The Twelfth Transforming (50 page)

Aziru turned expressionless eyes on her. “The peacefulness of life in Egypt is a blessing indeed,” he answered. “A citizen of this favored land, living in quiet contentment, might never know the conflagration of fire and scimitar that rages all around.”

How bold and impudent he is
, Tiye thought.
He feels quite safe in reminding Pharaoh of the state of the empire
.

“But then Egypt has the finest army in the world,” Aziru went on smoothly. “What could she have to fear?”

“I dream of the day when the army will be disbanded,” Akhenaten interjected eagerly, “and the peace of the Aten will rule the world with Egypt as its fountainhead. The god who gives life to all does not have commerce with death. Listen, Aziru, to the words he has given me on this matter. ‘The eyes of men see beauty until Thou settest. All labor is put away when Thou settest in the west. When Thou risest again, Thou makest every hand to flourish for the king, and prosperity in every foot, since Thou didst establish the world, and raise them up for Thy son, who came forth from Thy flesh….’”

Meritaten watched her husband with a smile, and Tiye listened stiffly, her eyes on Aziru’s sharp profile. He was nodding politely, even warmly, but Tiye could imagine the scornful thoughts that filled the dark head. Shame coursed hotly through her.

“The words are full of loveliness,” Aziru said when Akhenaten had finished and was waiting expectantly for a comment. “You have the gift of poetry, Divine One. Are these sentiments read to your soldiers as well as to the members of your court?”

Tiye groaned inwardly as Akhenaten nodded. “Of course. All Egypt shares in the revelations the Aten gives me. Would you like to take an Aten priest back to Amurru with you in order to instruct your people?”

Determinedly Tiye refused to attend to the rest of the conversation, and a little later she excused herself and went to her couch. She did not arrange an audience with Aziru before he left, nor was she on the water steps to bid him farewell. Nothing she could say to him now would matter, for he had already made his decision. He had observed her arrival in Akhetaten, seen Nefertiti disgraced, pondered over the rising of Meritaten’s star instead of Tiye’s son, and drawn his conclusions. Pharaoh bade him farewell with many rich presents and the tearful embrace of a brother.
I would have put a spear through his black heart and sent his mangled body to Suppiluliumas
, Tiye thought.
The time when Egypt might have won Aziru back as an ally is long gone
.

Tiye and Meritaten had had little to do with each other since the girl’s marriage to Pharaoh and had met only in the temple or occasionally at the feasting, so Tiye was surprised when in the middle of the month of Phamenat the queen’s herald presented a request that was in fact a royal command. Taking Huya, Tiye made her way to the queen’s apartments. She had not been there since her acrimonious interview with Nefertiti, and the memory of that meeting came back in all its frustration. Meritaten accepted Tiye’s polite bow with a smile and, coming forward, kissed her grandmother on the cheek. She looked fresh and pretty in white linen and turquoise earrings and necklet. The queen’s coronet sat on her straight black hair, and from it hung a fine-woven gold net set with more tiny turquoises that capped her head. Tiye thought that Meritaten was going to be even more beautiful than her mother, for the faultless little face glowed with a mildness and gentleness that was unknown to Nefertiti. As she looked around the room, she was mystified to see, set up beside Meritaten’s throne, a plain desk covered with scrolls arranged neatly in rows, and several scribes either busy copying or waiting with pens raised for the queen’s orders. The queen indicated a chair, and Tiye sat.

“How is Prince Smenkhara?” was Meritaten’s first question, and Tiye saw the passionate interest that the girl was trying to hide.

“He is well and keeps busy,” she answered. “His studies remain difficult for him, and I do not think he will ever have much skill with weapons, but he likes horses and drives his chariot out on the desert behind the city every morning.”

“I know,” Meritaten said and then flushed. “Thank you, Majesty, for not condemning the urgency behind my question. Everyone knows my feelings for him. It would be foolish to try to hide them. But although the courtiers also know my loyalty to my father, many consider my affection for Smenkhara unseemly now I am queen.”

“You have great courage, Majesty.”

“I have no choice,” Meritaten retorted ruefully. “But I did not require your presence in order to pass the time of day. You have been ill?”

Tiye smiled. “Not ill, but feeling the effects of my age. Suddenly everything ached. But a week on my couch with massage every day and a short fast has restored my health.” It was not entirely true. She had forgotten what it felt like to wake alert and vigorous every morning, but worse was the knowledge that those days would never come again.

