Nefertiti (24 page)

Amunhotep glared across the room at the windows, and then at the linens on the bed. “Give me blankets!” he bellowed, and women came running. “Blankets and wool. Find the Vizier Ay. Have him bring the physician.”

“No!” Nefertiti sat up.

Amunhotep brushed the hair from her brow. “You are unwell. You must see a physician.”

“Mutny is all that I need.”

“Your sister is not a physician!” Then he leaned across her bed and grabbed her arm desperately. “You
cannot
be ill. You
cannot
leave me.”

She closed her eyes, her dark lashes fluttering against her high pale cheeks. “I hear you have a son,” she said quietly and smiled, resting her small hand on her stomach.

“You are the only thing that matters to me. We are going build monuments to the gods together,” he swore.

“Yes. A temple to Aten.” She smiled weakly, playing her part so well that tears welled in Amunhotep’s eyes.

“Nefertiti!” His cry of anguish was so real that I felt sorry for him. He threw himself across her bed and I panicked.

“Stop it! Stop it or you will hurt the child!”

There was a knock on the door, and my father appeared with the physician at his side. Nefertiti passed him an anxious glance.

“Don’t be afraid,” my father said meaningfully. “He can only help.”

Something passed between them, and she allowed the physician to draw blood from her arm. He swirled the dark liquid in a pan to see its color, and we all stood and waited for him to read the signs. The old man cleared his throat. He looked once at my father, nodding briefly, then at Pharaoh.

“What is it?” Amunhotep demanded.

The physician lowered his head. “I am afraid she is very ill, Your Highness.”

The color drained from Amunhotep’s face. His champion, his wife, his most ardent supporter, sick now with his child. Amunhotep stole a glance at his beloved Nefertiti, whose hair spilled over the pillows like black ink. She looked beautiful and eternal, like a sculpture in death. He turned on the physician. “You will do
everything possible
,” he commanded. “You will do
everything
in your power to bring her back.”

“Of course,” the man said quickly. “But she must have rest. Nothing must disturb her with the child. No terrible news, no—”

“Just heal her!”

The physician nodded vigorously and rushed to his bag, producing several bottles and a vial of ointment. I peered closer, to see if I could recognize them. What if they were dangerous? What if they truly made her sick? I passed a look to my father, whose face remained expressionless, and I realized what it must be. Rosemary water.

The physician administered the draft and we waited the rest of the night with my sister, watching her drift into sleep. My mother came, then Ipu and Merit brought fresh juices and linens. As the night wore on, my mother returned to her heated chamber while Amunhotep, my father, and I remained. But as I watched her repose, I grew resentful. If she wasn’t so selfish, my father and I wouldn’t have to partake in such a charade. We wouldn’t have to stand like sentinels around her bed, warming our hands by the fire while she tucked herself neatly into her covers and Amunhotep caressed her cheek. When even my father left, he turned and said significantly to me, “Watch her, Mutnodjmet.” He closed the door, and Amunhotep went to stand over Nefertiti’s bed.

“How ill is she?” the king of Egypt demanded. His face was long and angular in the shadows.

I swallowed my fear. “I am afraid for her, Your Highness.” It wasn’t a lie.

Amunhotep looked down at his sleeping queen. She was a perfect beauty, and I knew in my own life I would never be loved with such obsession. “The healers will bring her back,” he vowed. “She is carrying our child. The future of Egypt.”

Before I could stop myself, I had asked him, “What about Nebnefer, Your Highness?”

He looked at me strangely, as if he had forgotten about Kiya’s heir. “She is Second Wife. Nefertiti is my queen, and she is loyal to me. She understands my vision of a greater Egypt. An Egypt that is guided by the Almighty Aten. Our children will embrace the sun and become the most powerful rulers the gods have ever blessed.”

My voice caught in my throat. “And Amun?”

“Amun is
dead
,” he replied. “But I will resurrect my grandfather’s dream of Pharaohs who aren’t cowed by the power of the Amun priests. I will honor his name and be remembered forever for what I’ve done. What
we’ve
done,” he said forcefully, looking down at Nefertiti, his battle consort, his staunchest ally. For any advance Kiya made, Nefertiti was there suggesting a new statue, a new courtyard, a glittering new temple.

He remained at her bedside the entire night. I watched him, wondering what would possess a man to destroy the gods of his people and raise in their place a protector no one had heard of.
Greed
, I thought.
His hatred of everything his father believes in, and his greed for power. Without the Amun priests, he will control everything
. I sat on a thickly cushioned chair and watched him caress my sister’s cheek. He was tender, brushing his hand across her face, inhaling the lavender scent of her hair. When I fell asleep, he was still beside her, praying to Aten for a miracle.

When I awoke the next morning, my eyes felt like small weights in my head. Already at the door was a messenger with news from Thebes, dressed in lapis and gold. Yet Amunhotep would hear none of it. “No one is to disturb the queen,” he said forcefully.

Panahesi appeared behind the messenger. “Your Highness, it is about the prince.”

Amunhotep crossed the chamber. “What is it? The queen is ill.”

Panahesi frowned, stepping into the room. “I am sorry to hear that Her Highness has taken ill.” He peered across the antechamber to my sister’s bedroom and narrowed his eyes. “Queen Tiye and the Elder have sent their blessings to your son,” he continued. “The Birth Feast, with His Highness’s permission, shall be tonight.”

Amunhotep looked toward Nefertiti’s chamber. Her door was open, and Panahesi could see her lying on the bed, Merit and Ipu fluttering around her.

