efforts were to no avail. Eventually the heretic died. Nefertiti still lives in her prison, bitter and regretful.
Had Egypt's fiercest enemy seized the throne after Amenhotep III, he could not have done as much damage as that accursed heretic.
Tey
Tey was the wife of the sage Ay. She was seventy years old, a woman of small stature but strong and charming. She had married Ay after the death of his first wife. Nefertiti was a child of one or two years at most when Tey married her father. Not too long after, Tey gave birth to Mutnedjmet. Tey was not a typical stepmother; she was extremely fond of Nefertiti. Likewise, when Nefertiti became queen, she chose Tey as one of her maids of honor and gave her the title of queen's matron.
I related to Tey the information I had obtained thus far. “I do not wish to encroach on your time. If you have nothing to add I shall leave you in peace.” But Tey began to tell her story.
I did not know the king all that well, despite the intimacy I shared with his wife. Indeed he addressed me personally only a few times. But his sweetness has never left me. My husband had been his tutor since he was a boy, so we got to hear a lot about him. Mutnedjmet and I were quite disturbed by his offensive opinions about Amun, his attraction to Aten, and finally his claim to have found a new god. Nefertiti, however, did not share our concerns.
I ought to tell you a few things about Nefertiti first. She was a very intelligent young woman, eager and passionate, inspired by beauty, and intensely drawn to the mystical questions of religion. She seemed so mature for her age that one day I said to Ay, “It seems that your daughter will become a priestess!”
Nefertiti and Mutnedjmet used to bicker sometimes, the way sisters do, but Nefertiti was always in the right. I do not recall a single time when I could place the blame on her. And she always made up with her sister, as an elder sister should do. As for her education, she was so very good that I was afraid my daughter might do something dreadful out of jealousy.
The first thing we noticed was that she would listen admiringly as her father told us about the crown prince. Then she seemed to be developing an immense liking for Aten. But when she broke the news that she now believed in Akhenaten's One and Only God, we were aghast. “But Akhenaten is a heretic,” Mutnedjmet said to Nefertiti.
“He has heard the voice of God,” Nefertiti replied confidently.
“Then you, too, are a heretic,” Mutnedjmet cried.
Nefertiti had a very beautiful voice, and we used to enjoy hearing her sing:
After she declared her new faith, we often heard her singing alone in the garden to her new god, but then we showed no enthusiasm, not even for her heavenly voice. We did not want to encourage her. I still remember clearly hearing her as I stood in my room combing my hair one morning:
Our palace became one of the first places where the hymns of the new religion echoed. Then one day we were invited to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of the coronation of Amenhotep III. We were allowed for the first time to extend the invitation to our daughters, so that they, too, could witness a celebration in the pharaonic palace. I was delighted at the idea that Nefertiti and Mutnedjmet might appeal to some of the eligible young men at the party, and I made sure they were dressed for the occasion. They wore beautiful flowing dresses, with embroidered shawls draped over their shoulders, and golden sandals with high straps.
When we arrived at the royal palace, we entered a hall the size of our entire house. Along the walls flaming torches encircled the guest seats. The throne was set up between two rows of seats for princes and princesses. The center of the room was left for the musicians and naked dancers. Slaves moved among the guests carrying censers and trays loaded with the most exquisite food and drink. I looked over the best of the young men in the hall. For my two daughters I fancied the aspiring officer Haremhab and the talented sculptor Bek. Then I saw how the eyes of the notables, Haremhab, Bek, Nakht, Mae, and many others, followed Nefertiti, particularly when the chance came for the young noblewomen to dance and sing before the king. My beloved Nefertiti danced so elegantly and sang with such a sweet, captivating voice that she outdid the professional singers. Perhaps for that one night I shared Mutnedjmet's silent jealousy. I found solace in thinking that if Nefertiti was married, Mutnedjmet's light could shine unrivaled. I watched Nefertiti curiously, to see if her attention was drawn to anyone in particular. I was surprised to see that she was looking toward her spiritual master, the crown prince. I glanced in his direction and was appalled by his strange appearance.
“I pictured him a giant,” Nefertiti whispered to me when our eyes met.
Yet her fascination was greater than her surprise, though I am certain she did not even dream what destiny had in store for her. When we returned to our palace I said to my husband, “The suitors will come knocking on our door, so be prepared.”
“The gods chart our destiny,” he replied in his usual calm voice.
When a day or two had passed, Ay delivered some surprising news to us. “The queen wishes to meet Nefertiti,” he said.
We were taken aback. “What does this mean, Ay?” I asked.
He pondered for a while, then said, “She may want to offer her a position in the palace.”
“But you must know more.”
“How can I know what is in the Great Queen's mind, Tey?”
Ay taught Nefertiti the protocol for meeting Her Majesty. I asked Amun to bless and protect her.
“I ask the protection of the One and Only God,” Nefertiti protested.
“Do not utter such foolishness in the presence of the queen,” Ay scolded her.
When she returned after meeting the queen she was so overwhelmed by emotion that she threw her arms around me and burst into tears.
