Dreamers (35 page)

of the tomb. One priest, his face hidden by the jackal mask of

Anubis, supported the immense coffin while the chief mor-

tuary priest symbolically restored speech to the dead king by

touching the king’s painted lips with an adze-shaped instru-

ment. The ceremony was called wep-ro, “the Opening of the

Mouth,” and the priests believed the rite would give speech

to the king in his new life.

Tuthmosis, looking young and frail in his heavy white head

covering, stood with the other male mourners at the right of

the portico. Tuya and the other women sat behind him, while

Queen Merit-Amon wept and wailed at the side of the coffin.

The time had come for the dead to depart. The jackal-

masked priest gently pulled the queen away from the coffin,

then a score of attendants placed the gilded box inside the

granite sarcophagus. Before the heavy lid was put in place,

Amenhotep’s wives walked by, each of them draping flowers

over his painted coffin. When all the wives had passed, a score

of shaven-headed priests heaved the lid into position, then lifted

the sarcophagus onto rollers and proceeded to push this most

intimate of the king’s chambers through the tomb’s tunnels.

Beneath the painted gazes of numerous gods and god-

desses, the priests trudged to the somber rhythm of a funeral

chant until they reached Amenhotep’s burial chamber, an

immense hall decorated with paintings that told the story of

the king’s life. The ceiling was supported by two rows of

pillars decorated with life-sized images of the king in the

presence of the gods. Beyond the last two pillars, steps led into

a crypt where the great king’s sarcophagus was laid on a

granite slab.

When the sarcophagus and the canopic jars had been set

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in their places, the priests and relatives filled the rooms of the

tomb with supplies for the king’s afterlife: furniture, baskets

of food, pottery, glass, garlands of flowers, jewels, treasures,

funerary statues of servants, slaves and wives. Several cham-

bers already bulged with items Amenhotep had accumulated

in his lifetime.

Tuya walked past a king’s ransom in gold and riches as she

carried her contribution for the king’s eternal life: a small ala-

baster vase on which she had painted the likeness of her baby,

Pharaoh’s grandson. Wading through an assortment of earthly

treasures, she crept to the innermost burial chamber and knelt

before the remains of the man who had been her sovereign

and father-in-law. After pressing her lips to the cold stone of

the sarcophagus, she tenderly placed the vase within a wreath

of lotus blossoms.

Queen Merit-Amon stood with wide eyes near the entrance

to the burial chamber, and Tuya slipped her arm about the

woman’s waist as the priests installed magic amulets to guard

against tomb robbers. As others lit the golden torches that

would illuminate the chamber after they had gone, Tuya whis-

pered in the queen’s ear and coaxed her from the room. Care-

fully sweeping their footsteps from the sand as they backed

out, the priests left the tomb, shutting and sealing the inner

passageways one by one.

By the time Re’s sun boat had sailed to the west, Egypt had

a new king.

Chapter Twenty-Five

One aspect of her husband’s coronation caught Tuya by

surprise. Even before the dead pharaoh was entombed in his

grave, rebellion stirred in the northern nomes. To ensure that

the Mitanni Empire would enforce the peace and maintain

Egyptian interests in the northernmost lands, the royal coun-

selors unearthed an old treaty between Amenhotep and the

king of the Mitanni tribe. Amenhotep had promised that one

of the Mitanni king’s daughters would marry the next king of

Egypt, so a hasty union between Tuthmosis and Mutemwiya,

a Mitanni princess, was arranged. Narmer, Amenhotep’s

faithful courtier, was dispatched to escort the bride to Thebes

with a copy of the marriage contract. The agreement stipu-

lated that the princess be designated as the Great Wife, Queen

Mutemwiya. Since Tuthmosis had no royal sisters to vie for

the title, the princess was readily accepted.

On her husband’s coronation day, Tuya found herself

standing with her son among various other members of the

royal family as her husband and his new wife were crowned

King and Queen of the Two Kingdoms. Tuya told herself the

new marriage did not matter. The emotion she felt for her

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husband usually vacillated between affection and pity, and

Mutemwiya would certainly struggle as she adapted to a new

country, husband and king.

Tuya had never dreamed of wearing a crown. Even though

she had borne the king’s son, she had never thought she might

actually reign over the land of her birth. No, Mutemwiya was

a royal heiress, and the people would give her their allegiance.

Tuya refused to allow anger or jealousy to prick her heart.

The foreign queen was lovely, Tuya had to admit. Older

than Tuya and probably twice the age of Tuthmosis, the

woman moved through the great hall with a subtle and sen-

suous bearing, her golden face marked by crimson lips and

brilliant black eyes. Her hair, which she had not yet cut in

order to adopt the Egyptian wig, spilled to her waist in a

plume of black gold. Rumor had it that she had already buried

one husband, and as she watched the coronation, Tuya thought

the woman looked more like Pharaoh’s mother than his bride.

Yet the eyes of every man in the room followed Mutem-

wiya as she moved toward her throne at Tuthmosis’s side. She

walked with the hard grace of one who has total control of

herself, and her boldly confident eyes rebuffed every man who

dared to look at her…except one. Narmer met the woman’s

flinty gaze head-on. Even as Mutemwiya stepped up to the

dais and slipped her hand into Tuthmosis’s, Tuya saw

Narmer’s bold eyes rake the new queen with a fiercely pos-

sessive look. What, she wondered, had transpired between

these two on the journey from Mitanni?

