Akhenaten: Dweller in Truth

Nefertiti

I was allowed to enter Akhetaten only with special permission from General Haremhab. There were security checks at short intervals all along the bank of the Nile. A soldier escorted me across the northern quarter of the city from the harbor to the palace of the imprisoned queen. I was barraged by a host of emotions that left me stranded between sadness and wonder. The once glorious streets of Akhetaten had disappeared beneath heaps of dust and the dried leaves of withered trees. The grand doors of the palaces were closed like eyelids on tearful eyes. The palaces were collapsed, the fences fallen. The gardens had lost their colors and were left with the remains of trees shriveled like mummies. A heavy silence covered the city. In the center were the ruins of the temple of the One and Only God, where once the sweetest and holiest hymns were sung.

It was early afternoon when I reached the far end of the northern quarter. The queen's palace towered in the distance, set in a lush and colorful garden. My heart pounded when I glimpsed the only open window in the palace. It was the middle of autumn and the Nile was still in flood. Its mud-red water had filled the palace lake. My heart beat faster as I approached the end of my journey, as though the entire purpose of my quest was to meet this woman in her solitude.

I was ushered into a small, elegant room. The walls were inscribed with holy texts. In the center of the room there was an ebony chair with golden arms and legs, each sculpted in the form of a lion.

Finally I saw her, a vision, coming toward me gracefully in a white, flowing dress. She was elegant and beautiful. Her back was unbowed by forty years of grief and misfortune. I waited until she was settled in her chair, then she gestured to me and I sat before her. The beauty of her serene eyes was overcast by a shadow of weariness. She praised my father, then asked me bitterly, “And how do you find the city of light?”

I realized that I had been staring at her, captivated by her beauty. Abashed, I lowered my gaze, and remained silent.

“You must have heard a lot of tales about Akhenaten and me,” she said. “Now you can hear the whole truth.”

I grew up with a passion for true knowledge that was nurtured by the learnedness of my father, Ay. I lost my real mother when I was only one year old. But I did not feel that loss, for in Tey I found a compassionate, loving mother, and not merely a stepmother. She gave me a splendid, happy childhood. Even after she had my sister Mutnedjmet, her feelings toward me did not change. She was a wise woman. At first, Mutnedjmet and I were loving sisters. Because I was better at most things than Mutnedjmet, she became jealous and built up a fair share of resentment. But that only became evident much later. Tey, however, remained impartial, at least on the surface. I was quite grateful, and when the time came for me to reward her I appointed her the queen's matron and gave her the status of princess. One day, my father returned home with a holy man, one of those who are endowed with the gift of foretelling the future. He read both our fortunes, my sister's and mine.

“These girls shall sit on the throne of Egypt,” he said.

“Both of them?” said my father, astounded.

“The two of them,” the man assured him.

For some time we faltered between our faith in the holy man and the peculiarity of his prophecy.

“Perhaps one of us will be first and the other will be her successor,” I laughed.

For some mysterious reason Tey was not pleased with what I said. “Shall we forget about this prophecy and leave the future to the gods?” she said sharply.

We tried to forget. But every so often the prophecy seemed to cast its shadow upon us, until things began to take an unexpected course and it was fulfilled before our very eyes. The first time I heard of Akhenaten was through my father, when he was appointed tutor to the crown prince. Father used to speak of Akhenaten's wisdom and maturity during our family gatherings.

“Akhenaten is an unusual person,” he once said. “He criticizes the priests and the deities and no longer believes in any god but Aten.”

Unlike my mother and sister, I was rather intrigued and drawn to what I heard. For I, too, loved Aten and was awed by his domain that comprised both heaven and earth, while other deities abided only in the darkness of the temples.

“The prince is right, Father,” I replied innocently.

My mother and sister were not pleased with my remark. Father said with a smile, “We are preparing you to be a wife, Nefertiti, not a priestess.”

I cannot deny my love for motherhood and other earthly pleasures, but the truth is, I was also born to be a priestess. Eventually my father told us the news of the new god, the Sole Creator. There was an uproar and the prince was the subject of stinging talk.

“What do the king and queen think?” my mother asked.

“There is so much turmoil in the palace. I am not sure what anyone thinks or believes,” my father said gloomily.

“I fear that they will blame you, as his teacher.”

