt will be lost.”

Nefertiti stared, and it was as if she wasn’t seeing us anymore. Tears marked her cheeks and she closed her eyes. “I don’t care what happens,” she said. “I don’t care.”

But Nakhtmin walked briskly to her, taking her by the shoulders. “Your Highness, Pharaoh Neferneferuaten- Nefertiti, your country is under siege and your crown is being threatened. If you remain here, you will die.”

Her eyes were open, but they were lifeless.

“They will kill Meritaten or marry her to Panahesi, and Ankhesenpaaten’s life will be forfeit,” Nakhtmin said.

Nefertiti’s face lifted, almost imperceptibly. Then her eyes grew hard. “Release him from prison.”

Nakhtmin nodded, then disappeared down the hall and out into the darkness.

My father turned to me. “Do you trust your husband?”

I stared at him. Nakhtmin could release Horemheb from prison and together they could take the crown. “He would never do that,” I promised.

Rebellion swept through the streets. Egyptians were taking up pitchforks and scythes, gathering whatever weapons they could. Every hour a servant ran into the Audience Chamber with news: They had attacked the Temple of Aten in the hills. They were marching on the palace, demanding the return of their gods, a return to Thebes, and the burning of Amarna.

Kiya sat in a chair below the dais, her face a mask of agony. I tried to imagine what she felt. She was the Second Wife to a dead king. Her child would have no father. And when the child came, if it was a son, he would be a threat to Nefertiti’s crown.

Only Panahesi could salvage her destiny.

The doors of the Audience Chamber opened and Nakhtmin entered with Horemheb behind him. Prison had not been kind to the general. His hair had grown past his shoulders and a dark beard shadowed his jaw. But there was fire in his eyes, a crazed determination that I had never seen in any man before. My father stood up. “What is the news?”

Horemheb advanced. “The people stormed the Temple of Aten. The body of Pharaoh was burned beyond salvation.”

My father looked to Nakhtmin, who added, “The people have stormed the treasury as well. The gold is secure, but seven guards were killed. As well as Vizier Panahesi.”

There was a chilling scream. Kiya stood from her chair, her thighs red with blood. But Horemheb was advancing upon the throne. “I have been in prison on order of your husband, Your Majesty.”

“And I am reinstating you, General,” Nefertiti said swiftly, ignoring Kiya’s screams. There was no time for anything but the throne. “You shall take control of the army with General Nakhtmin.” She returned my husband’s position. But Kiya’s blood was coming thick and fast.

“My box!” I shouted. “Someone bring me my yarrow!”

“And how do I know you will not betray me?” Horemheb demanded of her.

“How do I know you will not betray me?” Nefertiti asked.

I called for servants to find water and linen.

“The reign of Aten is done,” Nefertiti added. “I will compensate you for what you have lost. Bring me to my people so that I may tell them that a new reign has come upon us.”

“And the Hittites?” Horemheb demanded.

“We will fight,” she swore, gripping the crook and flail. “We will wipe them from the face of the East!”

I rushed to make a pillow out of a linen robe for Kiya. “Breathe,” I told her. When I looked around the Audience Chamber, I saw that we had been abandoned. Only seven servants remained, the loyal few who had not fled to Thebes. “We must get her to another room!” I cried, and the servants helped me to carry her.

“Please don’t let her kill my child,” she whispered. Kiya gripped my hand with such fury that I was forced to look into her eyes. “Please.”

I realized of whom she was speaking. “She would never…” The words died on my lips.

The servants took her into a guest chamber and laid her on the bed, placing pillows behind her.

“We don’t have a birthing chair,” I said. “I won’t—”

Kiya screamed, digging her nails into my flesh. “Raise my child,” she begged.

“No. You will survive this,” I promised. “You will get well.” But even as I said this, I knew she would not. She was too pale, the child was coming too early. Beads of sweat lined her brow.

“Swear you will raise him,” she pleaded. “Only you can protect him from her. Please.” And in a gush of water, the screaming child came. A prince. A Prince of Egypt. Kiya looked down at her son, his lusty wails piercing an empty guest chamber without any amulets or images of Tawaret, and her eyes filled with tears. A knife was brought and the cord was cut. Kiya fell back against the cushions. “Name him Tutankhaten,” she said, grasping my fingers as if we’d never been enemies. Then she closed her eyes, and the peace on her face was gentle and soft. She exhaled, and her body grew rigid.

A servant washed the child and wrapped him in linen, pressing the tiny bundle into my arms, and I looked down at the boy who was to become my son, the child of my sister’s most bitter rival. I lay him on his mother, so he could know the feel of her breast and that she’d loved him. Then tears welled in my eyes and I cried. I cried for Kiya, for Nefertiti and her children, for Tiye, and for the infant Tutankhaten, who would never know his mother’s kiss. Then I cried for Egypt, because in my heart I knew we had abandoned our gods and brought this death upon us.