Dreamers (48 page)

Amenhotep stood by the vizier’s side with wide eyes. In

an oddly detached manner Tuya found herself thinking that

twelve was too young to lose a father and king.

She looked atYosef, waiting for soothing words. His hand,

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which had been resting on the prince’s shoulder, lifted, then

Zaphenath-paneah, beloved of Pharaoh, dropped to his knees

before the child. “O King, live forever,” the vizier said, lifting

his gaze to meet the wide brown eyes of the frightened boy.

“Now you are no longer Prince, but Pharaoh in word and

deed.Your people will look to you for leadership and courage.”

The boy’s chin quivered, and for a moment Tuya feared he

would cry. But the steel of the royal bloodline asserted itself

when the prince squared his shoulders. “Rise, Zaphenath-

paneah,” he said, his voice a childish treble in the room, “and

help me prepare my father’s tomb.”

Yosef rose and nodded, then followed the new king from

the room and into his private chamber.

A servant came for Tuya within the space of an hour. She

dried her tears and washed her face, then hurried to the royal

chamber that had been her husband’s. The guards at the door

stepped aside as she passed, and after her knock a servant

admitted her to the royal presence.

Amenhotep lay on the bed, his eyes red and swollen. Yosef

sat in a chair near him, his face strained with weariness, but

he gave Tuya a helpless smile.

Pharaoh lifted his head. Tears had tangled his thick lashes

and smeared the paint on his eyes. “Royal Mother,” he whis-

pered, his face locked with anxiety, “what am I to do?”

Tuya wanted to scream that she didn’t know, but Yosef’s

words of warning washed over her. The dream that had

warned her of Pharaoh’s death urged her to protect and shelter

this other love of her life, her child.

“My dear son,” she whispered, rushing to him. She sat

next to him and slipped her arm about his shoulders. “My boy.

You shall be a great king. You have your father’s most trusted

advisor at your side, and Egypt awaits your command. The

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Almighty God would not leave you unprepared at a time like

this. You must trust me, my son, and you must trust God.”

Yosef’s strong gaze pulled her eyes to meet his. “El Shaddai

is great, my son, and you can trust him with the kingdom as

your father did.”

One of Yosef’s eyebrows lifted in a silent question, but he

said nothing as he motioned for a slave to fetch the priests who

would put Pharaoh to bed.

The ceremonial barge of Tuthmosis IV appeared on the

Nile three days later. Narmer had done his best to preserve the

king’s immortal body, emptying it of all organs but the heart,

the organ of life and intelligence, and the kidneys, for they rep-

resented the sacred Nile. The body had been stuffed and sprin-

kled with salt, then wrapped in linen and hurried to the river.

Fortunately, the low waters of the Nile ran swiftly northward

in the hot winds. After taking the king’s body aboard the

barge at Elephantine, the royal party had made good time.

The royal party.
Narmer liked the sound of those words,

for Tuthmosis was no longer King. The court at Thebes did

not yet know the full truth, but the men aboard the ship did

not doubt that Narmer held the reins of power.

Tuya stood on a porch of the palace and lifted her gaze to

the river. The priests, their bare heads gleaming in the bright

light of the sun, lifted their arms in homage to their dead

king, whose body was being lifted and carried toward the

temple of Horus for mummification.

Tuya shivered as the dreadful ululations of mourning rose

and fell like ghostly screams. For the first time she saw herself

as a king’s widow, a purposeless, useless object. Mutemwiya

was Queen, Amenhotep officially her husband. Tuya had not

felt so alone since the night she had been abandoned by Sagira.

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The group of warriors who had accompanied the king

walked at the side of the body, their swords lifted across their

chests. Narmer walked at the fore, the Gold of Praise gleam-

ing in the sunlight, his chin lifted as if in defiance of death.

Solemnly he sang a song of mourning, his nasal voice cutting

through the wails of the mourners on the riverbank:

Death is in my sight today

as the odor of myrrh,

as when sitting under sail on a breezy day.

Death is in my sight today

as is the odor of lotus flowers,

as is the presence of hearts heavy with grief.

Death is in my sight today

as a well-trodden path,

as when a man returns home to his house from war.

Death is in my sight today

as a clearing of the sky,

as a man discerning what he knew not.

Death is in my sight today

as when a man longs to see his home again

after he has spent many years in captivity.

Nay, but he who is Yonder in the Other World

will be a living god,

inflicting punishment for evil on him who does it.

Nay, but he who is Yonder

will stand in the bark of the sun-god

and will assign the choicest things therein to the

temples.

Nay, but he who is Yonder

will be a man of knowledge,

not hindered from petitioning Ra when he speaks.

Nay, but my soul has set aside lamentation,

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for when he is joined with the earth,

I will alight after he goes to rest.

Then we shall make an abode together!

Tuya pressed her fingers to her lips, remembering Tuth-

mosis’s energy and life, while from her porch, Mutemwiya

drew attention with much weeping and wailing. Amenhotep,

who stood by the queen’s side with the double crown of

Egypt teetering on his head, looked to the vizier for comfort

and encouragement.

Tuya’s eyes followed the white-wrapped bundle until it

passed into the outer courtyard of the temple, then she slipped

from the porch and walked to her chambers. She felt as

ancient as the pyramid of Khufu. Surely she had outlived her

usefulness, for she had outlived her love. In previous dynas-

ties, the slaves and wives of great kings had been entombed

with the deceased pharaohs, but since that practice had been

ruled barbaric, stone representations of a king’s slaves and

wives would be placed in the king’s tomb to follow him into

the other world.

