Nefertiti

Chapter Twelve

seventh of Thoth

WE STOOD ON the top of a barren hill overlooking the Nile as it coursed through Memphis. A warm wind tore at our sheaths, snapping our short cloaks in the air.

“The temple will be two stories high and two hills across.” Maya pointed across the sunstruck dunes. Their crests vaulted one after another, cones of white sand shimmering in the heat.

“Where will the materials come from?” Nefertiti asked.

“The men will use the rocks from the Eastern Quarry.”

Amunhotep was impatient. “How long will it take?”

The wind picked up, drowning out the builder’s words. Panahesi and my father moved closer.

“Six seasons, if the men can work daily.”

Amunhotep’s face darkened. “In six seasons, I could be assassinated!” he shouted. Since he had executed the High Priest of Amun, this was his fear. Everywhere he went, hired guards from Nubia accompanied him. They stood outside his door while he slept and hovered like ravens behind his chair while he ate. They were here now, clustered at the bottom of the hill, their spears ready to dispense with any enemy of the king. In the halls of the palace, Nefertiti had whispered to me that Amunhotep was afraid that the people didn’t love him. “Why?” I’d asked her, and her look plainly answered. It was because of what had happened to the High Priest of Amun. Now Amunhotep could feel the people’s anger in the streets, and none of his viziers were courageous enough to tell him this was true. But our father had warned Nefertiti. “How can you know?” she’d railed in my chamber, and he had produced a drawing found in the marketplace; it had the body of a serpent and the head of the king swallowing up a statue of the great god Amun.

Now Amunhotep paced on the top of the hill and his voice brooked no argument. “Six seasons is not acceptable!” he raged.

“What would you have me do, Your Majesty? There are only so many workers skilled enough to build a temple—”

Amunhotep set his jaw. “Then we shall use the army.”

Nefertiti stepped forward, and her voice grew excited. “If soldiers helped build the temple, how soon could it be done?”

Maya frowned. “How many soldiers do we speak of, Your Highness?”

“Three thousand,” Amunhotep replied immediately, not thinking about the war he had promised Horemheb or the borders of Egypt that would have to be defended.

“Three thousand?” Maya tried to hide his surprise. “It might take…” He paused a moment to calculate. “With so many men, it might only take three seasons.”

Amunhotep nodded decisively. “Then every soldier who has come to Memphis will be employed tonight.”

“What of Egypt’s borders?” my father asked firmly. “They will need to be defended. The palace will still need to be guarded. Take a thousand,” he said, though I knew the suggestion pained him. He passed a warning glance to my sister, who nodded.

“Yes. One thousand. We don’t want Egypt’s borders to go defenseless.”

Amunhotep submitted, then looked to Maya. “But you will inform the men tonight.”

“And Horemheb?” my father warned. “He will not be pleased.”

“Then let him not be pleased!” Amunhotep snapped.

My father shook his head. “He could turn the army against you.”

Panahesi was immediately at Amunhotep’s side. “Pay the army more than they could ever take in booty from the Hittites,” he suggested. “Placate them. There is more than enough money from the taxation.”

“Good. Good.” Amunhotep grinned. “The men will not leave me after what I’ll pay.”

“And the general?” my father asked again.

Amunhotep narrowed his eyes. “What general?”

The next day, the Audience Chamber was crowded with petitioners waiting to see Pharaoh. The building of the greatest temple ever raised had already begun and messengers arrived bearing scrolls from the construction site. While Kiya waddled through the palace halls, heaving herself from chair to chair like a heifer—as Nefertiti described it—servants came and went with details and measurements from the builder Maya. Then the doors to the Audience Chamber burst open and Amunhotep tensed. The guards closed around him and Horemheb laughed.

“I fought against the Nubians when I was nothing more than a boy,” he sneered. “You think fifteen guards can stop me?” He advanced on the throne. “You swore to me that there would be war. I gave you the temples of Amun!”

Amunhotep smiled. “And I am very grateful.”

If I were king, I wouldn’t taunt this general, I thought.

At the base of the dais, Horemheb stiffened. “How long do you plan on using the soldiers of Egypt as workers?”

“Three seasons,” Nefertiti replied from her throne.

Horemheb’s gaze slid from Amunhotep to my sister. I shuddered, but she didn’t shrink from his glare.

“Egypt must have its borders fully defended. That means every soldier,” Horemheb cautioned. “The Hittites—”

“I don’t care about Hittites!” Amunhotep walked down the dais to stand in front of Horemheb, knowing that in a room full of guards he was safe.

Horemheb inhaled, the leather of his pectoral straining against his chest. “You have lied to me.”

“I gave your soldiers better, less-dangerous jobs.”

“To build a temple to Aten? You defile Amun!”

“No.” Amunhotep smiled dangerously. “You defiled Amun.”

Horemheb’s rage brought out the veins in his arms and neck. “We will be attacked,” he warned. “The Hittites will come for Egypt, and when your men are better builders than soldiers you will be sorry.”

Amunhotep moved closer to Horemheb so that only I, sitting on the lowest tier of the dais, could hear what passed between them. “The men follow you the way they followed my brother. I don’t know why. But you will follow Aten. You will serve him, you will serve Pharaoh, or you will be stripped of your position and find yourself without a friend in Egypt. Horemheb the Friendless, they will call you. And anyone caught associating with you will be killed.” He straightened. “Do you understand?”