“He is their son. They know that he will never follow anyone, no matter how grand they are.”

“He is insane,” Mutnedjmet said. “He will lose his throne. Is there another heir?”

“He has only one sickly older sister.”

As they talked I felt such emotion that I was afraid I would faint. To me, the crown prince represented an irresistibly attractive, fabulous story. But I did not come to any particular conviction then. One evening I overheard my father secretly reciting one of the hymns of the new god:

The words became imprinted in my heart forever, and I was elated with joy. I repeated the hymn and let its sweet nectar infuse my soul. Its words attracted me as a butterfly is drawn to light. And like the butterfly, I was burned by that light. I was filled with faith. What a beautiful and peaceful feeling it was! “My Only God,” I whispered, “I believe in you eternally.”

I presented myself to my father and sang the hymn.

“You were listening,” he said with a frown.

I ignored his gentle reproach. “Father, what do you think of the voice he heard?”

“I do not know,” he replied cautiously.

“Can he be lying?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “He never lies.”

“Then it must be true.”

“Perhaps what he heard was a dream,” he said reluctantly.

“Father,” I confessed, “I believe in the One God, the Sole Creator.”

Suddenly he became pale. “Beware, Nefertiti!” he cried. “Keep your secret in your heart, until I can rid your heart of it.”

Then we were invited to the palace for the Sed festival. Tey saw in it an opportunity for her daughters to meet eligible suitors. “You must be seen in the most beautiful dress,” she said. But I was only anxious to see one person-he who had shown me the light of the truth. In the grand hall of the palace I met people with whom I later walked the path of life, with its sweetness and its bitterness-Haremhab, Nakht, Mae, and many others. That night, however, my heart saw no one but Akhenaten. When I first saw him, I was taken aback by his strange appearance. I had pictured him a token of perfection. Instead, he was thin and feeble. His appearance called more for pity than admiration. I admit that I was rather disappointed. But it was a momentary disappointment. I saw beyond his strange features and feeble body a spirit that was singled out by God to receive his divine love, and I secretly vowed my loyalty to this frail creature. He was seated to the right of his father, observing the dance without enthusiasm. My eyes never left him. Indeed, many people noticed that he was the focus of my attention. I shall never forget what Mutnedjmet said to me, suffering the sting of jealousy: “You have set your goal, Nefertiti. Now you will stride toward it.”

I wished that he would see me. And he did. He glanced in my direction and our eyes met for the first time. He almost looked away, but his eyes moved back and he fixed his gaze upon me. I believe he was rather startled at this young woman who regarded him so intently, and with so much longing. I looked at the Great Queen Tiye and saw that she was looking at me. My heart pounded quickly, and my dreams soared in the highest sky. But I never anticipated what followed.

I returned to our palace heaving with excitement and vague desires. Mutnedjmet, however, was sullen.

“I am quite sure now,” she said when we were alone in our room. I asked her what she meant, and she continued, “He is sick and insane.”

“You have only seen him from outside. You know nothing of what is in his heart.”

The next day, when my father returned to the palace he told me that the Great Queen had asked to see me. His announcement shook the entire family, and we looked questioningly at each other.

“I suspect,” my father continued proudly, “that the queen will appoint you one of her maids of honor.”

I went to the royal palace in the company of my father. I was ushered to the queen's resting place overlooking the garden. I bowed before her until she called upon me to rise and sit on a sofa to her right.

“Your name is Nefertiti?” she said. I nodded and she continued softly, “Nefert-iti, The Beautiful One Has Come, a well-deserved name indeed.” I blushed with joy. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen years, my Queen.”

“You look more mature.” She paused for a moment then continued, “Why do you think I summoned you?”

“A fortune beyond what I deserve.”

“Well said, young woman,” she smiled. “Have you acquired some education?”

“Reading, writing, poetry, history, theology, algebra, and home-making,” I replied.

“What do you think of Egypt?”

“Egypt is the mother of the world, and its pharaoh the king of kings.”

“Who is your most cherished deity?” she asked. I detected a keenness in her question.

“Aten, Your Majesty.” I was compelled to hide the truth.

“What about Amun?”

“Amun protects the empire, but Aten circles it every day.”

“One cannot control what the heart loves, but you must realize that Amun is the master of all deities.”