“Praise the Disk!” Meritaten said politely. At a gesture her chief scribe unfolded from his position on the floor by her throne and handed her a scroll. “As you know, Majesty, my mother had some responsibility for the handling of foreign correspondence. She heard it and composed answers and, if it was a serious matter, conferred with Tutu and presented it to my husband for judgment. Because he has no interest in the scrolls that pour into Tutu’s office every day, I am trying to make sense of them myself so that I may serve Pharaoh better. I need your help, Grandmother.”

Tiye’s eyes widened, and a tide of excitement began to rise in her. Here, unlooked-for, was a weapon, a chance to pierce Pharaoh’s stubborn, willful ignorance. “Meritaten, you know that Pharaoh will not listen to reason when it is a matter of the empire’s affairs, that your mother did not care to risk his displeasure and either told him simply what he wanted to hear or herself refused to listen to the dispatches. Are you prepared to disturb and anger him?”

“I had not thought about that. I am simply bewildered by the flood of scrolls Tutu puts into my hands and do not know what to do with them. But surely the truth is all-important.”

Tiye realized suddenly that she was looking at the best and purest result of her son’s Teaching. Meritaten, raised and schooled under no god but the Aten, her thoughts and actions steeped in her father’s constant revelations, was free from his own struggles, the doubts that beset all of those who had grown up under Amun and Egypt’s myriad gods. She was a symbol newly born, the promise of what could be.
What could have been
, Tiye corrected herself.
The odor of failure clung to my poor son even before this city rose magically from the desert
.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed thoughtfully. “I will do what I can. What do you have there?”

Meritaten handed her the scroll. It was a copy of a tablet received from Aziru, already translated from Akkadian. Tiye read it swiftly. Gone were the fulsome words of flattery, the groveling phrases calculated to soften an emperor. “In order to protect my people, I have today concluded a treaty with Prince Suppiluliumas,” Aziru wrote. “The arm of Egypt no longer extends in might over the world. The words of her king are empty as wind among the reeds, and her promises less than the lightest words of love.” With an exclamation of disgust Tiye flung it on the table.

“That is not all,” Meritaten said, handing her another. “This came today from Rethennu.”

It was short, a simple statement of fact without embellishment. Aziru, doubtless with the full knowledge and permission of his new overlord, had attacked Egypt’s vassal, the Amki.

“Majesty, if I take these scrolls to Pharaoh, will you come with me and give me your support?” Tiye asked.

Meritaten nodded. “He will not wish to cause me distress,” she said, averting her face. “I am with child.”

She could scarcely form the words, and with a rush of pity Tiye saw the shadow of Meketaten pass over the dainty features. “That is good news for Egypt,” she said. Beckoning to Huya, who helped her out of the chair, she went to stand close to the girl. “You have nothing to fear, Majesty,” she said in a low voice. “You are thirteen years old. Your body is stronger and better formed than your sister’s was. You will live.”

“But I do not want this baby,” Meritaten answered urgently, her face still turned away. “It is not Smenkhara’s.”

Tiye could not urge patience on her as she had on Smenkhara. She could not speak of the probability of Akhenaten’s early death, the possibility that one day the queen would receive her heart’s desire. Putting a respectful hand on Meritaten’s arm, she kissed the red lips. “I am your friend as well as your grandmother,” she said gently. “Remember that, Goddess.”

Tiye wanted to strike at her son while the memory of Aziru’s stay was still fresh. As Ay was, of course, in attendance on him constantly, she called the next morning for Horemheb, and together with Meritaten they waited on Akhenaten, the two scrolls carried by Meritaten’s chief scribe. Pharaoh greeted them all gaily. He had just returned from the temple, and his skin and linens were imbued with the lingering smell of incense and flowers. The prophet Meryra was purifying the room as he did every day, sprinkling wine and milk on the floor and walls, and his soft chanting punctuated Akhenaten’s conversation.

“This is a happy occasion!” he exclaimed. “All my dear ones do homage to me together. Meritaten, my beauty, come and kiss me. Did you rest well?” He reached for her, enfolding her and kissing her on the mouth with an unselfconscious thoroughness. Keeping one arm around her, he bestowed a light, warm kiss on Tiye and waited while Horemheb prostrated himself. Ay stood nearby, the fan over his shoulder. “What favor can I grant you all today?” Akhenaten went on teasingly. “A little trip on the river? A time to renew our friendship?”