Horemheb said nothing.

“Do you understand?” Amunhotep shouted, and his voice rang in my ears.

Horemheb clenched his jaw. “I understand you well, Your Majesty.”

“Then go.”

We watched the general leave the chamber, and I thought, It is a very foolish thing he’s done today.

Amunhotep surveyed the chaotic scene in the Audience Chamber and declared, “I’m finished!” He looked sharply at the group of viziers clustered at the bottom of the dais. “Where is Panahesi?” he demanded.

“At the site of the new temple,” my father said, hiding his pleasure.

“Good.” Amunhotep turned to my sister and smiled indulgently. “Come. Let’s walk in the gardens. Your father can deal with all of this.” He waved a bangled arm to indicate the long line of petitioners outside the chamber.

Nefertiti looked at me, and it went without saying that I would be going, too.

We walked through the courtyard to the wide sycamore trees whose figs were ready to be harvested. “Did you know that Mutny can pick out any herb in the garden and name it?” Nefertiti asked.

Amunhotep regarded me suspiciously. “Are you a healer?”

“I learned a bit in Akhmim, Your Majesty.”

Nefertiti laughed. “More than a bit. She’s a little physician. Remember the boat?” Amunhotep stiffened, and I wondered why Nefertiti was reminding him about such a thing. “When I have a child, she will be one of my healers,” Nefertiti said, and there was something in her voice that made the Pharaoh and me both turn.

“Are you with child?” Amunhotep whispered.

Nefertiti’s smile widened. “The first son of Egypt.”

I gasped, covering my mouth, and Amunhotep let out a great shout and hugged Nefertiti to his chest. “A family, and no child shall ever be adored as much as ours,” he swore. He put his hand gently on my sister’s belly. I thought with incredulity that at seventeen, Nefertiti would be a mother to a Pharaoh of Egypt.

She beamed at me. “Well?”

I didn’t know what to say. “The gods have blessed you,” I gushed, but I also felt fear. She would have a family now, a husband and children to pay attention to. “Have you told Father?” I asked.

“No.” She was still smiling. “But I want my child blessed in Aten’s temple,” she said eagerly, and I stared at her in shock.

Amunhotep’s face grew serious. “Then the temple must be finished within nine months,” he said. “They must finish by Pachons.”

Inside the palace, there had already been whispers among the servants. There had been no blood found on Nefertiti’s sheets and no stains on her sheaths. Of course, I didn’t know. I was a courtyard away from her now, but Ipu wasn’t surprised.

“You knew and you didn’t even tell me?” I cried. Ipu lifted my robe over my head and put on another one for the night’s celebration.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to pass on gossip, my lady.”

“Of course I do!”

Ipu smiled so widely her dimples showed. “Then all my lady had to do was ask.”

Preparation for a celebration in the Great Hall officially began after Nefertiti told Amunhotep that she was carrying his child, but the dozens of tables and flickering oil lamps looked to have been prearranged. An army of servants must have decorated all afternoon, and every cook in Memphis must have started preparing dishes the same hour the news arrived in the palace. The dais, with its three steps leading to the Horus thrones, was bestrewn with flowers. On each step, servants had placed two chairs, high backed and well cushioned, for the highest members of the royal court. I would be sitting in one of those chairs, as would my mother and father, High Priest Panahesi, and, if she came, Princess Kiya. The last chair would be reserved for a chosen person of honor.

Once it came to eating, we would all ascend to the royal table where, most nights, the royal couple ate alone at the top of the glittering dais. But this night we would join them. This night was a celebration of our family. The royal family of Egypt.

Trumpeters announced our entrance to the room and we swept through the hall, making sure all the viziers could see how many golden bangles I was wearing and how many rings my father had donned. Kiya gave the excuse of pregnancy, but Panahesi walked with us in procession to the dais, and from beneath the Horus thrones my mother couldn’t stop beaming.

“Your sister is carrying the heir to the throne of Egypt,” she said in a voice full of wonder. “He will be Pharaoh someday.”

“If it’s a boy,” I replied.

My father smiled sharply. “It had better be. The midwives say Kiya is carrying a son and this family can’t afford a pretender to the throne.”

The Great Hall was filled with talking, laughing people. Every noble in Memphis had come. Nefertiti descended the dais and held out her arm for me to walk the room with her. She glowed in her triumph.

“You can’t walk alone?” I asked her.

“Of course, I can. But I need you.”

She didn’t need me, not really, but I hid my pleasure and gave her my arm. Heads turned as Ay’s daughters made their way across the chamber, and for the first time I felt it: the giddiness of being both beautiful and powerful. The men stared at Nefertiti, but their eyes lingered on me as well.

“Such a beautiful little girl.” Nefertiti chucked a woman’s fat child under the chin. I stared at my sister. She couldn’t possibly think the child was beautiful. But the mother smiled proudly and bowed more deeply than any of the other women at court.

“Thank you, my queen. Thank you.”

“Nefertiti,” I protested.

She pinched my arm. “Just keep smiling,” she instructed.

