The Twelfth Transforming (21 page)

“Good. In three days then, Tiye.”

She turned to bow to him but saw only his back, the counterpoise of his pectoral sparkling between his stooped shoulders, his soft linen brushing his pale calves. When his litter was out of sight, she laid her cheek against the pedestal of her husband’s immobile image and closed her eyes.

They left Malkatta on the morning of the third day in the boat that Sitamun had presented to Amunhotep. He had decided to call it
Kha-em-Ma’at
, another form of his title Living in Truth, and had had his artisans engrave its name on its graceful hull. A disgruntled crowd of courtiers assembled at the water steps to see them depart. Nefertiti sat under her scarlet fans. Now that the funeral was over, she had begun to hint that the empress’s crown should be hers, but her husband had turned a deaf ear. Smenkhara and Meritaten dabbled in the water that lapped the steps, Smenkhara with a timid fascination, the baby gasping and chuckling as her nurse dipped her into the coolness. Prayers for the safety of Pharaoh were chanted, the courtiers made a sullen obeisance, and the flotilla of royalty, servants, priests, and soldiers slid along the canal and out onto the river.

The prevailing summer wind, when it could summon the energy to blow through the thick heat, was from the north, so each barge bristled with oars. Tiye leaned over the side of
Kha-em-Ma’at
, listening to the shouts of Pasi, the captain, the swift patter of bare feet as the sailors answered his orders, the gurgle of the oars as they made eddies in the muddy water. Behind her, fruit, scented water, and wine waited under the open canopy for her appetite to rise. Her son sat drowsily on cushions beside the low table, fly whisk in his fingers, humming to himself. The banks were deserted, slipping by like the edge of an arid night mare, the mud villages empty of life. The fields were brown, the leaves of the palms withered. Even the sky was vacant, the smaller birds having sought the shade of the growth along the river. Only the hawks seemed inured to the heat. They glided, wings flung out to catch the slightest breath of moving air, screaming occasionally as their sharp eyes scanned the barren ground for prey. Tiye’s fanbearers struggled to hold shade over her as she leaned out farther, mesmerized by the brown water slipping turgidly under her gaze.
In a day or two it will be blue
, she thought.
The first sign that the sterility of Upper Egypt is behind us. Ah, fair Memphis! Crown of the world
.

On the evening of the fourth day out from Thebes, as the royal barge was being tethered against the bank, Pasi came to the canopy and bowed before Amunhotep. “I had hoped that we might tie up a little farther downriver, where there is a village and some vegetation, Mighty Horus,” he apologized, “but I had underestimated the sluggishness of the current and the strength of the wind. Forgive me for requesting that you spend the night in this place.”

Amunhotep smiled and dismissed him, walking with Tiye to watch the other barges tie up and the servants flock ashore to set up the tents, carpet the sand, light torches, and prepare the evening meal. “It is a lonely place but somehow beautiful,” he said to her, scanning the view. “I do not remember passing it on my way either to or from Memphis.”

“That is probably because the captain of the barge you were traveling in contrived very hard not to incur your wrath by stopping here,” Tiye retorted. “Gods! I can almost hear my thoughts echo against those frowning cliffs. It looks as though not even peasants have been foolish enough to settle here.”

“Peaceful,” her son murmured.

They were ramped to one side of a huge area of virgin sand, through which the river wound in a slow curve. At either bend cliffs met the water, but here they drew back, rising in a ragged sweep on the west side but broken on the east into long mysterious gullies, fingers of rock into whose shadows night had al ready crept. The sun was almost gone, its red rim limning the black cliff top, its last rays pouring onto the unsullied sand. Beyond the cheerful human bustle on the bank, the dead silence was palpable, pressing against the intruders with a weighty impatience.

“A terrible heat must beat in here during the day,” Tiye said. “How great a distance do you think it is from one end of the valley and the other, Majesty?”

“So pure,” he sighed, pulling himself from his contemplation. “Nothing but sharp rock and blinding sand, a giant cup to hold the daily gold of Ra.”