“Go,” my sister encouraged from the next room. “He is your son.”

Amunhotep crossed back to her chamber and rested his hand on Nefertiti’s. “I will not leave you.”

“The gods have given you a son.” She smiled wanly. “Go, give thanks.” She beamed at him, all beauty and munificence, and I realized how craftily she had set up this scene: She was the one giving him permission to go, rather than Pharaoh telling her he would be gone in celebration. “Go,” she whispered.

“I will think of you all night,” he promised.

In the antechamber, Panahesi studied me. “I am so sorry to hear of the queen’s illness. When did it happen?”

I felt my cheeks warm with shame. “Last night.”

“About the same time as the prince’s birth,” he remarked.

I said nothing. Then Amunhotep emerged from Nefertiti’s chamber and Panahesi tried a smile. “Shall we go to the feast, Your Highness?”

“Yes, but I am in no mood for celebration,” he warned.

As soon as they were gone, Nefertiti sat up in her bed.

“Panahesi knows,” I told her.

“Knows what?” she asked cheerfully, standing up and brushing her hair.

“He knows that you are lying.”

She turned so quickly that the hem of her robe spun around her ankles. “Who says that I’m lying? Who says that I’m not ill?”

I remained silent. She could fool the entire court of Memphis, but she could never fool me. I watched her change into a fresh sheath and call on Merit for fruit. “How long will you keep this up?” I demanded.

A smile began at the edges of her lips. “Until the novelty of a new prince has worn off.” She shrugged lightly. “And I am the center of Egypt again.”

The novelty didn’t last long—not with the building of the temple to Aten taking precedence over everything. And in three days, Nefertiti was miraculously well. The physician came and claimed it was a miracle. My father brought her
shedeh
from the winery and my mother squeezed out a few tears for the occasion. I was beginning to think we were more like entertainers than the ruling family of Egypt.

“What is the difference?” Nefertiti asked when I shared this thought with her. “Both require masks.”

“But it’s a lie. You lied. Don’t you love him at all?”

She stopped in the courtyard, where the chariots were waiting to take us to the building site of the new temple. The cobra on her crown, nestled in her dark hair, glinted in the sun. “I love him as much as any woman ever will. You don’t understand. You’re only fourteen. But love means lying.”

Amunhotep appeared through the arches, escorting my mother on his arm. They were laughing together, and I paused in shock.

“Your mother is a very charming woman,” Amunhotep said warmly, and Nefertiti gave my mother her widest smile.
My mother
.

“Yes,” she agreed. “The gods have blessed me in my family.”

Pharaoh helped my mother into my chariot and she flushed with pride. Then he held out his arm for Nefertiti and the procession began. A heavily armed cavalcade rode alongside us as we made for the site, the cool wind of Phaophi billowing their kilts. I wanted to lean over and ask my mother what Amunhotep had said to make her laugh. Then I thought that perhaps it was better I didn’t know.

We began our ascent up a hill, far above the Nile and the naked sweep of earth. Amunhotep wanted the best vantage point to see his building, and when the chariots rolled to a sudden halt armed guards fanned out in a circle around us. We descended and my mother whispered incredulously, “Great Osiris.”

I stood frozen, stunned by the sprawling landscape dotted with pillars that pierced the sky. “They must never stop.” Thousands of builders groaned under the weight of heavy columns, hoisting them up with ropes. The columned courtyard of Aten’s temple had been completed, as well as a chapel and a granite altar. This time, because such heavy work was being done, Amunhotep didn’t demand obeisance.

Panahesi appeared and bowed very low. “Your Highness.” He smiled, flattering as always. He turned to my sister. “My queen,” he said with less enthusiasm. “Shall we tour the god’s temple?”

Nefertiti passed Amunhotep a triumphant glance, as if this had been her present to him, and we descended the small hill to stroll through the chaos. Nefertiti wanted to look at every pillar, every mosaic, every cut stone.

In the artists’ quarters, Amunhotep stopped. “What is this?” he asked coldly.

A worker stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was built like a charioteer, with thick arms and a wide chest. “We are working on statues of Your Highness.” He bowed.

Amunhotep bent closer and saw the chiseled features of Pharaohs that artisans had been drawing for centuries. The perfect jaw, the long beard, the eyes rimmed in sweeps of kohl. He straightened and his face grew dark. “This isn’t me.”

The man faltered. He had depicted Pharaoh the way all Pharaohs had been depicted for the past thousand years.

“That isn’t me!” Amunhotep shouted. “My artwork should reflect me, should it not?”

The artisan stared at him in horror, then went down on one knee, bowing his head. All around him work had come to a stop. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Amunhotep whirled to face Panahesi. “Do you think I want the gods to confuse me with my father? With
Tuthmosis?
” he hissed.

Nefertiti stepped forward. “We shall have the rest of the sculptures done in our likeness,” she commanded.

Panahesi inhaled. “The artisans use grids. They will have to—”

“Then do it,” Nefertiti directed. She wrapped her arm around Amunhotep’s, and Pharaoh nodded in agreement. Then she led him away through the dirt and stone. Panahesi glowered after her. Then he looked down at the man with the thick arms.

“Fix it!”

“But how, Your Holiness?”

“Go and find the best sculptors in Memphis,” he shouted angrily.
“Now!”

The artist looked between himself and the other men. “But we are considered the best,” he replied.

“Then you will all be fired!” Panahesi raged. “You will find me an artist who can sculpt Pharaoh as he wishes or you will never work again.”