Would it not be better to follow Tuthmosis into death

than to spend a lifetime mourning him? She had wasted so

many years yearning for a love that was not meant to be…but

at least she had discovered her love for Tuthmosis before it

was too late.

She opened the door to her chamber and slipped off the

scarf she had used to shield her eyes from the sun. On a stand

in the middle of the room, a half-dozen blue lotus blossoms

floated in a silver bowl.

Yosef had not forgotten Pharaoh’s last wish. He would

honor Tuthmosis, and his son, for as long as he lived.

Tuya pressed her face into the flowers and choked back a

sob as grief erupted anew.

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* * *

dotted the darkness; huge tongues of flame leapt into the air,

followed by boiling clouds of dust and debris. Keening wails

from the mourning populace stretched across the city and

filled the palace with a series of endless cries. The horrible

sounds filled Tuya’s ears and left her tossing on a bed of grief,

unable to sleep.

In the darkest hour of the night, the doors of her chamber

burst open. She sat up, half-afraid one of her dreams had ma-

terialized. “Who moves there?”

Two of Narmer’s guards stalked into the room, spears in

their hands and swords at their belts. A captain she did not

recognize stepped into the dim rectangle of light cast from the

lamp in the outer room. “Queen Tuya, you are summoned to

appear in the throne room of the Two Kingdoms.”

Anger overcame her fear. “Who summons me? Surely

not Pharaoh.”

“Narmer, captain of the king’s guard, and Chike, high priest

of Osiris, await you,” the captain answered, his eyes glinting

toward her. “You are to dress and come with me immediately.”

“I will dress before no man but my husband,” Tuya an-

swered. “Leave my chamber and wait outside.”

“I cannot.”

“You will. There is no escape from this room, and no

reason for you to guard me. I will be with you in a moment,

so leave now, or by the life of Pharaoh I’ll have you flogged!”

The captain grinned as if he would taunt her with a threat

of his own, but then he turned and gestured for the two guards

to follow. When they had gone, Tuya swung her legs out of the

bed and dressed in a simple linen sheath. She was about to slip

on her wig, then decided against it. They had roused her from

her bed, and she was not about to dress to impress such ruffians.

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She ran her fingers through her short hair, smoothed her

skirt and opened the door. The two guards immediately

stepped into position at her side.

With sudden understanding, she looked up at them. Tonight

her dream would be fulfilled. The danger was real; the ene-

mies waited in the throne room. They had taken Pharaoh, and

they were about to threaten her son.

With the anger of a lioness, she glared at the captain. “Lead

me to them.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Queen Mutemwiya sat in her gilded chair, the double crown

of Egypt on her head. Amenhotep, who should have been on the

throne with the regal beard of Pharaoh strapped to his chin, sat

on a low stool before the queen. The throne itself stood empty,

but Narmer paraded before it with the air of a conquering hero.

Tuya’s blood boiled when she realized who had authored

this unfolding plan of destruction. Narmer and the queen, no

doubt. For Mutemwiya had not been pulled from her bed to

witness an inquisition; that lady was fairly purring with expec-

tation as Tuya walked into the throne room amid the buzzing

of a curious crowd.

She felt Amenhotep’s eyes on her, but she did not dare look

at him lest her fear show in her face. “What is the meaning

of this?” She pushed the words across the room. “Who has

dared disturb the king’s wife in her hour of grief?”

“Tuthmosis is King no longer,” Narmer said, his eyes

falling on her with a look that made her shiver. “And you were

once a slave. Perhaps you shall be a slave again.”

Tuya felt a heat in her chest and belly she recognized as

rage. She wanted to scream, to stamp her feet and roar, but

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Narmer was right—she had no power and no authority except

that which had been granted to her by Pharaoh. And Amenhotep

did not wear the crown at this moment—Mutemwiya did.

The double doors of the throne room opened again and

another bevy of guards approached. In the midst of them

walked Yosef, his hands bound together.

Tuya whirled to face Narmer. “What is the meaning of this?

What wrong has the vizier done?”

Narmer’s mouth curved into a predatory smile. “You and

the vizier have been brought here to face a serious charge.

Queen Mutemwiya will serve as a witness. Chike will hear

the evidence and speak for the gods.”

“What charge?” Yosef asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

Tuya swallowed a hysterical surge of angry laughter.

Someone had taken great pains to arrange this trial, for the

walls of the royal throne room were lined with somber-faced,

wide-eyed onlookers who should have been in bed.

Narmer held up a hand and turned to address the gathering.

Studying the crowd, Tuya saw that a host of people had been

assembled: nobles, warriors, priests and many of the hunters

who had accompanied Tuthmosis on the fateful trip. Barreling

his chest like a bantam rooster, Narmer preened before them.

“I was favored by the gods to reach the dying king before

he breathed his last,” Narmer said, pausing to cast a look of

compassionate concern toward Mutemwiya. “Anyone in the

hunting party can support my words. They saw the king speak

to me. They saw me bow in grief at his words.”

Queen Mutemwiya leaned forward, her hand pressed to her

heart. “What words did my beloved husband speak?”

“It grieves me, gentle Queen, to repeat our divine king’s

last words before your ears. For he revealed a shameful thing,

a sorrow he has borne since his ascent to Egypt’s throne.”

The queen shot him a half-frightened look. “What sorrow?”

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Narmer paused. “The divine Tuthmosis, on his way to the

other world, told me that one of his wives was guilty of the

worst kind of disloyalty. He said his greatest sorrow was that

Queen Tuya had given her love to Zaphenath-paneah.”