The Forgotten: Aten's Last Queen (26 page)

“I will send Tia down here to escort you to his home. She will read the letter, and her presence will guarantee your safety. They know her well there as protected by Aten’s family.” I stood up and handed her the papyrus. “Soon, you can walk free. Perhaps, if I am lucky, we will see each other again.”

Marahkaten smiled at me. She tried to speak but had to swallow the tears as she opened her mouth. Clearing her throat, she tried again, “An, you… why?”

“If you can’t have a father, at least I can give you a sister.”

She embraced me in one swift motion. Softly, she cried on my shoulders as the morning sun rose in the sky. Its light began to fill the living area as we stood there. I did not mind. She had no one to hold her anymore. When the cat pawed at our legs, we finally parted.

“Thank you, my
sister
,” she said. “You have given me so much. When I woke this morning, I had nothing. Now I have a family and a life once again. May your childbirth be blessed. I will pray we see each other again, maybe even both with a child on our hips.”

I simply nodded as I left the room. In truth, I worried for when I would sit in that chair to deliver my child. It had claimed my sister, my aunt, so I feared my own child taking my life as well. What if my child would grow up without me? If all that was left of me were monuments and statues, what would she think of me? I would be nothing more to my child than cold stone. I knew what I remembered of Meketaten when I looked on her stone face, but what would her child feel at these same images? What memory can be preserved in such a way? What of a person’s ka survives? What of love can transcend such unyielding confines…?

As I finally made my way to my inner apartment, I found Ay waiting for me. He looked at me with raised eyebrows as I entered. “You seem to keep yourself quite busy, my queen.” He bowed slightly to me.

“I was trying to find my guard familiar. He has not been seen.” I answered back pointedly. He would not find fault in my errands.

“Ah yes, Wahankh. He was with your mother for a great deal of time. They used to be playmates growing up. Both had a great deal of spirit. His family lived next to ours. His father was a commander too. Wahankh was a good lad. Had a crush on your mother, you know.” Grandfather sounded strangely jovial.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I think he was sneaking out a few nights ago to visit your mother. Dreadful night to do so. You see, he was killed in the workmen’s village. I’m afraid he was too close to whomever was conspiring against Pharaoh.”

I dropped onto the couch, my hand fluttered up to my chest. I took a moment to take in breath.

Breathe in and out, in and out.

How could this be?

“He was on an errand for me! How could he have been killed?”

“The insurrection against Pharaoh started somewhere in the village. Say, maybe one of the conspirators was the one who attacked that goldsmith you seem to favor.”

I looked up at him with fire in my eyes, “I highly doubt it is that simple, Ay.”

“Try not to work yourself up so much, Queen. In your condition, it is not advised to get so emotional.” Ay’s voice was smooth. It crawled under my skin like a beetle beneath the sands.

“Maybe I should stop looking under every rock for answers and open my eyes to the scorpions that lurk in front of me. I have learned that not all creatures work in shadow,” I continued in anger.

“I wish I could understand what you are speaking of. I can see that his death has upset you greatly. I will see that his family gets extra rationing for the next 30 days. He was a good lad, completely devoted to Nefertiti.”

Ay turned to leave the room.

“Does she know of this? My mother?” I snapped.

“I have no doubt she does. She seems to know everything.” With that, Ay left me.

As my doors shut, I laid down my head and wept.

*****

Sometimes death was swift and fierce, but other times it was slow and drawn out. Each kind seemed to visit the palace and nip at the edges of my life. And in either form, death would win.

Pharaoh had begun to get sick. He complained of stomach aches and head pains in the days following the attempted overthrow. He rested often. When he was awake, he suffered rises and falls of emotional waves. I made more appearances in his stead even though I was still not allowed to hold councils. But then his body began to change. This was something more than an illness. This was death breathing over him, slowly dragging out the inevitable.

After many visits, Pentu figured out he was slowly being poisoned. But it was too late. The drug was deep in his system. Death would take him soon. It was then that I learned conspirators did not need a grand demonstration to succeed. Curfew or not, nothing could stop a determined ka.

People cried out for Pannefer’s death, his cup bearer, but Pharaoh would not have it. He said that if someone as faithful as him had done such a thing, it was only because he was forced to do it. Pharaoh offered him forgiveness and let him leave the city in peace. He said if any harm came to him, his subjects would feel his wrath tenfold. The strangest part was that Pharaoh never asked questions. It was as if he did not care to find out who was doing this to him.

