Nefertiti (43 page)

Udjai bowed. “It is an honor to do business with a general who would have made the Elder proud.”

We walked up the stone path, and I shivered in the chill that had settled over the desert. But there was warmth in Nakhtmin’s hand and I didn’t let it go. Inside the empty house, he lit the brazier and shadows moved across the ceiling.

My eyes welled with tears. We had crossed the threshold of an empty house together, and in every family of Egypt this meant the same thing. I held back my tears. “We are married now,” I said. “Only a few days ago I thought you were dead to me, and suddenly in the darkness of night we are together as husband and wife.”

Nakhtmin pressed against me, smoothing my black hair. “The gods have protected us, Mutnodjmet. There is destiny in our being together. My prayers to Amun have been answered.” He kissed me, and I wondered if he had been with another woman; he would have had his choice of any woman in Kadesh. But I looked into his eyes, and his urgency told me otherwise. He lifted my gown and we made love near the warmth of our small fire, over and over again. Toward morning, Nakhtmin rolled on his side to look at me.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because I am happy.” I laughed, but there was sadness and bitterness in it, too.

“Did you think I wouldn’t return?” he asked seriously.

My linen gown lay at the foot of the brazier, so he wrapped me in a fold of his cloak. I pressed my cheek against its warmth and nodded.

“They told me to forget you,” I whispered. My throat tightened, thinking of the night when I’d lost our child. “And then the poison…”

My husband clenched his jaw, wanting to say something violent, but tenderness overcame him. “There will be other children,” he promised, putting a hand to my stomach. “And no force of Hittites, however strong or numerous, could keep me from you.”

“But how did you defeat them?”

He told me the story of the night that Akhenaten’s Nubian guards had ordered him onto a barge with seven other men bound for the front at Kadesh. “I don’t doubt Pharaoh thought it was suicide, but he overestimated the Hittite forces. They are scattered throughout the north, and there weren’t enough of them to break through a coordinated defense. They’d chosen the city because they’d gambled that Akhenaten wouldn’t send soldiers to defend it. But they were wrong.”

“Only because he thought those he was sending were going to their
death
.”

“But the Hittites didn’t know that. The mayor of Kadesh didn’t know that. We have saved Egypt from a Hittite invasion,” he said, “but they’ll try again.”

“And next time they’ll be no one to save Kadesh, and when it falls, their march to Mitanni and then to Egypt will be unstoppable.”

“We could fight them,” he said, sure of himself, remembering the fear Egypt’s army had instilled during the time of the Elder. “We could stop them now.”

“But Akhenaten will never do it.” I conjured an image of Akhenaten, the white leather of his sandals and his pristine cloak that would never see battle. “Akhenaten the Builder,” I said contemptuously. “While the Hittites march south, Egypt’s soldiers will be busy sanding stone for his eternal city to Aten.”

Nakhtmin paused, considering his next words. “When we rode into the city, the soldiers were shocked to see your sister on every temple,” he confided. “Her image is everywhere.”

“She is reminding the people who rules in Egypt,” I said defensively.

Nakhtmin watched me, and his look was guarded. “There are some who say that she has raised herself even above Amun.”

I was silent, and when he saw that I wasn’t going to speak against her he sighed.

“Either way, I am glad our children will know what it’s like to till the earth and fish the Nile and walk through the streets without being knelt to as if they were gods. They will be humble.”

“If I have a son”—I measured my words—“Nefertiti will never forgive me.”

Nakhtmin shook his head. “That’s over now.”

“It’s never over. So long as Nefertiti is alive and we are sisters, it will never be over.”

The next morning, the sun had risen well into the sky before we rolled off our pallet and looked around us. There was a commotion outside. “Soldiers?” I tensed.

Nakhtmin’s hearing was sharper. “Djedefhor. And from the sounds of it, Ipu.”

Now I, too, could hear my servant’s incessant chatter. We dressed in a hurry and I opened the door.

“Ipu!” I exclaimed.

“My lady!” She set down a basket. “What a place,” she cried. “It’s so large. Not as nice a garden, but look at the view.” The basket toppled over and an angry Bastet marched out with an injured air. When he saw me, he leapt into my arms.

“Oh, Bastet. Was the river ride so terrible?” I chucked him under the chin.

“I have no idea what
he’s
complaining about. Djedefhor caught two fish and gave them both to him.”

I turned to Djedefhor.

He bowed. “My lady.”

Nakhtmin embraced him warmly. “I never had to chance to thank you,” my husband said. I glanced at Nakhtmin. “I asked Djedefhor to watch over you while I was gone,” he explained.

I covered my mouth and Ipu stifled a giggle.

Djedefhor shrugged. “It wasn’t difficult. A few trips into the village.”

“A
few?
You came every day!” I looked again at Nakhtmin, and my heart filled with a sudden, overwhelming love. Even as he was being sent away by my own family, he had thought to find someone to watch over me. I went to Djedefhor and took his hands. “Thank you,” I said.

Djedefhor flushed. “You’re welcome, my lady.” He studied the house and said with admiration, “You’ve found a beautiful place up here.” He passed his hand over the smooth walls. “Real construction. Not mud brick and
talatat
,” he added.

“Yes. A real city of limestone and granite,” I said.

We unloaded the baskets that had come on the barge and spent the afternoon laying rugs and washing linens. Neighbors peered through our window, curious to see who had moved into the house that had been meant for the mayor’s daughter.

Ipu rolled her eyes. “That is the third person who has come here looking for lost cattle. Has everyone in Thebes lost their cow today?”

