The Twelfth Transforming (43 page)

She gave Huya orders to have her goods unpacked and then went into the temple for the ceremonies of dedication of the sunshades Pharaoh had built. After only two days she was becoming used to grandeur, and the interior of the temple did not surprise her. There was no progression of courts that diminished in size while increasing in secrecy, until a dark sanctuary held the god. While the building was of a magnitude that dwarfed and tired her, it held only a massive forecourt, filled with altars and reached through three pylons and a grove of trees, and an inner court, larger still than the outer, with hundreds more offering tables leading to the main altar in blinding white rows. Though statues of Akhenaten dominated the palace and were set all over Akhetaten, none stood here.
Of course not
, Tiye thought, sweat gathering under her wig and prickling in her armpits as she stood with Beketaten in the choking incense that rose throughout the temple.
Not when the ben-ben itself is Pharaoh and his family
. The only shelter from the sun lay under the three small kiosks that Akhenaten had erected for the renewing of his own powers and those of the empress and Beketaten, and as the first part of the ceremony came to an end, Tiye stepped under the stone with relief. Standing in the blessed shade, she watched Pharaoh, surrounded by his priests, mount the steps to the high altar and begin the afternoon prayers. Songs of praise to the Aten rose from the choirs gathered in the forecourt. Cymbals clashed, and systra rattled. Flames, almost invisible in the bright sunlight, rose from the hands of the hundreds of servers who waited by the altars to light the piles of food and flowers.
A sunshade is a solemn and holy object
, Tiye reflected as she glanced along at Beketaten, standing with wide eyes under the ornate stone of her own kiosk,
but in this place I would prefer my own canopy and a couple of fanbearers to keep the flies away
. As she watched Akhenaten raise gold-girt arms to the fierce sky and the priests cry out and sink to the hot stone around him, she was far more impressed by the dignity and nobility that always cloaked her son in moments of worship than by the austere magnificence of her surroundings.

That night, after she had for the first time been bathed and dressed under the high star-spangled ceiling of her new home and had been carried to Pharaoh’s private reception hall, he presented a golden funerary shrine to her. “A tomb in the cliffs behind Akhetaten is being beautified for you, Mother,” he told her eagerly. “You will lie surrounded by its protection. Look!” He walked around it and the bowed servants whose arms trembled under its weight. “I have caused your likeness to be engraved upon it, your sweet body swathed in the finest, most transparent linen, and my own royal likeness before you, to protect you from the demons after death. Here are our names, linked together.”

“Akhenaten,” she said in a low voice, a lump in her throat, “I thank you for this great gift, but a tomb awaits me in Thebes near my first husband. I would prefer to lie there.”

“That man died trusting in a false god,” he snapped back, his color rising. “I will not allow you to be contaminated by his presence!”

“As you wish,” she said equably, privately resolving to issue her own edict to Huya.

Akhenaten pettishly waved the shrine away, and the servants staggered out with it. He resumed his seat beside her. “I spent a lot of time overseeing it,” he complained.

She kissed his cheek, saying soothingly, “It is a great gift. I am very grateful. Drink your wine, Akhenaten. Am I not here as you wished?” But he sat gloomily slumped over the table, breathing shallowly. “The music is haunting,” Tiye remarked after a while. “You have talented composers here.”

“I wrote it myself,” he muttered. “There are words, but they are not suitable for feasting.” He straightened and began to sing softly in his thin treble, “How manifold are thy works! They are hidden before men, O sole God, beside whom there is no other. Thou didst create the earth according to thy heart while thou wast alone: even men, all herds of cattle and the antelopes; all that are upon the earth….” He kept his eyes on his plate and swayed gently to the rhythm. When he had finished, Tiye saw that he was crying.

“That was beautiful,” she said gently, putting an arm around his neck. “Why do you weep?”

He shook his head. “I do not know. I am the Living One of Diadems. I do not know….”

He left the hall soon afterward. Tiye sat on, her wine before her on the littered table, her consciousness attuned to the gestures and quiet conversations of the few select guests who mingled informally with those of the royal family bidden by Pharaoh to be present. The air in the room had relaxed at Akhenaten’s departure. Smenkhara and Meritaten, already inseparable, were engaged in an earnest discussion. Meketaten, in the middle of a bevy of young wives who were sharing harem jokes, played a string game with Tadukhipa. Nefertiti had not appeared at all, and Tiye wondered whether she had even been invited. She was sipping the last of her wine, preparing to retire, when she saw Parennefer go up to Meketaten, bow, and whisper to her. The girl inclined her head and, rising, went out. A silence fell. All eyes followed her, and Tiye, puzzled, crooked a finger at Huya.