“Indeed I do, Your Majesty.”

“Tell me in all honesty,” she continued, “has your heart ever known the love of a man?”

“No, Your Majesty,” I replied without hesitation.

“Have you had any suitors?”

“Many asked for my hand in marriage, but my father did not consider them suitable.”

She scrutinized my face for a while, then said, “You must have heard what is said about the crown prince's peculiar ideas regarding Amun and the deities. What is your honest impression?”

For the first time I was not able to reply. I remained silent until she continued in a voice laden with authority, “Speak only the truth.”

“What is in the heart belongs to the heart. But the traditions established between the throne and the priests must be preserved.”

“Well spoken!” she said. She appeared relieved. “Speak to me of your dream man. What is he like?”

“He has the strength of a warrior and the soul of a priest.”

She laughed. “You are extremely ambitious. If you had to choose, would it be the warrior or the priest?”

“The soul is more important.”

“In all honesty?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You are not like other young women,” she exclaimed.

“Life without faith is barren,” I said.

“What is faith without life?”

“There is no faith without life, and no life without faith.”

She remained silent for a while as I struggled to hide my rising excitement.

“Have you seen the crown prince?” she asked at last.

“At the Sed festival, my Queen.”

“What do you think of him?”

“He has a mysterious power that distinguishes him from all other men.”

“I meant, what would you think of him as a husband?”

I was silenced by the surprise. She repeated her question.

“I cannot find the words, my Queen,” I replied, my voice trembling.

“Did you ever dream of being a queen?”

“My dreams have only risen as high as my humble heart.”

“Doesn't the idea of the throne fascinate you?”

“It is a sky too high for my heart to fly in.”

Tiye was silent for a moment. “I have chosen you as a wife for my son, the crown prince.”

I closed my eyes under the intensity of my emotions. Pulling myself together again, I said, “But the prince doesn't know me, and he's not interested in me.”

“But he abides by my wishes. I am his mother, and he loves me above all else,” she said proudly. “It is impor tant for me to find him a suitable wife. When I saw you I felt that you were his match. I heed my inner feelings just as much as I heed reason.” I was still silenced and overwhelmed. She continued, “But you must remember that as a queen, your duties will come before all else.”

“I hope to rise to your expectations, my Queen.”

“Promise me your unconditional loyalty,” she demanded in a penetrating voice.

“I do,” I replied, unaware of the extent of my commitment.

“I am sure that you will honor your word.”

I could hardly think for joy and gratitude. But the moment I bid the queen farewell and left her chamber, I felt as though my hands were bound in shackles bearing her royal signet. She was a power I could never disregard. I remembered the crown prince and knew that the greatness of his soul would not make him any more appealing as a husband. I realized that I would pay a very high price for glory.

The news was like a thunderbolt to my family. I realize, of course, that Mutnedjmet must have been very bitter, and that Tey probably shared some of that. But still it was joyful news for everyone in the family. My fortune had lifted me to the throne of Egypt, but it had also elevated them to the rank of royalty. Because of that, they showered me with kisses and good wishes. I recalled the prophecy of the old man, and shuddered as I realized that it had in part come true. I wondered if Mutnedjmet, too, would sit on the throne of Egypt. Perhaps she also remembered the prophecy and found some solace in it. “Today, your mother will rest peacefully in her tomb,” my father said when we were alone in his room.

“I hope so,” I said sadly.

“You do not seem happy, my daughter,” he said with a smile and a keen look.

“Reality is more frightening than imagination,” I said earnestly.

“Fate could not grant you a better chance for happiness.”

“Are you certain, Father, that I shall be happy?”

“The throne will bring you glory, but happiness is only in the heart.”

“I believe you, Father.”

“I shall pray that you will be both glorious and happy.”

The marriage took place with unusual haste. The celebration held in the palace was worthy of the great king Amenhotep III and his love of worldly pleasures. Tiye took me to the golden room and sat me on the royal bed, shimmering with gold. I wore a sheer dress with my body naked beneath. The crown prince appeared at the door as the light from the torches danced on the walls. He removed his cloak and approached me in a sheer loincloth, his eyes gleaming. He motioned to me to stand on the bed and held my legs to his chest.

“You are the sun of my life,” he whispered. My soul delighted in his presence, but my body cringed. He continued, “I fell in love with you at the Sed festival. That night I hurried to my mother and told her I wanted to make you my wife.” He laughed joyfully. “At first she denied me my request. She did not want me to marry a girl with no royal blood. When I reminded her that neither was she of royal blood, she feigned anger and dismissed the subject. The next thing she told me was that she had met with you-and she gave me her approval.”

I recalled how Tiye had claimed that my marriage to the crown prince was her idea. I hid my smile. I felt as though I was expected to speak. I wanted what I said to be the truth.

“I believed in your God before I even saw you.”

“What joy!” he cried. “You heard from Ay?”

I nodded. “You are the first woman to believe, Nefertiti,” he said.

I wanted to speak to him longer, to delay the moment when we would lie together. “I want to be the first to sing hymns in his temple.”

“I promise you that,” he whispered, and kissed me. “You shall bear me an heir to the throne.” Suddenly, all the magnificent emotions I had felt disappeared. All that remained was reticence and irritation.

We continued to walk our path together, both as man and wife and as believers. I delved further into the faith with him. His spirit engulfed me and filled me with so much light that I expected God might speak to me as he had spoken to him. As for my body, it convulsed silently every time he came near me. His seed grew inside me. I became pale and ill, as the child within me made a mockery of my beautiful, slender body. Akhenaten dwelled in the truth. He despised all lies and falsehood. I wondered how I would reply if he ever asked me, “Do you love me, Nefertiti?” I knew I could not find the courage to lie to him. I tried to be prepared. “Love will come in time,” I would tell him. I would ask his forgiveness and explain to him that he had taught me to love the truth. Perhaps it would have brought an end to my dreams even before I became queen. But he never asked.

One day Queen Tiye called for me, and as I approached her she looked at me closely. “You must mind your health,” she started. “You are carrying a precious life within you that will soon be part of the history of this country.”

“Pray for me, my Queen.”

“You have a long life ahead of you,” she said confidently. “Do not let fear control your mind.”

“Some things are not in the hands of people,” I replied.

“A queen is more than just ‘people.’” She heaved a sigh.

The queen was destroying my defenses. What a powerful woman she was, just as my father had always described her. My husband loved her dearly, and she regarded him as her sole property. Even after our marriage, I felt the weight of her shackles.

The news about the One God reached the priests and the strife began. During that time I had grown to know the extent of the power my husband possessed within his feeble body. I felt the strength of his spirit, and the intensity of his courage and determination.

“All the stones of the pyramids cannot move me from my position,” he said to me once.

“And I am with you,” I replied.

“Our God shall not forsake us,” he cried.

Even his mother could not persuade him to change his stand. One day, Tiye called me to her chamber. When I walked in I realized that this was perhaps the most important day in my life.

“Has the pregnancy distracted you from following the affairs of Thebes?” she asked.

“The affairs of Thebes are my affairs.” I was prepared for a battle.

“Did your kind words have no influence on your husband?” she asked.

“The words of his God are more powerful.”

“You do not seem saddened or worried.”

“I believe in what he says, my Queen.” My wrists were free at last. With that declaration, I made it known that my love for my God was stronger than my love for the throne.

Tiye glared. “Do you really believe in the Sole Creator?”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“You renounce the deities of Egypt?”

“God is one and has no partner,” I replied.

“Do you believe that other people have the right to worship their gods?”

“My God is not a threat to anyone.”

“But one day your husband will be king, and he must serve all the deities.”

“We serve no other but the One and Only.”

“Your rebellion,” she cried, “shall have the gravest repercussions.”

“God will never forsake us.”

“You promised me your unconditional loyalty,” she said bitterly.

“You are my queen. But God is above all else.”

I returned to my quarters with a heavy heart and tearful eyes. I did not know what destiny held in store for me. Yet I felt at peace. Soon the prince was ordered to tour the empire. I felt that Tiye had begun her punishment. She meant to deprive me of my husband when I was going to deliver my child at any moment. When Akhenaten left, I was gripped by new emotions. The light of life had gone; even the sun had only darkness. I was choked with fear. Nothing could compensate for my husband's absence, not even having my stepmother, Tey, by my side. I was enshrouded in sorrow. I missed Akhenaten wherever I was and at every hour of the day. I could not believe that he had occupied so much of my life. I realized that, without him, I was not happy. It was then that I became aware that I loved him, not only as my spiritual companion, but as husband and lover. Bitter tears seared my face. I regretted my ignorance and my blindness. I longed for him to return so that I could throw myself at his feet.

Queen Tiye and I went into labor at the same time. I had Meretaten, and the queen bore twins, Smenkhkare and Tutankhamun. When I found out that I had given birth to a girl I was overcome with grief. I heard the whispers of the harem saying that it was the curse of the priests of Amun. They said I would never bear a son as long as I lived.

Around that time, King Amenhotep III married Tadukhipa, the daughter of Tushratta, king of Mitanni, to reinforce the ties of friendship between Egypt and Mitanni. Tadukhipa's beauty was renowned. She entered Thebes in a magnificient procession with three hundred slaves. Tey tried to entertain me by talking about the new princess in the palace. She spoke to me of her wealth and beauty, but added at the end that, of course, no sun shone more brightly than mine. King Amenhotep III adored Tadukhipa, his new bride who was the age of his grandchildren. But the king was not able to savor his newfound happiness for long. For word arrived that the crown prince was preaching his religion throughout the provinces. I was summoned to appear before the king and queen. I did not expect to see the king so frail, but it seemed that he had exhausted himself in the pleasures of life.

“He is mad,” the king cried viciously.

“We can send the armed forces to the provinces to correct the damage that has been done,” Tiye said.

“He has lost the succession to the throne. Nothing we do will help him regain it.”

“Perhaps he will succeed. Perhaps they will heed his words,” I said after a moment's hesitation.

“You are foolish, Nefertiti,” the king shouted. “Just like your husband.”

“You could have tried to make him more reasonable,” Tiye added. “Instead you joined him in his nonsense.”

“How can I achieve what you have failed to do, my Queen?” I replied, trying to control my anger.

“You deliberately encourage him,” she said accusingly.

“When he returns,” Amenhotep interrupted with a wave of his hand, “I will have him choose between the throne and his religion.”

My sadness grew. The morning after I met with the king and queen, Tiye woke me up and whispered, “The king is dead, Queen Nefertiti.”

My heart was heavy with grief. I wondered if before he died King Amenhotep III had carried out his threat. Would Tiye sacrifice her beloved son? One time, when she was overseeing the mummification of her husband, she called me and said, “I want you to know that the priests requested that I appoint Smenkhkare or Tutankhamun king and that I should be regent.”

I feared what Tiye would say next. “Your decision shall be the wisest, and I will embrace it regardless,” I replied.

“Are you speaking the truth?” she asked.

“What else do I have but the truth?” I replied desperately.

“I denied them their request. My love for my son was greater than my wisdom.”

I felt as though I had just begun to breathe. I was speechless.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes, my Queen,” I replied earnestly. “I abhor lying.”

“Do you promise me to defend the traditions?”

“I cannot promise that.”

“You deserve to be punished,” she said. “But I also admire you. You and Akhenaten have chosen your path, so walk it. It is what the gods charted.”

I returned to my quarters elated. I showered Meretaten with kisses. Then my beloved returned from his journey. I hurried to him and threw my arms around him.

“At last your love has come, Nefertiti,” he said calmly.

I was startled and said, “I loved you even before I laid eyes on you.”

“But only now, you love me as your husband.” I was stunned by his ability to discern the secrets of the heart.

After the burial of Amenhotep III, Akhenaten came to me with tearful eyes. “Death frightens me,” he said. “I did not love my father as I should have.” We ascended the throne surrounded by hostility and apprehension. Akhenaten called upon his men to join his religion. They declared their faith willingly. It never occurred to me to doubt their faith, until much later when they all abandoned him to save themselves. Except for Meri-Ra, the high priest of the One God. I believe that Akhenaten knew that they were not sincere. But he believed that love was the cure for all ills. He thought that in time their faith would grow deeper with love, and that they would believe in him. He waited patiently for their faith, as he had once waited for my love. But they were not deserving. Some of them even harbored a secret desire to claim the throne after him-Haremhab, and even my father, Ay. Do not think that my bitterness has led me to fabricate this. I do not rely on mere impressions either. I learned these facts from conversations I had with the men during the last days of Akhetaten. I was pleased that the priests decided to entrust the throne to Tutankhamun instead. I believe the others still dwell on their old dream.