Then I saw that Amunhotep was watching us from his throne. Nefertiti and the sister of Nefertiti, charming and lovely and desirable and wanted. He descended the dais. He’d had enough of watching her bestow her graces on everyone but him.

“The most beautiful woman in Egypt,” he avowed, pulling her away from me. He escorted her back to her ebony throne and she glowed.

The child was all we heard about.

In the baths, at the Arena, inside the Great Hall, Nefertiti reminded everyone that she was carrying the heir to Egypt’s throne. By the middle of Thoth, I believe even Mother was tired of hearing it. “It’s all she ever talks about,” I confided, sitting forward on the stone bench in the garden, watching the cats hunt mice in the tall grass.

“It’s what she came here to do,” my mother said. “To give Egypt a son.”

“And to control the prince,” I said pointedly. We stared into the lake, watching the lotus blossoms dance across the surface, their cupping flowers mirrored in the water.

“Let’s just hope that it’s a son,” was all my mother said. “The people will forgive anything if there’s a prince waiting for the throne and they know there won’t be bloodshed for the crown. They may even forget that while the royal family is building temples in Memphis the Hittites are marching on Egyptian land in Kadesh.”

I glanced across at her, surprised, but she said nothing more on it.

“Get dressed, Mutny. We’re going to the temple.”

I started from my sheets. “The Temple of Amun?”

Nefertiti gave a dismissive sniff. “The Temple of Aten. They have finished the courtyard and I want to see it.”

“They finished in fifteen days?”

“Of course. There are thousands of men working. Hurry!”

I rushed to find my kilt and sandals and a belt. “What about Father?”

“He will stay in the Audience Chamber enforcing Egypt’s laws.” My sister added proudly, “The perfect trio. Pharaoh, his queen, and the competent vizier.”

“And Mother?” I slipped on my kilt.

“She’s coming.”

“But what will Tiye think?”

My sister hesitated. I thought there was real regret in her voice when she admitted, “Tiye is angry with me.” Shame colored her cheeks. After all, Queen Tiye had been the one to place the Horus crown on her head. But now Nefertiti owed Amunhotep her loyalty, not Tiye. I knew she saw it this way, but she never discussed with me what the choice had cost her or the sleepless nights she had, her head on her palm, looking out at the moon and wondering how eternity would echo her decisions. She sat on my bed now and watched me dress. She used to make fun of how long my legs were and how dark my skin was. But she didn’t have time for children’s insults now. “She even sent messengers to threaten him. But what can she do? He was crowned. He will be Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt as soon as the Elder dies.”

“Which could be years,” I warned, hoping the gods didn’t hear the way her voice rose with hope when she spoke about Pharaoh’s death. I followed her through the hall, and when we entered the courtyard I turned to Nefertiti in surprise. “Who are all these armed men?”

Amunhotep strode through the carved sandstone gates and answered me. “I must have protection, and your sister as well. I don’t trust my father’s army.”

“But these men are part of the army,” I pointed out. “If the army can’t be trusted—”

“The generals can’t be trusted,” Amunhotep snapped. “The soldiers—these soldiers—will do as they’re told.” He stepped up into his gilded chariot, holding out his hand to help my sister. Then he cracked the whip in the air and the horses took off.

“Nefertiti!” I cried and turned to my mother. “Is it safe for her to be riding so fast?” I could hear Nefertiti’s laughter above the horses’ hooves and watched her disappear into the distance.

My mother shook her head. “Of course not. But who is going to stop her?”

The armed guards ushered us quickly into our own chariot, and it was a short ride to the site of the new Temple of Aten. When it reared into view, it was as though we had stepped into the midst of a city that had come under siege. Sandstone blocks lay scattered and soldiers picked their way through half-built debris, grunting and heaving and shouting orders. Panahesi, his long cloak billowing, stood with his arms folded over his chest, barking commands to the men. As my sister had promised, the courtyard had already been erected, and pillars, carved in Nefertiti and Amunhotep’s likeness, were being pulled into place. The royal couple descended from their chariot and Panahesi rushed over, bowing.

“Your Highness.” He saw my sister and tried to hide his disappointment. “Your Majesty. How kind of you to have come all the way here.”

“We plan to supervise the building until it is done,” Nefertiti said firmly, surveying the site. Although it appeared to be chaos, at a second glance, the land seemed to be divided into four distinct sections: the painters, the carvers, the movers, and the builders.

Amunhotep flipped his cloak from his shoulders and looked around. “Have the men noticed our arrival?”

Panahesi hesitated. “Your Highness?”

“Have the men noticed our arrival?” he shouted. “No one is bowing!”

The workers around us stopped and Panahesi cleared his throat. “I thought Your Highness wanted the temple to the glorious Aten finished as quickly as possible?”

“Nothing is more important than Pharaoh!” His voice echoed across the busy courtyards. I saw General Horemheb in the background, his face filled with quiet menace. Then the hammers stopped and the soldiers immediately fell to one knee. Only one man remained standing. An anger bright as fire flashed across Amunhotep’s face. He moved forward and the crowds stumbled back to make way for him. Nefertiti inhaled and I stepped closer to her. “What will he do?”

“I don’t know.”

Amunhotep closed the distance between himself and Horemheb. They stood at the same height, but only one had the love of the army. “Why don’t you kneel before the representative of Aten?”