As the high priest’s voice droned in the stillness, filling the

room with blessings of prosperity and promises of fealty,

Tuya allowed her eyes to wander. Potiphar, watchful and

paternal, stood at the head of the guard, his hooded eyes

searching the gathering as though assassins waited behind

every pillar. Beneath the Gold of Praise, the brown skin of his

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neck sagged with age and weariness. He was an old, tired

man, ready to meet his gods—if he had any.

Sighing, Tuya returned her attention to the wedding canopy

as the gathering cheered her husband and his new queen.

Tuthmosis sat bolt upright in bed and stared into the

darkness, trying to see whatever it was that had slashed his

sleep like a knife. Fear shook his body from toe to hair and

twisted his face into an expression he was glad no one could

see. He was alone, completely and totally alone with nameless

terror, and he yearned for Tuya.

“Abasi!” He shouted for the eunuch who attended him. His

grasping fingers found the silken cord hanging by his bed, and

he yanked it sharply. “Bomani! Chike!”

His servant, his guard and his priest appeared in the

doorway, their figures backlit by torches burning in the hall-

way. The servant and guard immediately prostrated them-

selves, but the old priest took his time.

“Rise, all of you,” Tuthmosis said, his nerves at a full

stretch. “Abasi, light the torches, then bring me the royal wife

Tuya! Bomani—guard the door, and let no one in except

Tuya. I fear for my life. Chike, high priest of Osiris—”

As light flooded the chamber, the aging priest inclined his

bald head. “Yes, my king?”

“Say prayers for me. Offer sacrifices of blood, of fruit, of

incense. Make sure the gods are pleased with my kingship.”

The old man’s face remained as inscrutable as stone, but

he bowed. “It shall be done.”

“Do it now.” With white knuckles, Tuthmosis gripped the

sheet that covered him. “Abasi, why do you wait? Fetch Tuya

now!”

The eunuch sprinted out of the chamber as fast as his bare

feet could carry him, and Bomani moved toward the door. The

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priest prepared to follow, but Tuthmosis did not want to be

abandoned. “Wait—priest,” he said, searching for words that

would not reveal the terror that had frozen his heart. “Have

any of the astrologers seen an ill omen in the skies?”

Chike lifted a brow. “None, my king.”

“And the river—it flows according to schedule?”

“The goddess waters our land as always. You have won her

favor, divine one.”

“The cattle—I have not heard of any plagues on the

cattle—”

“There are none, my king. All is well in the land.”

The door opened and Tuya hurried into the room, clad

only in a straight gown and a shawl. She had risen in such a

hurry she forgot to don her wig, and despite his terror, the sight

of her short, rumpled hair brought a smile to the king’s face.

None of the other wives would have come in such a dishev-

eled state.

“O Pharaoh, live forever,” Tuya whispered, falling to her

knees.

“Chike, you may go,” Tuthmosis commanded. When the

aged priest had closed the door behind him, Tuthmosis

crawled to the end of his bed and peered down at his wife. “I

am frightened,” he whispered, his voice strangely thin in his

own ears. “I need you.”

Her soft, understanding eyes met his. Without speaking,

she rose and climbed into the royal bed.

“There, my king,” she whispered, slipping her arms around

him. “Tell me what has upset you.”

“I don’t know what it is,” he murmured, allowing her to

draw his head onto her shoulder. “For two nights now I have

been awakened in the darkness. An evil premonition holds me

in its grip and I cannot break free.”

“Have you told anyone of this?”

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He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I do not want them to see

my fear. And I don’t know why I am afraid. I was not afraid

to meet the Syrians, or to lead chariots into battle against the

fierce Nubians. I am not afraid to die, yet this terror sends my

blood sliding through my veins like needles. A god should not

fear anything.”

She lowered her forehead to his in silent understanding.

Grateful, he reached for her and lightly pressed his lips to hers.

The gulf that had once separated them had lessened, and even

though Mutemwiya sat on the throne next to him, he still

considered Tuya his favorite wife. She was the only one who

understood him, the only one who never laughed at his dreams

or scorned his fears. He loved her as he loved his gods, but

though they demanded his attention, Tuya asked nothing of

him. Sometimes he wished she would…

“Sleep, husband,” she whispered, pulling him down to lie

on perfumed sheets. “I will watch over you. If the terror comes

again, wake and tell me of it, and together we shall decide

what is to be done.”

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

Tuthmosis looked around the chamber to make sure the

torches still burned, then he lowered his head to the softness

of Tuya’s body and murmured his thanks through the em-

bracing folds of sleep.

Tuya stifled a yawn as her husband slept. She had promised

to stay awake, but their son had kept her up late the previous

night. The irresistible warmth of sleep bore down on her, and

she struggled to keep her eyes open—

“Horus, help me!”

She startled as her husband sat up, his eyes like black

holes in his pale face. “I know,” he said, his voice resonating

with fear and awe. “I have dreamed, Tuya, twice! In this light

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I see clearly, for the demons of darkness have not stolen the

visions away.”

“You had a dream?”

“A vision as real as the dream when the Sphinx spoke to

me.” He brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his

arms around them. “But the dreams are not clear. I see the

visions, I recall every detail, but there is no voice to explain

it. Since Horus has spoken to me before, why does he not

speak now?”

“I don’t know, husband.” Tuya pressed her lips together.

“Perhaps it is not Horus who speaks to you.”

“Another god? But my priests speak for the others. Every

day I hear a score of messages from all the local deities. Why

would one of them come to me in a dream?”

“Perhaps…it is a god we do not know.” She shifted until

she faced him. “Long ago, husband, I knew a man who said

an invisible god spoke to him in dreams. He called this god

the Almighty One.”

“An invisible god?” For a brief moment his face seemed

to open. Tuya glimpsed bewilderment, a quick flicker of fear,