Outside of the palace, people still devoted to Aten left offerings in Pharaoh’s name. They lamented for him. They prayed for a miracle. I watched them come daily, lay down flowers, gold, food, and beg Aten for his recovery.

I did not know what to say to him, so I stayed away. I wanted answers or apologies. No, I wanted both. Maybe he didn’t need answers, but I did. I wanted Father to say he was happy he had daughters. I wanted him to say he trusted us. I wanted him to say that if my child was a girl, he would still love her. I also wanted him to say to me how he imagined the future, how he imagined our people from this point on, how we should go on after his death. Lastly, I wanted to know why he valued his brother’s life over thousands of people who depended on his protection. Why did the threat of one man’s death mean so much to him? Despite all Pharaoh’s prayers, he must still doubt the one God that followed Moshe.

I walked up to his doorway daily. His doorkeepers would watch me, waiting for me to ask them for my announcement, but I never went in. I could not figure out how to say it. How does a person ask, what is wrong with me? What does my life mean to you? How did you come to dismiss my family from your life? It almost seemed cruel to bring these questions up now as Pharaoh suffered. My heart was solidified with indecision.

So I stood there and answered the questions myself. I pictured what he might say, the things I needed to hear. I imagined the answers to all my questions. I imagined what forgiveness must feel like. Then I would see Meketaten appear beside him, take his hand, and lead him peacefully into the Afterlife, all forgiven and forgotten. No more pain. But it was all a story made up in my heart. It was a dream that should be forgotten. Meketaten would not return and release my memories of seeing her torment during her last moments of life. And Father would never say ‘I’m sorry.’

So I could not enter.

*****

It was evening, and I found myself before his doorway once again. I heard footsteps from behind. I did not turn to them. I just stood imagining Pharaoh asking for my forgiveness.

A hand came to rest on my shoulder. When I looked up, it was into my mother’s eyes. My heart overflowed, but I did not cry. I only looked up at her. She nodded her head and looked down. Beside her were Neferneferure and Setepenre, each holding onto a finger of her right hand. They were looking at me. When I caught their glance, Setepenre smiled at me timidly. I smiled back.

Mother stepped up to the guards and nodded her head. For some reason, Mother’s arrival did not seem to faze them. It was like the days past when we were all a family within the same painted walls. They opened the golden doors and announced our arrival.

Pharaoh did not move, as if dead, but I could see his eyes were open and searching for something. We walked up to his bedside. His body was gangly and his breath shallow. After a pause, he looked up at Mother first, then me, then his younger daughters.

“I am glad you are here,” he said weakly.

“I could not let you get away from the world that easily. Tonight, we will sit out and watch the Great River. I will hold your hand, and our daughters will sit at our feet. It will be like when Mayati and Meket were this age and we had just moved to this city. We will end as we began, together,” Mother said. Her voice was not as strong as usual. I could feel the emotion in it. She had never sounded so sad before.

Pharaoh smiled. It was a smile that touched his eyes. “I have always loved you, my beloved.”

“And I you, my Ankh.”

Mother motioned to the guards, and they moved the chairs around to the balcony. She did not always need words to get things done. Sometimes all that was needed was a gesture or a glance. We all understood her. Power and command reeked off of her like a heavily applied perfume.

Pharaoh looked at me, “Please, call me Father tonight.”

I felt tears escape me, but they fell from anger.
Father?
He had slapped me for such a word. I was about to lash out at him and release this burden of fear he had forced upon me, but mother put her arm around my shoulders.

“Let us sit,” she stated, and she led me to a high-backed chair.

A guard picked up Pharaoh. He showed no shame in it. His feet no longer walked, and he did not try to deny it. We all settled outside as night ate up the brightness of the sky. It was clear, and the stars were bright. They twinkled at us like hands waving in front of rays of light. Perhaps it was our family up there saying hello and reminding us that they were waiting patiently for our arrival.

Father spoke, looking at Mother, his voice delicate like the petals of a flower, “Do you remember when we were living in Waset, and we would watch Aten rise over the waters? All those sprinkles in the Nile like salt from Aten’s rays?”

Mother’s voice broke. “Of course. I remember it every morning in my prayers.”