“You put these men in jeopardy, Your Highness. The most elite of your fighting force is here. Men who ride chariots into battle are carving your likeness into stone when they should be defending our borders from the Hittites. This is not a wise use of trained men.”

“I will determine what is wise! You are nothing more than a soldier and I am Pharaoh of Egypt.” Amunhotep stiffened. “You will bow before me.”

Horemheb remained standing and Amunhotep’s hand flew to the dagger at his side. He stepped forward threateningly. “Tell me,” he said, drawing the knife from its sheath, “do you think your men would rise against me if I were to kill you here?” He glanced around him nervously. “I think they would continue to kneel, even as your blood soaked into the sand.”

Horemheb inhaled. “Then try it, Your Highness.”

Amunhotep hesitated. He looked around at the thousands of soldiers whose powerful bodies were clad in kilts, but were weaponless. Then he sheathed his dagger and stepped away. “Why don’t you obey me?” he demanded.

“We struck a deal,” Horemheb replied. “I obeyed His Highness and His Highness betrayed Egypt.”

“I betrayed no one,” Amunhotep said viciously. “You betray me. You and this army. You think I don’t know that you were friends with Tuthmosis? That you were loyal to him?”

Horemheb said nothing.

“You would have knelt before my brother!” Amunhotep cried. “Tell me you wouldn’t have knelt before Tuthmosis.”

Horemheb remained silent and suddenly Amunhotep’s fist lashed out, connecting with the general’s stomach. Horemheb sucked in his breath, but his legs didn’t buckle. Amunhotep looked quickly at the soldiers around him, whose bodies went tense, ready to defend their general. Then he grabbed Horemheb’s shoulder and whispered savagely, “You are relieved of this duty. Go back to my father. But you would do well to remember that when the Elder dies, I will be Pharaoh of Upper Egypt as well.”

The crowds parted as Horemheb moved toward his chariot. Then the soldiers turned as one to look at Amunhotep.

“Resume the building!” Panahesi shouted. “Resume!”

Even though it was early in the morning, a fire crackled in the brazier inside my chamber. Nefertiti sat in a gilded chair nearest the heat, the light of the flames illuminating the lapis eye between her breasts. Our father sat back, his fingers under his chin. The rest of the palace was asleep.

“Is there nothing you can do to manage his temper?”

The fire snapped and hissed. Nefertiti sighed. “I do what I can. He hates the army.”

“They are what keep him in power,” my father said sternly. “Horemheb will not forget what he did.”

“Horemheb is in Thebes,” Nefertiti replied.

“And when the Elder dies?”

“That could be another ten years.” She was using my words, even though I knew she didn’t believe them.

“Without the army, Egypt is weak. You are fortunate that in Thebes there are still generals who prepare their soldiers for war.”

“They will only be building for three seasons,” she defended.

“Three?” My father rose in anger. “It was six and now it’s three? How can an army complete a temple in a year?”

“I am with child!” Nefertiti clasped her stomach. “He has to be consecrated on the altar of Aten.” My father glared at her. “It’s Amunhotep’s wish,” she added. “And if I don’t do it, then Kiya will. What if she gives him a son?” she asked desperately.

“She will be brought to bed within seven days,” my father warned. “If it’s a prince, he will celebrate. There will be feasting and processions.”

Nefertiti closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm, but my father shook his head.

“Prepare yourself for it. These next few days must belong to Kiya.”

I could see the determination in my sister’s face. “I’m going with him this morning to the Arena,” she declared. She turned to the closet where she kept her riding clothes and called for Merit.

“You’re going to ride with him?” I exclaimed. “But you haven’t ridden in days!”

“And now I will. It was a mistake to think I could settle comfortably into pregnancy.”

She tore through her closet until Merit came. Even at this hour of the morning, her body servant’s kohl was perfect and her linen crisp. Nefertiti said sharply, “My gauntlets and helmet. Quickly. Before Amunhotep’s awake and wants to ride.”

My father confronted Merit. “Is she endangering the child?”

Nefertiti glared at Merit from behind my father’s shoulder, and Merit said immediately, “It’s early, Vizier. Only a few months.”

Nefertiti tightened the belt around her waist. “Perhaps if I ride my blood will quicken and make it a son.”

On the twenty-eighth of Thoth, Ipu came running into my chamber where Nefertiti and I were playing Senet.

“It’s happening!” she cried. “Kiya is having the child.”

We both scrambled out of our chairs and rushed down the hall to our parents’ chamber. My mother and father were sitting together, speaking quickly in hushed tones.

“She is going to have a boy,” Nefertiti whispered.

My father looked at me, as if I had told her something I shouldn’t have. “Why should you say that?”

“Because I dreamed it last night. She is going to give birth to a Prince of Egypt!”

My mother stood up and shut the door. The palace was overrun with messengers who were waiting to make a proclamation to the kingdom.

Nefertiti panicked. “I can’t let it happen! I won’t let it happen.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” my father said.

“There’s always something I can do!” she proclaimed. Nefertiti added calculatingly, “When Amunhotep returns, tell him I’m not well.”

My mother frowned, but my father saw what game she was playing at once. “How unwell?” he asked quickly.

