“The queen has chosen her to be the wife of the crown prince,” Ay announced.
We were overjoyed. Nefertiti had risen above any jealousy we might have harbored in our hearts. She had opened the door for us to become part of the pharaoh's family, and her good fortune elevated us above the rest. I congratulated her from the depths of my heart, and so did Mutnedjmet. Nefertiti told us everything that had happened between her and the Great Queen, but I was so excited that I did not really listen properly. In fact, I do not recall any of what she said. But what is the importance of words compared to the event itself?
The marriage ceremony was so lavish that it reminded all the elders of the wedding of Amenhotep III. We became related to royalty, and my dear Nefertiti appointed me queen's matron, a position that ranked next to princess. In marriage Nefertiti and the prince became one soul that could be separated only by death. She shared his joy and his sorrow until just hours before the end. She managed with him the affairs of the country with the skill of a woman born to the throne. She shared with him the weight of his religious message as though she had been chosen by the One God to be his priestess. Believe me, she was a great queen in every way, so I was shocked at the news of her sudden desertion of her husband in extreme adversity. That was perhaps the only decision she made without consulting me. I hurried to her palace and sat at her feet, overcome by tears. She did not seem to be affected by my grief.
“Go in peace,” she said calmly.
“Those who have abandoned the king are only complying to protect him from danger, but you…,” I pleaded.
“Go in peace,” she interrupted me coldly.
“And you, Your Highness?” I asked in disbelief.
“I will not leave this palace,” she replied.
I was about to say more but she stopped me with a firm voice. “Go in peace.”
When I left her palace I was the most miserable woman in the universe. For a long time I tried to think what could have driven her to disappear and isolate herself in that way. Only one reason seemed feasible: Nefertiti had so dreaded seeing the king fall that she preferred, in a moment of desperation, to flee. Yet I am certain that she left with the intention of returning to him after all the others had gone, just as I am certain that she must have tried to return but was prevented by force. Do not believe anyone who says otherwise. You will hear conflicting accounts and every man will claim to have spoken the truth, but they all have their biases. Life has taught me not to trust or believe anyone. Here we are now, so much time has passed, and I still wonder: Did Akhenaten deserve such a sad end? He was a noble, truthful, compassionate man. Why did they not return his love, why did they attack him like animals, tearing him and his kingdom apart as if he was their enemy? I saw him in my dreams a few years ago. He was lying on the ground, blood seeping out of a deep wound in his neck. I'm sure they killed him and made out he had died a natural death.
Mutnedjmet
Mutnedjmet was in her early forties, beautiful, slim, her honey-colored eyes gleaming with intelligence. I felt in her presence a distance that could not be readily crossed. Mutnedjmet is the daughter of Ay and Tey, and sister of Nefertiti. She lives in a private suite in Ay's palace. She never married, though she had several suitors. Why this should be remains a great mystery. The moment I sat before her and spread my papers she began to talk.
It was destined that we take part in the tragedy of the heretic. My father Ay was chosen to be his teacher, and through him we heard about the prince's peculiar ideas. From the very beginning I did not think well of him. I doubted his sanity, and in time I was proven right. Nefertiti, on the other hand, took a different stand. I had always known that she had an insatiable craving for attention. She would often whip up storms from trivial arguments just to entertain herself. Yet I was still surprised when she declared her opinion on the ravings of the crown prince. There is no question that she had a brilliant, astute mind. But her most virulent flaw was that she was incapable of being sincere. Thus she renounced the worship of Amun and replaced him with Aten. Indeed, she renounced all the gods and declared her faith in a god that we had never heard of before.
“Father,” I overheard her say one afternoon, “tell the crown prince that I believe in his God.”
“Don't be foolish,” Father cried. “You do not realize the gravity of what you are saying.”
I was afraid that her heresy would bring a curse upon us. My faith in my gods was never shaken. Yes, I declared my faith in the new god, but only out of necessity. After all, I was related to the pharaoh's family. Besides, I thought that I could probably defend my gods more effectively from within than if I had been cast out. But you must understand that my faith never faltered. Never.
I saw the heretic for the first time on the thirtieth anniversary of King Amenhotep III's rule. His physical appearance was as distorted as his ideas. Hideous and sickly, that was how I found him from the beginning. Don't believe what you heard about Akhenaten and Nefertiti's noble love. Nefertiti and I were raised together. I knew her too well to believe that that repulsive, effeminate creature had anything in common with the man of her dreams, whom she had longed for since we were young girls in our father's palace.
During the Sed festival, Nefertiti's true nature came out-a trained whore, exposing her beauty without shame. I remember she tried to get the attention of Haremhab, but he rejected her banality. When I was invited to perform before the king and queen, I danced with the dignity of a decent young woman from a noble family. Then I chose a song praising our great pharaoh:
As for Nefertiti, she appalled the audience with an obscene dance; of course she won the admiration of some vile spectators. To make matters worse, she sang like a born and bred whore:
