Dreamers (34 page)

know you are telling the truth?”

Yosef froze as the silent voice spoke to his heart, then he

met Taharka’s steady gaze. “Pharaoh’s eldest son will die

before today’s sun sets,” he said, stunned by the awful reve-

lation that had come to him. “You will know I speak truly

when you hear of this thing.”

At dinner that day, Prince Webensennu plucked a poisoned

piece of fruit from Pharaoh’s bowl and died within the hour.

Potiphar and his guards surrounded the royal kitchens, where

a junior baker confessed to the crime. Two days later, under

torture, the condemned man exposed a year-old conspiracy

that had been orchestrated by Pharaoh’s chief baker and

funded by a group of rebel Syrians. The poisoning of Pha-

raoh’s taster many months before had been the first attempt

to murder the divine king.

Satisfied with the answers he had received, Potiphar left his

guards with the nearly dead traitor and stalked to the great hall

where a somber king was attempting to observe his birthday.

Potiphar did not bother to bow as he entered. Amenhotep sat

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on his throne, untouched bowls of rich food spread before

him, his royal visage cloaked in grief. The queen and other

family members ate with little enthusiasm, their eyes occa-

sionally darting toward the place where Webensennu usually

sat with his wives.

Pharaoh’s brow lifted when Potiphar halted before him.

“The murderers have been found,” the captain announced,

bowing his head. “Two bakers in your kitchens are guilty,

urged to commit this crime by the chief baker now in my

prison. They were paid in silver by the Syrian dignitaries who

sat at meat with Pharaoh some months ago.”

Pharaoh stood and held a quivering hand over the banquet-

ing assembly. “Let the chief baker be removed from the prison

and hanged on a tree outside the city walls. Let those who con-

spired with him be killed with the sword. And let all their

bodies remain in place for the wild animals, for they do not

deserve to enter immortality.”

Potiphar bowed again. “It shall be done. But there still re-

mains the matter of Taharka, your cupbearer.” He looked up,

reminding the grief-stricken king of unfinished business. “We

could not tell whether the first attempt involved food or wine,

and Taharka has awaited your judgment in prison.”

Pharaoh took a deep breath and barreled his chest. “Let the

cupbearer be restored to his former position and cleared of all

suspicion.” The king’s eyes turned to meet those of his queen.

“I have lost a son. Let no more innocent blood be shed.”

When the seventy days of mourning for Prince Webensennu

had passed, Pharaoh proclaimed that his fourteen-year-old second

son, Abayomi, was henceforth to be known as Menkheprure,

Beloved of Osiris, Tuthmosis, Crown Prince of Egypt. Tuya

watched her husband’s young shoulders brace for responsibility

as his thoughts grew heavier during the months of mourning.

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Though he had told her of his strange vision before the

Sphinx, she had not truly expected him to become Crown

Prince. But as soon as he was proclaimed heir, her husband,

the fourth to be named Tuthmosis, began to consider plans by

which the Great Sphinx might be evacuated from the sand that

had all but smothered it.

And Tuya, who had steadily and quietly prayed for her

friend Taharka’s safety, thanked the Almighty God for the

cupbearer’s release.

Tuya left her baby with a wet nurse and slipped from her

chamber to seek Taharka in the palace kitchens. Several

startled servants, unaccustomed to the sight of a royal lady in

the workrooms, dropped bowls and trays as they hurried to

prostrate themselves at her approach. “Do not trouble your-

selves,” she said, glancing around. “Where is Taharka?”

One of the slaves pointed toward a back room, and Tuya

startled even the balding butler when she stepped through the

doorway. “By Seth’s eyeballs, I didn’t expect you to come,”

Taharka blustered, struggling to lower himself to his knees.

“Rise, Taharka, I came to congratulate you, not to accept

homage,” Tuya said, injecting a teasing note into her voice.

“I was distressed when you were arrested. I have asked my

god to return you safely.”

“Thanks to the gods, I am safe,” the slave answered, wip-

ing his hands on the stained apron over his kilt. “And thanks

to the divine pharaoh, of course. And to you, naturally. And

to Horus—”

“You need not pretend with me, old friend,” Tuya whis-

pered. She paused, wondering how she might ask the question

badgering her heart. “You were a long time in the prison.”

“Six months.” Taharka shrugged. “I’d do it again if Pharaoh

demanded it. I won’t be having it said I’m disloyal or bitter

about it—”

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“Be assured that I will say nothing of this conversation,”

Tuya said, wishing the cupbearer could forget that she was

married to a royal prince. She wanted to ask a specific ques-

tion, but Taharka knew nothing of her love for Yosef, and to

tell him about it would be the worst kind of disloyalty to her

husband. And Pharaoh could not abide disloyalty.

“Did you…meet many people in prison?” she asked, pre-

tending to study a bowl of grapes.

“By the gods, no.” Taharka leaned against a wall. “We were

kept in a dark cell no bigger than this workroom. Much

smaller, in fact. The baker, may the gods condemn his soul for

all eternity, and I saw no one but the warden and his slave. The

baker—and you may pass this on to whomever you like—

behaved as a guilty man from the first day we were thrust

together. He complained and uttered treasonous statements, he

even called your son a brat, yes, that was his exact word—”

“Did you ever,” she asked, unable to remain silent, “hear

of a prisoner called Yosef?”

Taharka blinked. “We were kept alone, I tell you, that

cursed baker and I. A most foul and disagreeable sort he was,

a loathsome toad—”

The cupbearer knew nothing. “Thank you, Taharka,” Tuya

murmured, backing out of the room. “I wish you well.”