“So unwell…” Nefertiti hesitated. “So unwell that I could die and lose the child.”

My father looked to me. “You must confirm her story when he asks.” He spun around and instructed Merit. “Take her to her room and bring her fruit. Don’t leave her side until you see Pharaoh.”

Merit bowed. “Of course, Vizier.” I thought I saw a smile at the edge of her lips. She bowed to Nefertiti. “Shall we go, Your Highness?”

I remained at the door. “But what should I do?”

“Tend to your sister,” my father said meaningfully. “And do as she asks.”

We walked in procession to Nefertiti’s chamber, slowly, so that if anyone should see us, they would know something was wrong with the queen. In her room, Nefertiti lay like an invalid. “My sheath,” she said. “Spread it for me.”

I gave her a long look.

“Across my legs and over the sides of the bed.”

“This is terrible, what you are doing,” I told her. “You’ve already displaced Kiya in Amunhotep’s affections. Isn’t that enough?”

“I’m sick!” she protested.

“You’re taking the only time that she has!”

We looked at each other, but there was no shame in Nefertiti’s gaze.

I sat by her bed while Ipu stood guard outside the door, harassing servants for news from Kiya’s birthing chamber. We waited all evening. Then, finally, Ipu came running, and when she opened the door her face was grave.

“Well? What is it?” Nefertiti sat forward in her bed. “What is it?”

Ipu lowered her head. “A prince. Prince Nebnefer of Egypt.”

Nefertiti sank back on her pillows, and now her face became truly pale. “Send word to Pharaoh that his Chief Wife is ill,” she said immediately. “Tell him I may die. That I may lose the child.”

I pressed my lips together.

“Don’t look like that,” she commanded.

When word reached Amunhotep, he came at once. “What is it? What’s wrong with her?” he cried.

I thought that the lies would stick in my throat, but they tumbled out quickly when I saw his fear. “I don’t know, Your Highness. She took ill this morning, and now all she can do is sleep.”

Terror darkened his face and his joy at having a son was gone. “What did you eat? Was it prepared by your servant?”

Nefertiti’s answer was soft and weak. “Yes…yes, I’m sure it was.”

He pressed his hand to her cheek and turned to me. “What happened? You must know. The two of you are thick as thieves. Just tell me what happened!” I saw that he was not trying to be cruel. He was afraid. Genuinely afraid for his wife.

My heart raced. “It might have been the wine,” I said quickly. “Or the cold. It’s very cold outside.”

Amunhotep glared across the room at the windows, and then at the linens on the bed. “Give me blankets!” he bellowed, and women came running. “Blankets and wool. Find the Vizier Ay. Have him bring the physician.”

“No!” Nefertiti sat up.

Amunhotep brushed the hair from her brow. “You are unwell. You must see a physician.”

“Mutny is all that I need.”

“Your sister is not a physician!” Then he leaned across her bed and grabbed her arm desperately. “You cannot be ill. You cannot leave me.”

She closed her eyes, her dark lashes fluttering against her high pale cheeks. “I hear you have a son,” she said quietly and smiled, resting her small hand on her stomach.

“You are the only thing that matters to me. We are going build monuments to the gods together,” he swore.

“Yes. A temple to Aten.” She smiled weakly, playing her part so well that tears welled in Amunhotep’s eyes.

“Nefertiti!” His cry of anguish was so real that I felt sorry for him. He threw himself across her bed and I panicked.

“Stop it! Stop it or you will hurt the child!”

There was a knock on the door, and my father appeared with the physician at his side. Nefertiti passed him an anxious glance.

“Don’t be afraid,” my father said meaningfully. “He can only help.”

Something passed between them, and she allowed the physician to draw blood from her arm. He swirled the dark liquid in a pan to see its color, and we all stood and waited for him to read the signs. The old man cleared his throat. He looked once at my father, nodding briefly, then at Pharaoh.

“What is it?” Amunhotep demanded.

The physician lowered his head. “I am afraid she is very ill, Your Highness.”

The color drained from Amunhotep’s face. His champion, his wife, his most ardent supporter, sick now with his child. Amunhotep stole a glance at his beloved Nefertiti, whose hair spilled over the pillows like black ink. She looked beautiful and eternal, like a sculpture in death. He turned on the physician. “You will do everything possible,” he commanded. “You will do everything in your power to bring her back.”

“Of course,” the man said quickly. “But she must have rest. Nothing must disturb her with the child. No terrible news, no—”

“Just heal her!”

The physician nodded vigorously and rushed to his bag, producing several bottles and a vial of ointment. I peered closer, to see if I could recognize them. What if they were dangerous? What if they truly made her sick? I passed a look to my father, whose face remained expressionless, and I realized what it must be. Rosemary water.

The physician administered the draft and we waited the rest of the night with my sister, watching her drift into sleep. My mother came, then Ipu and Merit brought fresh juices and linens. As the night wore on, my mother returned to her heated chamber while Amunhotep, my father, and I remained. But as I watched her repose, I grew resentful. If she wasn’t so selfish, my father and I wouldn’t have to partake in such a charade. We wouldn’t have to stand like sentinels around her bed, warming our hands by the fire while she tucked herself neatly into her covers and Amunhotep caressed her cheek. When even my father left, he turned and said significantly to me, “Watch her, Mutnodjmet.” He closed the door, and Amunhotep went to stand over Nefertiti’s bed.