“We will watch the salt, one more day, preserving our land. And then I will give myself to Osiris. For there is no greater beauty.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks freely. “The Nile every morning?”

“Not the Nile, but the Great River alight in your eyes, your face. I will wait for you, for your ka to arrive, and hold you alone in my heart until then. There will be nothing to sour my heart. We will have another chance at happiness, praise Aten.”

They held hands as my sisters fell asleep at their feet. I gazed up at the sky, delighting in memories that had come back to life.

Then it hit me.

My seat felt soaked. I stood up, and there was fluid running down my legs. Mother saw me. She stood up.

“It is time! Can you walk to the birth chamber?”

I felt a terror such as never before. It made my heart ache like my swollen legs had this past season. I nodded my head and let her guide me out. Mother had one of the guards fetch Pentu. I was shocked to see Pentu’s arrival at the birth chamber before Mother and I walked in. But we moved slowly as pains began to shake my body and slow my feet.

A new birth room had been made. I refused to give birth in a space where my sister had entered Duat’s doorway. It was not good for my child to emerge in such a space where a ka parted ways with the living world.

Mother set me down on the chair, and my stomach erupted in pain. It was sharp, like splinters up and down my torso, back to front. I cried out from the pain.

“It is all right, dear. This is normal. The pains mean the baby is moving,” Mother assured me. Her eyes were large and bright. They were also calm. When I looked into them, I felt better. I felt like a barge gliding on a calm sea. The fear did not entirely leave, but I knew my mother would carry some of it for me. I knew the waters were calm and felt the wind guiding me gently.

“Where is Tia? She should be here,” I said between heavy breaths, trying to cope with the pain.

Mother looked up at a servant, who then departed to get Tia. My mother looked down at me again. “Once Merytaten gets here, I will go back up with your father. He needs me more. I know you can do this. You are strong.”

“I understand, Mother.” As the pain subsided, I felt sweat drip down my forehead and into my eyes. I tried to blink it out, but the sting remained. Mother knew. She always knew. She had a towel and wiped away the sweat from my eyes and face.

“I will tell him it is a boy,” she said.

“The baby has not come yet.”

“It does not matter what it is. Pharaoh will die with nothing but joy around him.”

“Why? Why does he want a boy so much? Is my existence worth so little because of my body?” I snapped.

“It has nothing to do with you or your sisters. It has to do with Djhutmose. He misses him every day, and he feels it is owed to him. He wants his brother to live on with him. He blames Aten for taking him. All his life, he has been at war with himself over this.”

“I do not understand.”

“Remember when you were a child and I would tell you stories? They always began
once, long ago
. You thought I had made them up, but some were true.” She looked into my eyes as if for the last time. “Once, long ago, there was a young boy hated by his father. He looked different than his other siblings, distorted. Only one person saw him for who he was, his brother born not of his father’s seed, a boy found washed up by the river. For a time, he was sent away to his uncle’s house. He thought he would live out his life there. He fell in love.” Her eyes drifted away from me.

Another birth pain grasped hold of my midsection and squeezed with all its might like a fist crushing me. Mother stroked my back in an attempt to ease the tautness that had me locked up in a cage that was too small for me.

It finally began to fade. The cage was unlocked.

Between long breaths, I spoke, “He fell in love with you.”

“Yes. When he was called back, it was because of something his brother had done. I went with him. We learned that in your father’s absence, Djhutmose had changed. He was seen often with the Hebrews, and he helped them. He gave them his shares of food and lightened their work load. And then there was the workman who was beating one of these Hebrews. They were considered slaves and treated as such. Djhutmose… Djhutmose left because of what he did. So Father was called back as the last son of Amenhotep III. Djhutmose returned to our land after 10 years, though he looked as if he had aged 40. Your father had been co-reigning with his father during that time. Djhutmose came before them and proclaimed he had found God in the desert. God had spoken to him. He had returned to demand freedom for the Hebrews,
his
people. Your grandfather was enraged and your father confused, conflicted. The plagues came. Ten of them. During the sixth one, Djhutmose saw his brother suffering and fell onto his knees. He cried out to God, tore at his clothes, and begged him to spare his brother. He cried out that your father had been treated no better than the Hebrews and needed mercy. Then he declared that your father would lead the people to Him when he became Pharaoh.