Out on the bank a group of servants suddenly began laughing. The sound left their mouths only to be returned to them a hundredfold, as if an invisible army hidden in the cliffs were mocking them. Tiye’s flesh crawled. At the bottom of the ramp stood her maimed, tongueless servant, a huge pot of lamp fuel in both arms as her under-steward shouted some order at him. Tiye turned back into the cabin, letting the curtains fall as she went.

Within another day the haunted silence of the valley was a memory, and in another three they were tying up at Memphis to a tumult of welcome. Thousands lined the bank, some scrambling to the roofs of the warehouses or plunging into the water to catch a glimpse of the royal visitors. Amunhotep smiled indulgently at them, raising the crook and flail high as he descended the ramp and lowered himself onto the waiting litter. Tiye ordered her own litter to be brought aboard and secured her curtains tightly before allowing herself to be carried ashore, for she did not believe that the faces of living gods should be exposed to the rude gaze of peasants. She remained secluded until she was set down safely behind the walls of the palace, when she went onto the roof immediately, Amunhotep close behind. “I had forgotten how beautiful it is!” she breathed. “What a fine view the palace commands. So many trees, Amunhotep, and such a profusion of untended flowers. Look at the sun on the lake the ancients built. I see the Syrian temple to Reshep has been given a new roof—you can just glimpse it through the foliage. Our trade with Syria must be lucrative for them. I think there are a few women still in the harem here. Will you visit them?”

He smiled noncommittally. “I do not think so. But I will go into the temples as I used to when I was high priest of Ptah. Would you like a barge ride into the papyrus swamps of the Delta tomorrow? It is only a half-day away.”

“Your father and I used to hunt wildfowl in those swamps, many years ago,” she said dreamily. “I would like that very much. Have you noticed how different the noise of Memphis is from the irritating clamor of Thebes? I…”

He had turned away from her and was squinting up at the sun, his attention no longer on her words.
I suppose I must not mention his father
, she thought crossly.
Well, I will try not to, seeing he has invited me here, but he must conquer a hatred that no longer has validity
.

For a month she and her son went their own ways. Pharaoh spent much time being carried in and out of the myriad temples of the foreigners who now called Memphis their home, and although he received a delegation from the temple of Ptah, he made no official visit there. Tiye herself met the mayor of Memphis and the commanders of her border patrols, whose soldiers were stationed in the city when they were standing down. She also received many of the wealthy merchants and foreign diplomats whose business kept them headquartered in Memphis, feasting in the gracious reception hall her husband had loved to decorate. She visited the harem, finding it a well run but melancholy place, half-empty and quiet.

But when their duties were done, Tiye and Amunhotep began to enjoy wandering the cool rooms of the empty palace or aimlessly pacing the winding garden paths together. In the hot afternoons they separated, lulled to sleep by the swish of fans and the muted plucking of harps. They spent a day being poled through the shoulder-high, rustling papyrus swamps. Amunhotep, though he could drive a chariot well and shoot a bow after a fashion, resolutely refused to hunt. Tiye’s own fingers itched to hold a throwing stick as clouds of geese, ducks, and other water birds rose unchallenged around them, but it was good nonetheless to lie in the little hunting punt, watching the feathery papyrus fronds meeting over her head against the deep blue of a sky that bore no trace of the angry bronze tinge of a southern summer.

Time flowed as sweetly as the wine poured into the cups they raised. Tiye could not decide whether it was the influence of the bittersweet memories that came stealing from every corner of the palace or the lazy pattern of carefree days that were wiping all signs of tension from her face.

One twilight, as they sat together on the terrace looking down into the scented garden, Amunhotep turned in his chair and quietly gave an order to the servant behind him. The man went away and returned with the Keeper of the Royal Regalia. He carried a heavy chest Tiye recognized only too well.

“Greetings, Channa!” she said, surprised. “I did not know that you had accompanied us.”

He bowed, murmuring a respectful reply. Amunhotep ordered him to place the chest on the table and then commanded both Channa and the butler who had been in attendance to depart. The terrace was soon empty but for the two of them.

Amunhotep leaned over and poured her wine himself. She kept her eyes on the chest, her heart suddenly painfully active, her throat dry. Picking up her cup, she drank quickly to hide her agitation. Pharaoh began to speak, haltingly at first, but with increasing courage as the night deepened and concealed his face.