“How ill is she?” the king of Egypt demanded. His face was long and angular in the shadows.

I swallowed my fear. “I am afraid for her, Your Highness.” It wasn’t a lie.

Amunhotep looked down at his sleeping queen. She was a perfect beauty, and I knew in my own life I would never be loved with such obsession. “The healers will bring her back,” he vowed. “She is carrying our child. The future of Egypt.”

Before I could stop myself, I had asked him, “What about Nebnefer, Your Highness?”

He looked at me strangely, as if he had forgotten about Kiya’s heir. “She is Second Wife. Nefertiti is my queen, and she is loyal to me. She understands my vision of a greater Egypt. An Egypt that is guided by the Almighty Aten. Our children will embrace the sun and become the most powerful rulers the gods have ever blessed.”

My voice caught in my throat. “And Amun?”

“Amun is dead,” he replied. “But I will resurrect my grandfather’s dream of Pharaohs who aren’t cowed by the power of the Amun priests. I will honor his name and be remembered forever for what I’ve done. What we’ve done,” he said forcefully, looking down at Nefertiti, his battle consort, his staunchest ally. For any advance Kiya made, Nefertiti was there suggesting a new statue, a new courtyard, a glittering new temple.

He remained at her bedside the entire night. I watched him, wondering what would possess a man to destroy the gods of his people and raise in their place a protector no one had heard of. Greed, I thought. His hatred of everything his father believes in, and his greed for power. Without the Amun priests, he will control everything. I sat on a thickly cushioned chair and watched him caress my sister’s cheek. He was tender, brushing his hand across her face, inhaling the lavender scent of her hair. When I fell asleep, he was still beside her, praying to Aten for a miracle.

When I awoke the next morning, my eyes felt like small weights in my head. Already at the door was a messenger with news from Thebes, dressed in lapis and gold. Yet Amunhotep would hear none of it. “No one is to disturb the queen,” he said forcefully.

Panahesi appeared behind the messenger. “Your Highness, it is about the prince.”

Amunhotep crossed the chamber. “What is it? The queen is ill.”

Panahesi frowned, stepping into the room. “I am sorry to hear that Her Highness has taken ill.” He peered across the antechamber to my sister’s bedroom and narrowed his eyes. “Queen Tiye and the Elder have sent their blessings to your son,” he continued. “The Birth Feast, with His Highness’s permission, shall be tonight.”

Amunhotep looked toward Nefertiti’s chamber. Her door was open, and Panahesi could see her lying on the bed, Merit and Ipu fluttering around her.

“Go,” my sister encouraged from the next room. “He is your son.”

Amunhotep crossed back to her chamber and rested his hand on Nefertiti’s. “I will not leave you.”

“The gods have given you a son.” She smiled wanly. “Go, give thanks.” She beamed at him, all beauty and munificence, and I realized how craftily she had set up this scene: She was the one giving him permission to go, rather than Pharaoh telling her he would be gone in celebration. “Go,” she whispered.

“I will think of you all night,” he promised.

In the antechamber, Panahesi studied me. “I am so sorry to hear of the queen’s illness. When did it happen?”

I felt my cheeks warm with shame. “Last night.”

“About the same time as the prince’s birth,” he remarked.

I said nothing. Then Amunhotep emerged from Nefertiti’s chamber and Panahesi tried a smile. “Shall we go to the feast, Your Highness?”

“Yes, but I am in no mood for celebration,” he warned.

As soon as they were gone, Nefertiti sat up in her bed.

“Panahesi knows,” I told her.

“Knows what?” she asked cheerfully, standing up and brushing her hair.

“He knows that you are lying.”

She turned so quickly that the hem of her robe spun around her ankles. “Who says that I’m lying? Who says that I’m not ill?”

I remained silent. She could fool the entire court of Memphis, but she could never fool me. I watched her change into a fresh sheath and call on Merit for fruit. “How long will you keep this up?” I demanded.

A smile began at the edges of her lips. “Until the novelty of a new prince has worn off.” She shrugged lightly. “And I am the center of Egypt again.”

The novelty didn’t last long—not with the building of the temple to Aten taking precedence over everything. And in three days, Nefertiti was miraculously well. The physician came and claimed it was a miracle. My father brought her shedeh from the winery and my mother squeezed out a few tears for the occasion. I was beginning to think we were more like entertainers than the ruling family of Egypt.

“What is the difference?” Nefertiti asked when I shared this thought with her. “Both require masks.”

“But it’s a lie. You lied. Don’t you love him at all?”

She stopped in the courtyard, where the chariots were waiting to take us to the building site of the new temple. The cobra on her crown, nestled in her dark hair, glinted in the sun. “I love him as much as any woman ever will. You don’t understand. You’re only fourteen. But love means lying.”

Amunhotep appeared through the arches, escorting my mother on his arm. They were laughing together, and I paused in shock.

“Your mother is a very charming woman,” Amunhotep said warmly, and Nefertiti gave my mother her widest smile. My mother.

“Yes,” she agreed. “The gods have blessed me in my family.”