“Send me Piha. I am ready to retire. But you see what you can find out about Princess Meketaten from the nursery servants. And send a herald to the house where Aziru is staying. Command him to present himself before me to morrow morning.” Conversation had begun again by the time Huya reached the doors.
Something is troubling my little granddaughter
, Tiye mused as she waited for Piha, a
nd it is serious enough to provoke a strong reaction from these people. I suppose before long I will know what it is, but now I must rest
.

Huya came to her just after dawn, when the musicians who had woken her had retired and Piha had brought her morning fruit and watered wine. She sat propped up on cushions in the disordered bed, spearing pieces of watermelon and sipping as the light strengthened in the room.

“Well,” she prompted. “You work quickly, Huya. Get on with it. I have to think about what I am going to say to Aziru.”

He nodded. “Princess Meketaten no longer lives in the nursery,” he said. “She has an apartment in the harem. I went there, but the overseer would not let me in.”

“Do you mean to tell me that the child is sharing my son’s bed?” Tiye pushed the remains of the fruit away.

“I have not mingled with the staff here for long enough to ascertain the truth of the rumors, Majesty, but it appears so.”

Tiye’s mind suddenly filled with a vision of the grotesque statuary Mutnodjme had placed in her hands. “Did you enquire into the girl’s state of health?”

“I was not given the opportunity, Divine One.”

“Bring in my scribe.”

When the man had settled his palette across his knees, Tiye dictated rapidly. “‘To Meryra, Keeper of the Harem Door, greetings. As is my right as empress and first Royal Wife, I, Tiye, Goddess of the Two Lands, do receive into my own august hands the care and ordering of the harem of the Mighty Bull and appoint my steward Huya as Keeper of the Harem Door. Thou art retired.’ Have a herald deliver it immediately, Huya. Then go to Nefertiti’s apartments and request permission for me to see her later this afternoon. Is Aziru going to do as he was told?”

Huya smiled. “He will be here in two hours.”

“Good. You are dismissed. Send Piha.”

When the woman entered, Tiye had left the couch and was holding a mirror, peering into it and fingering her hair. “Piha, I think it is time to hide all this gray,” she said. “Tell my cosmeticians to buy red henna and come and dye it tomorrow. I will wear a wig today.”

Wigged, painted, and wearing the empress’s disk and plumes on her head, Tiye sat enthroned beneath the baldachin in her reception room, her staff around her, when Aziru was announced. She bid him advance, his tall frame bent almost double in reverence, and held out a hand for him to kiss. His bodyguards, disarmed by her own Followers, stood to either side of the door, arms folded. The room filled gradually with the faint but unmistakable odor of goat. Aziru straightened, and Tiye’s scribes picked up their pens.

“So, you are at last able to answer the summons of your lord,” Tiye said dryly. “You must have brought mountains of tribute, Aziru. Either that or you travel with an enormous retinue. How many years has it been since Pharaoh summoned you?”

“Your Majesty cannot have seen the letters I sent to Pharaoh, explaining the delays caused by my campaigns against his terrible enemies,” Aziru boomed in heavily accented Egyptian. “I came to him on wings of brotherly devotion as soon as it was possible.” His eyes sparkled impudently into her own.

“You are wrong,” Tiye responded. “I read the letters when I was still at Malkatta. And not only yours. Ribbadi had much to say, as did Abimilki.”

“Those vermin…those treacherous dogs!” Aziru’s voice trembled with emotion. “I praise the gods that Pharaoh in his infinite wisdom did not believe their lies. Their spite and jealousy was unbounded. They longed to enjoy the fruitful relationship that exists between Egypt and my people.”

“Your loyalty does you credit and is equaled only by your histrionic ability,” Tiye answered sarcastically.

“Your Majesty is unkind. Have I not defended Egypt at great cost to my people? Did I not give sanctuary to that whining woman Ribbadi when he could not hold his own city and had to flee?” Tiye saw that Aziru realized his tactical mistake as soon as the words had left his mouth. He fell silent, and his eyes dropped.