Despite the hostility that surrounded us when we first took the throne, Akhenaten and I were extremely happy. Meretaten was beginning to crawl, and a new life was growing inside me. Akhenaten had no other partner but me. He inherited his father's harem, with the beautiful Mitannian woman, but he abstained from visiting it. Then Queen Tiye came and I expected no good from her visit.

“Akhenaten,” she started, close enough that I could hear her, “you are king now. You must not neglect your harem.”

“I have but one love, just as I have one God,” he laughed.

“But you must be fair. Do not forget that Tadukhipa is in your harem. She deserves to be treated well, if only for her father Tushratta's sake.” Tiye glanced at me and noticed my irritation. She continued, “Nefertiti has proven to be a wise queen. Perhaps she will agree with me about your harem.”

I remained silent, trying not to reveal that I was upset. Tiye continued to talk about the duties of a queen.

I became curious about the harem, particularly Tadukhipa. I visited them, saying merely that I wanted to make their acquaintance. Tadukhipa was indeed beautiful, but my self-confidence was not shaken. We exchanged a few words, and parted enemies.

The next day, as I sat with my husband in the palace garden, I found myself asking him, “What do you intend to do about the harem?”

“I do not want it,” he replied simply.

“But the queen mother does not heed your desires,” I complained.

“My mother loves tradition.”

“But you do not believe in tradition.”

“You're quite right, my beloved,” he laughed.

I suppose it was around that time that I met with the high priest of Amun.

“My Queen,” the high priest started, “perhaps you know what I have come for.”

“I am listening, High Priest,” I replied without enthusiasm.

“Let the king worship whichever god he pleases. But all the deities, Amun in particular, have the right to be worshiped,” he pleaded.

“We are not trying to harm your god.”

“I am hoping that when the time comes you will support us.”

“I can only promise what I know I can give.”

“Your father and I are old friends. And I know that nothing can spoil our friendship.”

“I am glad to hear that.”

When he left I knew I had made an eternal enemy. Akhenaten devoted his time to the religion. He called for love, abolished punishment, and relieved the poor of their dues. People began to believe that it was a new era of love and benevolence. I gave birth to my second daughter, Meketaten. Once more I was disappointed and remembered all that had been said about the curse of the priests. But Akhenaten loved his daughters. “The crown prince will come when it is his time,” he said to comfort me. We built a temple for the One God in Thebes and went to visit it for the first time. The priests had gathered a mob of their followers and they stood outside the temple calling the name of Amun. The king was dismayed. He spent the night on the terrace of our room, addressing Thebes: “O city of evil, home of the lustful god, and merciless priests, O Thebes, I will never dwell in you.” The voice of God told him to build a new city. Bek the sculptor selected eighty thousand men and started work on the city of the Sole Creator. Meanwhile, we continued to live in Thebes, happy inside our palace, yet surrounded on all sides by malice. I bore two more girls, Ankhesenpaaten and Nefernaten. Then we moved to the new city. Smenkhkare and Tutankhamun came with us, but Tiye decided to remain in Thebes to preserve the last tie between the throne and the priests of Amun.

When we reached Akhetaten, the city of light, I cried with bliss, “How great is your beauty, how sweet is your spirit, O God of this city and of the universe.” We prayed in the temple, and sang the hymns of the One God. Meri-Ra was appointed high priest of the Sole Creator. We lived in pure happiness, until one day the king returned from his solitude with a solemn look.

“My God commands me that no other deity should be worshiped in his country.”

I realized instantly the gravity of what he said. “And what will become of the other deities?”

“I will decree the closing of their temples and appropriate their endowments.” He was determined. I remained silent. “You do not seem happy, Nefertiti.”

“You are defying the priests of the entire land,” I replied.

“Yes. It is in my power.”

“If you do so, you are bound to use violence and punishment. You are a man of peace. Why resort to such measures?”

“I shall never use violence as long as I live.”

“What if they disobey you?”

“I will distribute the endowments of the temples to the poor of the country and call upon them to worship the One God and abandon the other deities.”

I felt at once as though a weight had been lifted from my chest. I kissed him. “God will never forsake you.”