Pharaoh helped my mother into my chariot and she flushed with pride. Then he held out his arm for Nefertiti and the procession began. A heavily armed cavalcade rode alongside us as we made for the site, the cool wind of Phaophi billowing their kilts. I wanted to lean over and ask my mother what Amunhotep had said to make her laugh. Then I thought that perhaps it was better I didn’t know.

We began our ascent up a hill, far above the Nile and the naked sweep of earth. Amunhotep wanted the best vantage point to see his building, and when the chariots rolled to a sudden halt armed guards fanned out in a circle around us. We descended and my mother whispered incredulously, “Great Osiris.”

I stood frozen, stunned by the sprawling landscape dotted with pillars that pierced the sky. “They must never stop.” Thousands of builders groaned under the weight of heavy columns, hoisting them up with ropes. The columned courtyard of Aten’s temple had been completed, as well as a chapel and a granite altar. This time, because such heavy work was being done, Amunhotep didn’t demand obeisance.

Panahesi appeared and bowed very low. “Your Highness.” He smiled, flattering as always. He turned to my sister. “My queen,” he said with less enthusiasm. “Shall we tour the god’s temple?”

Nefertiti passed Amunhotep a triumphant glance, as if this had been her present to him, and we descended the small hill to stroll through the chaos. Nefertiti wanted to look at every pillar, every mosaic, every cut stone.

In the artists’ quarters, Amunhotep stopped. “What is this?” he asked coldly.

A worker stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was built like a charioteer, with thick arms and a wide chest. “We are working on statues of Your Highness.” He bowed.

Amunhotep bent closer and saw the chiseled features of Pharaohs that artisans had been drawing for centuries. The perfect jaw, the long beard, the eyes rimmed in sweeps of kohl. He straightened and his face grew dark. “This isn’t me.”

The man faltered. He had depicted Pharaoh the way all Pharaohs had been depicted for the past thousand years.

“That isn’t me!” Amunhotep shouted. “My artwork should reflect me, should it not?”

The artisan stared at him in horror, then went down on one knee, bowing his head. All around him work had come to a stop. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Amunhotep whirled to face Panahesi. “Do you think I want the gods to confuse me with my father? With Tuthmosis?” he hissed.

Nefertiti stepped forward. “We shall have the rest of the sculptures done in our likeness,” she commanded.

Panahesi inhaled. “The artisans use grids. They will have to—”

“Then do it,” Nefertiti directed. She wrapped her arm around Amunhotep’s, and Pharaoh nodded in agreement. Then she led him away through the dirt and stone. Panahesi glowered after her. Then he looked down at the man with the thick arms.

“Fix it!”

“But how, Your Holiness?”

“Go and find the best sculptors in Memphis,” he shouted angrily. “Now!”

The artist looked between himself and the other men. “But we are considered the best,” he replied.

“Then you will all be fired!” Panahesi raged. “You will find me an artist who can sculpt Pharaoh as he wishes or you will never work again.”

The man panicked. “There is a sculptor in the city, Your Holiness. He is well renowned. He is flamboyant, but his work is—”

“Just find him and bring him to me,” Panahesi seethed. He looked down at the image of Amunhotep as a Pharaoh no different in appearance than any other and lashed out with his foot, sending the carving toppling to the ground. “Don’t ever depict His Highness like this again. No one is like him. No other Pharaoh in Egypt can compare.”

I hurried to where Nefertiti and Amunhotep were walking. Men were working on an outer courtyard, raising pillars with carvings of the sun god etched into the yellow stone. So much work was being done by so many men. I stared across the courtyard—at the farthest end stood General Nakhtmin. He was staring back at me. Then Amunhotep moved toward him and his gaze flicked away. What was he doing in Memphis? He belonged with the Elder in Thebes. My mother, with her sharp eyes, had missed nothing.

“Was the general staring at you?” she asked.

I shook my head quickly. “No. I don’t know.”

She looked into my face. “General Nakhtmin is not liked by the king.”

“So I’ve been warned.”

“Do not think of falling in love with a soldier.”

I looked down sharply. “Of course, I’m not in love!”

“Good. When the time comes, you will marry a nobleman who has Pharaoh’s approval. It’s the price we all pay for the crown,” she said. I stared at her resentfully, thinking of her laughing with Amunhotep, and I wanted to say, We? But I shut my mouth firmly.

The next morning, Amunhotep burst into the Audience Chamber, startling the viziers and emissaries from Mitanni who had arranged themselves around my father’s table. Panahesi and Nefertiti followed on his heels, and Nefertiti passed our father a warning look. He stood at once.

“Your Highness, I thought you were riding in the Arena.”

The viziers and emissaries rose quickly to bow. “Your Highness.”

Amunhotep swept up the dais and sat on his throne. “The horses from Babylon have not arrived and I’m tired of Egyptian steeds. Besides, the High Priest of Aten has found us a sculptor.” He glanced across the room, at the foreign dignitaries with their curling beards. “What is this?” he demanded.

My father bowed. “These are the emissaries from Mitanni, Your Highness.”

“What do we care about Mitanni? Dismiss them.”

The men looked among themselves, passing nervous glances at one another.

Amunhotep repeated loudly, “Dismiss them!”