Under the geniality Tiye sensed his rising unease. His kohled eyes darted from one to the other. She said nothing. The words must come from Meritaten if there was the slightest chance of Pharaoh’s listening. She nodded imperceptibly at the girl, who gently freed herself and took the scrolls, placing them reverently in Akhenaten’s hands.

“I beseech you, my husband and god, to read these,” she said. “And know that we, your family, are justly indignant at their contents. Remember as you read that I am your dutiful daughter and loyal wife and will do nothing to harm or discredit you or your own mighty father, the Disk.”

He frowned at her as he unrolled the papyrus, his lower lip extending in both puzzlement and defense, and retreating to the throne, he draped himself over it. Ay signaled unobtrusively, and immediately a chair was set for Tiye, which she sank onto gratefully. The room fell silent but for Meryra’s drone. Akhenaten read the scrolls once, snapped at the priest to be quiet, and then read them again. When he had finished, he let them tumble from his lap. Already he was breathing heavily. His gaze swiveled from face to waiting face, and all at once he closed one eye and winced, but the spasm passed.

“How can Aziru do this?” he asked plaintively. “Did he learn nothing during his months here? When he left, I embraced him like a brother, I wept tears of love in his arms! Yet while the slaves are still cleansing the house I provided for him, he turns to the Khatti.” He covered his mouth with one hand, and his long features twisted with anguish.

Meritaten went to him and gently pulled the fingers away, kissing them and enfolding them in her own. “Father, in spite of your great faith, the world does not understand your ways,” she said. “Perhaps it never will. Aziru cannot see the incarnation of the Disk. He sees only a ruler who was once a mighty protector but is now a lover of peace when only war will save the Amurru from the depredations of the Khatti. You must not blame him.”

“Can he have stood in the temple and not heard the voice of the Aten speaking through my holy lips? It is a judgment on me. Once more I have offended the god, and I do not know how!” The last words rang out, laden with guilt. Akhenaten pulled himself upright on the throne and then bent over, elbows on flaccid knees, face buried in one hennaed palm. Meritaten glanced uncertainly at Tiye.

“If I may, Majesty, I think I can tell you how,” Tiye said. “You have stayed your hand because you have been unwilling to bring harm to any living thing under the Aten, but in so doing you have endangered the home of the god itself. A pack of hungry lions stalks to and fro, and soon they will leap the border and come here, to Akhetaten. If Egypt falls the light of the Disk is extinguished. This is not a time for peace. The god now desires his preservation!”

“No!” Akhenaten sat back and pulled his hand from his daughter’s grasp. His fingers went to the pectoral draped over his shallow chest and began to tug and twist the golden ropes. “It is Nefertiti. I sent her away cruelly, in haste. I must recall her, restore her, I was wrong…”

“Divine One, you were not wrong.” Horemheb stepped forward. “Listen to your empress, the goddess who all your life has lent you her wisdom. Aziru is invading the Amki, doubtless with men and arms supplied by Suppiluliumas, that implacable enemy of all true religion. Between Egypt herself and the Amki there is only Rethennu. For the sake of the god who has honored Egypt with his first revelations, who has deigned to sit bodily upon the Horus Throne, do not let foreigners desecrate this land!”

“Egypt still has the power,” Ay’s deep, cultured voice added. “Our soldiers have grown fat and lazy, but within months they could be ready to march. There are still officers capable of leading them. Send no message to Aziru, Horus! Strike now, unexpectedly. Give the animals a taste of real war.”

Meritaten put her head against his arm. “Listen to them, my husband! You are hearing the truth.”

His arms went around her, and he buried his face in her neck. “I am so tired,” he said, his voice muffled but his torment nakedly clear to those who listened. “At night my dreams are full of horror. Death comes to me, the demons of revenge, of the terrible darkness of the Duat. Nefertiti’s face bends over me, and I reach for her and wake trembling with fear. In the day I see the bent backs of my worshipers. Their faces are hidden, but I know that if I surprised them before they had composed themselves to rise, I would see that I am surrounded by creatures without hearts in their bodies, without features. If I fail the god, I will not live long.”