The Nile rose and fell twice more, blessing the land with

bounty.

Now the heir apparent, Prince Menkheprure left his wife

and son at the palace and began his military training. His

valiant efforts in battle earned him the title “Conqueror of

Syria,” and Tuya watched her dreaming husband become as

fierce a warrior as his father. After his engagement in Syria,

the courageous prince led a campaign in Nubia and proved

himself worthy to assume his father’s throne. Tuya saw little

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of him during those years, for when he was at home in Thebes,

her husband spent hours being tutored by the high priests of

Osiris for the role that would one day be his. A godling, it

seemed, had much to learn.

As Tuya’s husband equipped himself for the throne, the

priests prepared the people for the eventuality of his ascen-

sion to power. They told the story of how Amon consulted

with the other gods to see who should bear his divine child.

Thoth suggested Queen Teo, one of Amenhotep’s many wives,

and Amon visited her in the physical form of Pharaoh so a

divine child could be conceived. “Not once, but twice Amon

visited a wife of Pharaoh,” the priests explained to the people.

“Pharaoh’s second son is as divine as his first son was.”

The afterbirth that had followed Menkheprure’s body into

the world was brought from its place of preservation.

Wrapped as a mummy painted with a child’s face, the deified

placenta was known as the Khonsu. Just as Pharaoh’s royal

Khonsu was carried on a standard before the king on all state

occasions, so Menkheprure’s preserved placenta was paraded

before the people whenever he appeared in the royal court.

Soon just the appearance of the young prince’s Khonsu elic-

ited rapturous applause and cheering from curious crowds of

well-wishers.

As Menkheprure progressed in his royal education, Tuya

noticed that Pharaoh’s smile widened in approval and relief.

He had appeased the gods, he had led his kingdom, he had

prepared his successor.

Shortly after celebrating his forty-fifth birthday, Amenho-

tep II retired to his chamber and surrendered to an illness that

had sapped his strength for many months.

“My father’s death is the beginning of his journey to res-

urrection,” the crown prince proclaimed to the assembled

court the next day. “The gods once lived on earth, begat

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children, and died, yet they still live and have needs. Like

them, my father has passed from one state of life to another,

and we will help him prepare for the needs of the other world.”

The new king sought Tuya’s eyes for an instant of reassu-

rance. She gave him a smile of encouragement, then he

cleared his throat and continued. “We will mourn for seventy

days while the king’s body is prepared for immortality.”

During the seventy days of mourning, Tuya kept her three-

year-old son by her side as much as possible. The stubby-

legged toddler seemed to be the only person in the world she

could love without risk, for just as Abayomi had become Prince

Menkheprure, her prince had become Pharaoh, and Pharaoh

belonged to his people. Now that her husband wore the red and

white double crown, priests, counselors and diplomats would

hold more power and influence over him than a wife. Tuthmo-

sis IV would not need her approval, for a host of courtiers

yearned to assure him of his strength, wisdom and authority.

And now that he was King, her husband no longer needed

her as a wife. A harem of the kingdom’s most beautiful

women awaited his pleasure and attention.

Yet in those early days, Tuthmosis’s devotion and adora-

tion were reserved for the god who had spoken from the

Sphinx. As the young pharaoh prepared for his coronation, he

ordered slave crews to clear the sand from around the mam-

moth statue. Workmen labored in the blazing sun to repair the

sacred figure, and between the monument’s outstretched paws,

Tuthmosis mounted a special stela engraved with the notice

that he had restored the Sphinx in order to honor the god’s

prophecy. Tuthmosis believed that the Sphinx had brought

about his kingship, and the impressionable young man was de-

termined to honor the god who could work such a miracle.

As Tuthmosis attended to the Sphinx, the priests attended

to the earthly remains of Amenhotep II. Tuya had beheld the

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face of death many times, but since her fellow slaves counted

for nothing in the afterlife, their bodies were tossed into the Nile

as food for the crocodiles. But Amenhotep had spent the latter

part of his life preparing for paradise, and his divinity demanded

that he be mummified with all ceremony and propriety.

Careful not to intrude, Tuya listened from a corner of the

throne room as every morning the high priest of Osiris re-

ported the progress of the dead king’s funeral rites. First the

king’s viscera were removed and placed in canopic jars, then

the priests split his body open with a flint. After seventy days

of wrapping and encoffining, the royal cadaver, desiccated,

resewn and reshaped, would be carried to the tomb to enact

the entry of the king into the underworld. Tuthmosis would

be required to preside over this elaborate ritual, for as the dead

king had abdicated his earthly powers in favor of his son, the

new king would establish the dead pharaoh as a god in the

other world.

The Nile had just begun to recede when the seventy days

drew to a close. Tuya clutched her tiny son’s hand as she

joined the funeral procession and left the Nile’s east bank, the

land of the living. Hundreds of mourners, all dressed in white,

crossed the swollen river on ferryboats and walked deep into

the western valleys where jagged cliffs rose like armed war-

riors. Here in the Valley of the Tombs, the eternal dwellings

of the dead waited for yet another king.

An ox-drawn hearse, symbolizing the sun-god’s blazing

boat, led the procession with Amenhotep’s mummified re-

mains, and behind it followed a sledge bearing the four

canopic jars containing the king’s liver, lungs, stomach and

intestines. Behind Pharaoh’s body marched a host of slaves

carrying the furniture and other equipment Amenhotep would

require in the life to come.

A freshly painted portico had been erected before the tomb,

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and at the left end of the shelter a pair of mummers performed

a funeral dance. The special mortuary priests, the hemu-ka,

slid the coffin from its sledge and stood it upright at the door