I laughed, spreading cushions in the loggia. When it was time for Djedefhor to go, we stood on the shore and waved farewell. I put my arm around Nakhtmin’s waist and asked if he thought we’d ever see him again.

“Djedefhor?” he asked. “Of course.”

I hesitated. “You are no longer part of Pharaoh’s army, Nakhtmin.”

“But the winds will blow and the sands will shift. Akhenaten won’t be Pharaoh forever.”

I stiffened in his arms.

“It’s nothing against your sister,
miw-sher
, but no one is immortal.”

“My family has
always
been on the throne of Egypt.”

Nakhtmin pressed his lips together. “Yes, and that is what worries me.”

We walked back into the house and I followed him into the loggia. “What do you mean?”

“Only that should our Royal Highnesses die, what link will there be left to the throne? Akhenaten has no legitimate siblings.” He looked over at me. “It’s only you,
miw-sher
.”

Only me
. I realized that it was true, and I shivered. If something should happen to Nefertiti, if Akhenaten died, the new Pharaoh would need a link to the throne to legitimize his claim. He would have to marry into it. And what royal woman would be of age to marry if something should happen now? Not Nefertiti’s little girls. Only me.

“You’ve never thought about it?” he asked.

“Of course I have. But not…” I hesitated. “Not seriously.”

“If Akhenaten dies without a son, one of his generals is in a prime position to take the reins of Egypt,” Nakhtmin explained. “Why, even right now people could be whispering that I married you for a claim to Egypt’s throne.”

I watched him carefully. “So, did you?”

He wrapped me in his arms. “What do you think?” His kisses traveled downward and I closed my eyes.

“I think it was for love.” I stopped his hands from going any farther and we retired to our chamber.

Ipu knew better than to disturb us.

For the first month in Thebes, we did nothing but enjoy the quiet of a life near the water. We listened to the gulls as they searched for food along the sand, and the brassy ring of bells that farmers tied around the necks of their cattle, which grazed at the banks of the River Nile. We went to the market and picked out baskets for our new home, enjoying our anonymity. Although I wore linens and gold, I was no different from the daughters of the priests or scribes whose wrists jangled with bangles and glass.

Twice, men in soldiers’ garb from Amarna came up to Nakhtmin and whispered with him. Each time they bowed very low, even though Nakhtmin was no longer a general. “This is Lieutenant Nebut,” Nakhtmin said the second time we were approached.

The lieutenant shaded his eyes with his hand and smiled. “Did you know your husband is all they talk about back in Amarna?”

“They better not talk too loudly, then,” I told him, “or they will endanger both of our lives.”

The lieutenant nodded. “Of course, my lady. None of the men have forgotten what happened to Horemheb.” He lowered his voice. “But there is a rumor that Pharaoh will not execute him after all.”

I glanced quickly at Nakhtmin. “What will they do then?”

“Keep the men in prison,” my husband replied.

“Yes. Until the people forget. But they have chanted outside the palace gates for a month. Pharaoh’s guards beat them back, but the crowds don’t stop coming. His own city has turned against him.” His voice dropped nearly to a whisper. “The night I left, he declared any man chanting against him to be a traitor. They have put a dozen men to death already.”

Nakhtmin was shaking his head.

“Now the people stand at the gates as a silent mob.”

I imagined Akhenaten’s rage as he watched the angry mobs from his Window of Appearances, Panahesi next to him, whispering platitudes in his ear.

“He will have to resolve it soon,” Nakhtmin predicted.

“Oh, he will,” I promised. “Pharaoh will declare a Festival to Aten. He will throw gold from his chariots and the people will forget.”

A Festival to Aten was declared the next day.

My heart sank, knowing that men like Nebut must think I was just like my family, cunning and ambitious to have guessed at her plan. I knew as well that in the halls of eternity, my name would echo with Nefertiti’s, and that if the gods were to obliterate her name from the scrolls of life, they would obliterate mine, too.

All of Thebes was in the streets, and we walked through the city to watch the festivities. Dancers and acrobats crowded the quay, along with merchants selling baked catfish and pheasant. I watched men make obeisance to an image of the sun on a pillar.

“I only wonder what the gods must be thinking.” Nakhtmin spoke my thoughts, studying women making offerings to the sun.

The festivities carried on long into the night, and from our villa perched above the Nile we could hear the sounds of singing and the ringing of party bells. We went to sleep with the cries of drunken revelries in our ears, and I thought,
This is how you make a people forget. Free wine, free bread, a day off from labor, and suddenly Horemheb is a name buried in the sand
.

The next day, a messenger from Amarna arrived.

“From Vizier Ay,” the boy said expectantly.

I read the scroll, then went into the garden to read it aloud to Nakhtmin. “News from Amarna,” I said. I unrolled the papyrus and read it to him.

I hope this letter finds you well, Mutnodjmet, and that you have been wise enough to protect your new husband from village gossips and women at the wells. I do not need to say how your mother misses you. But there is rebellion in the city, silent rebellion that eats away at Pharaoh until only Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti can calm him.

“Queen Neferneferuaten-Nefertiti?” Nakhtmin asked.

“Perfect Are the Beauties of Aten,” I said disbelievingly.

Should the Hittites invade, neither you nor Nakhtmin would be safe. Akhenaten is no fool. At the first sign of real rebellion, he will execute Horemheb, then send men to Thebes. Do not think that because you live away from court that you are safe. Should there be an uprising, Udjai will give warning and you will flee to Akhmim. Write nothing to us and send nothing to Pharaoh’s city until the tide of unrest has washed over Amarna. These are only precautions, little cat, but though your heart may belong to your husband, your duty is to family should Akhenaten ever fall.