“I trust that our dear ally Ribbadi is enjoying the protection and peace of our brother Aziru,” she said evenly, leaning forward. “I am surprised that he did not accompany you or send letters for Pharaoh with you. In days past he wrote many letters. I suppose he could have given them to our spies in Amurru, but surely his friend Aziru offered to bring them? Has Ribbadi lost the use of his mouth, his hands?” Aziru looked up and regarded her speculatively. Tiye could almost read his quick thoughts. Were there truly Egyptian spies in Amurru? What had they reported to Pharaoh? Could the empress’s sharp gaze pierce the veils of deceit that had screened him from Pharaoh’s mild eyes?

“Indeed, Ribbadi is at peace,” he answered after a pause, and Tiye sat back grim-faced.

“And we both know what kind of peace that is. My late husband Osiris Amunhotep Glorified brought the same fate to your father, and I would strongly recommend that you, Aziru, reflect upon his end. Akhetaten is now my home. Reflect upon that also. How long do you intend to stay?”

Aziru bowed. “Pharaoh’s hospitality is boundless, tempting me to prolong my visit indefinitely, Majesty.”

“His hospitality may be boundless, but my patience is not. Nor is the forbearance of my country. You are dismissed.”

He promptly bowed again and swaggered out, his bodyguards stamping after him.
He will not go home until he has ascertained the extent of my power over my son
, Tiye thought as the doors thudded shut.
And that is something I myself have yet to discover. But Akhenaten must now listen to me, or Aziru will stop vacillating between Suppiluliumas and Egypt, conclude binding treaties with Suppiluliumas, and desert us altogether. Once it would not have mattered, but now every ally is precious
.

In the afternoon Tiye ordered her litter and went to Nefertiti’s grandiose apartments. She would have preferred to send for the queen, but she knew that the thread of family affection and negotiation was stretched to its limit, and any insistence upon her prerogatives might snap it altogether. Nefertiti was reclining on her couch, the fans moving gently above her, her musicians playing softly. Her latest pregnancy was far advanced, but she had made no effort in public or private to hide her protruding belly, donning the filmy linens that accentuated the inviting sensuality of her body. Nefertiti was thirty-two years old, glowing in a maturity that seemed to combine ripeness without incipient decay and the promise of physical pleasures. Her natural dignity was accentuated rather than diminished by the slow aging evident in her face, and the mild impression of dissatisfaction emanating from features exquisite in their regularity only served to give her worshipers a hint of dissipation that removed her from the pedestal of untouchable godhead yet held her tantalizingly just out of reach. She answered Tiye’s stiff bow with a slight inclining of her head, both hands imprisoned in the respectful grasp of the cosmeticians who were working rich oils into her skin.

“Forgive me for not rising to abase myself, Majesty Aunt,” she said. “My back and legs are aching, and besides, I find bowing rather difficult.” The kohl-ringed gray eyes coolly challenged her.

Tiye ignored the barb. “I wish to speak with you in private,” she said. “I have left my attendants in the garden. Dismiss yours also.”

Nefertiti made a small grimace. “Have you almost finished?” she asked the servants bent over her long fingers. “Well, wrap my hands in linen and wait outside.”

Tiye stood while the young men did as they were bid, bowed as they passed her, and slipped through the door. She walked to the couch and sank onto a chair, and for a moment the two women eyed each other. Tiye expected her niece to keep the conversation light so that she might maneuver behind pointless words, but as ever she was misled by a sophistication of face and body that did not extend to Nefertiti’s mind. Her niece was as rash as Sitamun had been.

“You had no right to dismiss Meryra as Keeper of the Harem Door,” she began. “He has been my steward for a long time, and I gave him the running of the harem for his efficiency. The women were content under his hand. Pharaoh likes and trusts him.”

“Pharaoh likes and trusts everyone,” Tiye said mildly. “While I was in Malkatta, you had the responsibility of the harem here, Majesty. But you know full well that since I am empress and first wife, it was in fact mine. I simply appointed another keeper, as is my right.” She had not intended to confront her niece but had hoped to argue gently and tactfully, perhaps win her over by reducing her defensiveness, reassuring her that her jealousy was unfounded. Obviously Nefertiti intended to render such an approach impossible, and Tiye was forced to discard warmth in favor of a position Nefertiti could never mistake as appeasement.