“At the feet of Osiris Amunhotep I told you that Sitamun’s death was my fault,” he said, and Tiye, incredulous, realized that she heard him pronounce his father’s name for the first time. “Now I will tell you why. I knew deep in my heart that the god did not wish me to make her empress. I should have married her and allowed her to remain only a queen. She was my sister, and I had a right and a duty to marry her, but another’s blood call was stronger. The god punished me for my cowardice by destroying her. If I had done what I knew was proper, she would still be alive. No,” he said softly as she tried to speak, “I am not thinking of dear Nefertiti.”

He reached forward and, lifting back the lid of the chest, drew forth the empress’s crown. The great polished disk gleamed darkly, and the silver horns of Hathor curving round it glittered in the starlight. Its two plumes quivered under his nervous hands as he positioned it on his bare knees. “I knew I should have offered it to you, not Sitamun,” he went on, “but I mistrusted the will of the god. I shall not do so again. The crown is yours.”

Tiye felt herself go rigid in the chair. Her hands gripped the armrests. “My son,” she managed when she felt she could trust her voice, “Sitamun died because of the rivalry for the crown that existed between her and Nefertiti. You bear no responsibility. You chose one woman over another, exercising your right as Pharaoh.”

“I have heard the rumors,” he cut in simply. “Human hands destroyed Sitamun, but it was the god who decreed that she should suffer. I must have you, Tiye.”

Tiye began to tremble and clung more tightly to the chair. “Let me try to understand you,” she said. “You wish a marriage contract drawn up between us? You wish me to be chief wife and empress in Egypt?”

“I do. The document can be written and sealed here, before we return to Malkatta.”

“Nefertiti should hold the titles.” She could not breathe, for her throat had swelled, and her words came almost as a croak.

“No. I love my cousin, but she is not of my blood.” Gently he placed the crown on the table between them. Tiye kept her eyes on the dusky garden below, but all her inner attention was fixed on the heavy thing. It was a challenge, a prize, a doom-bringer.

“You are, of course, proposing a marriage of formality only.” She forced her hands away from the arms of the chair, folding them in her lap, and turned to look at him.

“No.” He swung to face her, encircling the crown with his arms. The lamp set on the table illuminated only one side of his face, leaving the other plunged in shadow like a half-carved monolith. “So much has puzzled me since I became old enough to take command of my thoughts,” he said quietly. “I did not know why I had been born, why the Son of Hapu prophesied against me, why I was left to the ministrations of the harem women. When I was a child, I cried often. I had strange dreams. I grew older and sat in the harem garden watching the flowers open like butterflies’ wings, the butterflies flicking over the grass like untethered flowers.” He passed both hands over his face, and though Tiye had never before heard him speak with such calm deliberation, his pale fingers shook. “I walked the passages of the women’s quarters, listening to the prayers of the foreign wives, watching their prostrations to the gods they had brought with them from every corner of the empire. I began to realize that under every name—Savriti, Reshep, Baal—they were worshipping one god. I asked for scrolls from the palace and temple and began to read, but not until Pharaoh’s first jubilee did I understand.” His voice cracked suddenly, and he paused, swallowing and searching for words. “Many thousands of hentis ago, the kings of Egypt were not the incarnations of Amun. They came from the sun. They ruled as Ra on earth. After the princes of Thebes drove the Hyksos rulers from Egypt, they took their local god Amun for their totem, and as Thebes grew in power and riches, so did Amun. But the pharaohs have since forgotten that only Ra gives life to all the world, and that Amun’s power is bounded by Thebes. Your husband glimpsed the truth, but it was as a flash of weak light in a dark room. He tried to give the Aten greater prominence, but only for a show.” He leaned closer, meeting her gaze. “Mother, I am the incarnation of Ra. I was born to restore power to the sun in Egypt. My father is Ra-Harakhti, God of the Horizon in His Dawning. In choosing your body to bear me, he has brought a new age, a glorious age, to Egypt.”

“Your father was Osiris Amunhotep, Amun’s incarnation on earth!” Tiye almost shouted the words.

He smiled kindly, almost condescendingly at her. “No, he was only a man, like my brother Thothmes. It was necessary that Thothmes should die. My destiny was to become pharaoh against all odds so that the sun might be glorified.”