The decree was made and executed without provoking the storms I had expected. It was God's power, and the power of the throne. We became more confident. In the evenings we visited the different quarters of Akhetaten in our royal carriage. The people received us with adulation. We descended from our carriage and walked among them under the palm trees, defying the long tradition that separated the royalty and the common people. We became so familiar with them that we knew their names and faces and professions. Love replaced the old fear in the people's hearts. The hymns of the One and Only were heard all over Akhetaten.

“I am afraid you are diminishing the traditional status of the king,” my father told me once.

“Father,” I replied laughing, “we only dwell in the truth.”

Then we went on our journey through the empire, calling the people to worship the Sole Creator. Our enemies were in awe of our success. Maho, the chief of police, told us about the priests' attempts to win the people over to their side by slandering the king and the throne. But we took little notice. People grew accustomed to Akhenaten's peculiar ways of worship, his solitariness, and his complete devotion. I suppose it was I who became a mystery in their eyes. How could I be so immersed in worship, when I had to manage all the administrative and financial affairs of the country? Perhaps they even questioned the sincerity of my faith. The truth is that I believed every word Akhenaten uttered. I shared his faith and his life. “When all the spirits have become pure and free of any evil,” he used to say, “everyone will hear the voice of God and we shall all dwell in the truth.” That was his real purpose, that everyone should dwell in the truth. When we returned from our journey we found Meketaten sick and bedridden. Her face was so pale that we hardly recognized the daughter we had created. Akhenaten remained by her side, praying. I asked Bento, the physician, to save her.

“Bento,” I said, calling him to the corner of Meketaten's room, “my daughter is dying.”

“I did all that I could,” he said mournfully.

“The priests have cast a spell to deprive Akhenaten of his most beloved daughter,” I cried in horror.

“Do not burn my heart with the grief of mourning her, dear God,” I heard Akhenaten whisper. “I love her and cannot live without her in my life. She is far wiser than her age, O God. If you spare her life she will spend it in your service.”

But Meketaten's soul faded until she left our world and ascended to the stars in God's Kingdom. We threw ourselves upon her, wailing, abandoned to grief.

“Why, O God?” Akhenaten cried. “Why do you try my faith so very severely? Must you be so cruel in showing me that I still do not know your mighty power? Why do you treat me so harshly when you are full of compassion, so coldly when you are love, so angrily when I am your obedient servant? Why do you insist on being a mystery when you are the light? Why did you make her so beautiful, and give her such sound reason? Why did you make us love her, and prepare her for your service? O Mighty God, why?”

We remained in mourning until the sorrows of the country pulled us out of our grief to face a tragedy. We conferred with Nakht and he told us the details of the strife and the rebellion that had swept the empire. I must admit that my determination was no longer as firm as it had been before Meketaten died. But Akhenaten endured the most severe storms, as if he were the Great Pyramid, imperishable.

“God will persevere,” he said. “I will not compromise.”

I was encouraged by his strength of spirit, and my strength returned afresh. My misgivings subsided, and I felt remorse for my momentary weakness. Then the queen mother, Tiye, visited us in Akhetaten. First she met with our men in her palace in southern Akhetaten. Then she summoned me and my husband.

“The skies are filled with dark clouds,” she began. “Your men have given me their word of honor that they will remain loyal to you under any circumstances.”

“Do you trust them?” I asked curiously.

“In times like this, I am compelled to lend them my trust,” she replied reproachfully.

“My God will be victorious,” Akhenaten said.

“Soon the country will be consumed by civil wars.” She was incensed.

“God will never forsake me,” he repeated.

“I cannot speak for the gods, but I can speak for what transpires in the world of people.”

“Mother,” he said sadly, “you do not believe.”

“Do not speak to me of the unknown. Speak to me as the king that you are and heed me as a queen. You must act before it is too late. Use the armed forces to protect your borders from the enemies. Use the guards and the police to stop the corruption inside the empire. Hurry, before your throne is lost to the enemies.”

“I shall not have one drop of blood shed.”

“Do not make me regret that I entrusted you with the throne.”

“I only believe in the throne as a means to serve God.”

Tiye looked at me and said, “Speak, Nefertiti-perhaps the gods meant you to marry him so that you can save him this very moment.”

“Our God will not forsake us, Mother,” I replied.

“Madness has won.” She was desperate.