Immediately, the men rose to file out, and my father whispered calmly, “We will meet again.”

Amunhotep settled comfortably into his throne. Now that Pharaoh was present, a crowd had gathered in the Audience Chamber: the daughters of viziers and troupes of musicians. Panahesi, who had come from the building site to present the new sculptor to Pharaoh, stepped in front of the dais. “Shall we fetch the artist, Your Highness?”

“Yes. Bring him in.”

The doors of the Audience Chamber were thrown open and the entire court turned. The sculptor entered. He was dressed like a king, with a long wig of golden beads and more kohl than was usually deemed proper for a man. He came before the dais and swept a low bow.

“Your Most Gracious Highnesses.” He was beautiful in the way a woman is beautiful in her best jewels and henna. “The High Priest of Aten has said that your palace is in need of a sculptor. My name is Thutmose, and if it is so pleases Your Majesties, I shall render your images famous through eternity.”

There was an excited murmuring throughout the court and Nefertiti sat forward on her throne. “We want them to be like no one else’s,” she cautioned.

“They will not be like anyone else’s,” Thutmose promised. “For no other queen has ever possessed your beauty, and no Pharaoh has shown such courage.”

I could see that Amunhotep was wary of this man who was prettier than him. But Nefertiti was taken. “We want you to sculpt us today,” she announced, and Amunhotep added icily, “Then we shall see if you are as good as your reputation.”

The court rose, and Panahesi sidled up to Amunhotep as we walked through the halls of the palace. “I think Your Highness shall find him the best sculptor in Egypt,” he predicted.

A makeshift studio had been prepared for Thutmose’s coming. Panahesi held the doors open to the studio, with its open windows and tables cluttered with paints and clay. There was every tool of an artist’s trade available: reed pens and papyrus, bowls of white powder and crushed lapis for dye. An elaborate dais had also been built.

Thutmose proffered his hand to Nefertiti and escorted her up to her throne. The viziers whispered at this familiarity, but there was none of a man’s flirtatiousness in it. “What shall we do first, Your Highness? A carving into stone”—he flicked his free hand—“or a painted sculpture?”

“A sculpture,” Nefertiti ruled, and Thutmose nodded agreeably.

Nearly fifty members of the court took seats as if preparing to witness a troupe of dancers or a songstress with her lyre. The artist turned inquisitively. “And how would Your Highnesses like to be portrayed?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then Amunhotep replied, “As Aten on earth.”

The sculptor hesitated. “As both life and death?”

“As both female and male. As the beginning and the end. As a power so great none can touch its divinity. And I want them to know my face.”

Thutmose paused. “Just as it is, Your Highness?”

“Stronger.”

The court whispered. For a thousand years, whether a Pharaoh was fat or short or old, he had been depicted on temples and on tombs as young and slender, his kohl perfectly drawn, his hair immaculately coiffed. Now Amunhotep wanted his own face staring into the ages, his slanted eyes and narrow bones, his full lips and curling hair.

Thutmose inclined his head thoughtfully. “I will sketch you on papyrus. When it is finished, you can determine whether you approve of the likeness. If His Highness is satisfied, I shall carve him into stone.”

“And for me?” Nefertiti pressed eagerly.

“For you I shall be faithful to life.” Thutmose smiled. “Since nothing could ever improve Her Highness.”

Nefertiti settled back in the throne that had been prepared for this day and looked satisfied.

We watched as the sculptor’s reed pen worked the papyrus, two dozen eyes critiquing his movements on the wide bronze easel at the center of the chamber. As we waited for a figure to emerge on the paper, Thutmose entertained us with the story of his life. It began with a dreary boyhood in Thebes, a life of toil. His father was a baker, and when his mother died he took her place at his father’s ovens, pressing loaves and kneading dough. The women who came in stared at the boy with dark hair and green eyes, and the men looked, too, especially the young priests of Amun. Then one day a renowned sculptor came into his father’s bakery, and when he saw Thutmose at the ovens, he saw his next model for Amun.

“The famous sculptor Bek asked if I would model for him. He would pay me, of course, and my father said go. He had seven other sons. What did he need with me? And when I arrived at his studio, I found my calling. Bek trained me as his apprentice, and in two years I had my own studio in Memphis.”

He stepped back from his papyrus, and we all saw that he was finished.

The viziers at the front leaned forward as one, and I craned my neck to see what he had drawn. It was an image of Amunhotep’s face, his leonine features half covered in shadow. His eyes were bigger than they truly were, his chin longer and more threatening. There was a quality about his face that made him seem both female and male, both angry and merciful, both ready to pronounce and ready to listen. It was a haunting face, powerful and striking; the face of a man with no equal.

Thutmose turned the easel toward Pharaoh, who sat forward on his throne, and we held our breaths to hear his pronouncement.

“It’s magnificent,” Nefertiti whispered. Amunhotep looked from the image on the easel to the face of the young sculptor who had sketched it.

“I can begin filling the image in with paint, if that would please Your Highness.”

“No,” Pharaoh said firmly, and the court held its breath. We looked to Amunhotep, who had risen from his throne. “There is no need to paint. Carve it into stone.”

There was an excited murmur in the studio, and my sister ordered jubilantly, “A pair of busts, and we shall place them in the Temple of Aten.”