Tiye left the palace sad and ill. She returned to Thebes, where she lived only a few days more, then died with her worries. A few days later, Haremhab, Nakht, and my father Ay asked to speak with us.

“Your faces betray bad news,” Akhenaten said.

“We have come because of our love for Egypt and the empire,” my father began.

“What about your faith in the Sole Creator?”

“We still believe in him. But we are responsible for our lives, too, not only our faith.”

“This responsibility you speak of is worthless if it is not inspired by faith,” Akhenaten added.

“The enemies of the empire have crossed our borders,” Nakht said. “The provinces are in open rebellion. We are trapped in Akhetaten.”

“God will not forsake me, and I will not forsake his teachings,” he insisted.

“We are facing a civil war!” Haremhab said.

“There shall be no wars.”

“Are we to wait until we are slain like sheep?” Haremhab asked.

“I myself will confront the army that attacks us, alone and unarmed,” the king said.

“They will kill you and then come after us. If you insist on upholding your message, then relinquish the throne and devote yourself to religion.”

“I will not forsake the throne of my God. It would be treachery. I release you from your vow of loyalty to me.”

“We will leave you some time to decide,” Haremhab said.

They delivered their last warning and left us. I never imagined a pharaoh could be so humiliated. I wondered why God was so harsh on us, but Akhenaten's faith was not shaken. I admired his determination.

Then Haremhab asked to meet me privately. “Act now,” he said. “Do whatever is in your power. If he insists on his position, he will be killed. He may be slain by his own men! You must act promptly.”

I was bewildered. I saw the ghastly shadows of death and defeat. My faith was shaken. I felt the torment of helplessness. How could I save my beloved? It occurred to me that if I left him he might falter and take the advice of his men. He would be convinced that I had betrayed him, but at least his life would be saved. Thus I left my beloved king and husband, my heart seared with grief. I went to the palace in northern Akhetaten. My sister, Mutnedjmet, visited me and told me that the king had not wavered from his position. She told me that the men had decided that in order to save him, they must abandon him and pledge their allegiance to the new pharaoh, Tutankhamun.

“When will you move to Thebes?” she asked.

“A part of the old prophecy has come true,” I said, reading the meaning between her words. “Now it is time for the other part. So you go to Thebes in peace, Mutnedjmet. I will stay here beside my husband and my God.”

Sadness set its roots deep in my heart, as though I had never once been happy in my life. I was haunted by guilt as I watched from my window the people leaving the city of light before the curse claimed them. I heard their voices, the cries of their children, and the howling of their dogs. I saw them come in waves, carrying whatever they could salvage of happier days. They hurried toward the Nile, the north, and the south. I watched until I saw the last of them leave the city. Akhetaten was deserted. Gloom hung over the magnificent houses, the gardens, and the streets. “Akhetaten,” I cried, “O city of light, where are the hymns and melodies, where is the victory, where is love? Where are you, my God? Why did you forsake us?”

The city was now empty except for two prisoners- my beloved and I-and a few guards appointed by the priests. When I wished to return to his palace to see him and talk with him, the guards stopped me. I was not allowed to leave the palace, they said. They did not allow me even to write to him. I knew then that there was nothing I could do but await my death in this prison. I tried sending messages to the new pharaoh and to my father and Haremhab, stating my simple request to see Akhenaten. But the guards told me I was allowed no contact with the outside world. I waited patiently and without hope for my days to end. I was no longer aware of the passage of time. I prayed constantly, until I finally regained all my faith in the One God. Indeed, I believe now that the final victory will be for the Sole Creator.

The chief of the guards came to me one day and said, “I am ordered to tell you that the heretic has died after a long illness. A royal party has been sent to mummify and entomb him according to the royal rituals.”

I did not believe a word he said. My beloved did not fall ill and die. They must have killed him. His soul now rests eternally. One day I shall follow him. I will explain to him why I left him and ask his forgiveness, and he will seat me beside him on the throne of truth.

Queen Nefertiti was quiet, her sweet voice stilled. I bade her farewell, dreading the path that took me away from her. My heart was infused with her beauty.

When I returned to Sais, my father greeted me happily. He asked me about my journey, and I answered him. For days we talked and I recounted the details of my travels. I told my father everything I had learned, except for two things-my growing fondness for the hymns of the One God, and my profound love for the beautiful Nefertiti.