Those who remained in the temple area were like spirits of the dead with none to attend their graves. They starved. Climbing down from her chariot, ignoring the protests of her bodyguards, she walked by children crouched in the dirt. Their distended bellies hung beneath ribs that threatened to press through their flesh. She saw their hope-dead eyes even now, back in her own palace. Every time she ate, she remembered the skeletal hands of a little girl who snatched at flies and shoved them into her mouth.
Closing her eyes, Nefertiti banished the vision of the starving girl. She went to the nursery first to kiss her little ones and listen to their chatter. The gods set each person upon the earth in his proper station. She possessed this palace with its terrace overlooking gardens and azure pools, its spacious rooms surrounded by more shaded gardens, courtyards, and vibrant frescoes. She lived with Akhenaten in the great riverside palace with its mighty battlements and countless rooms stuffed with furniture wrought of exotic wood and trimmed with gold. This was right, for she was queen of Egypt. But it wasn't right that those who had once worked and lived well should be reduced to misery.
Dawn found Nefertiti setting foot on the polished stone of the open-air temple within the palace, just as Thanuro arrived with the offerings he would present to the god. Thanuro was a third prophet of the Aten assigned to her service. At the same time he functioned as scribe of accounts of the house of the god. He oversaw the disbursement of revenues from the former estates and treasuries of Amun. Nefertiti's lip curled up, along with one eyebrow. Thanuro was an ex-priest of Amun who saw the wisdom of converting to Aten worship.
The man had been instrumental in ferreting out obscure endowments and revenues of the old god so that they could be transferred to the Aten. Thanuro had been one of those who invaded the archives of Amun, at pharaoh's order, to compile lists of the god's possessions. He thereby deprived Tati, among others, of the income the old scholar depended on for his daily sustenance and his funerary grant.
Nefertiti constantly had to find dispossessed priests new occupations. Sometimes a particularly rigid prophet or divine one would insult Thanuro, and the Aten priest would have the man bastinadoed. Then Nefertiti dared not interfere, for Thanuro had been appointed by pharaoh.
The priest came forward to stand before her. He bore a gold tray on which rested boxes of cedar containing frankincense, cassia, and myrrh. Behind Thanuro stood priests bearing offerings of food and wine. It was time for the adoration. Nefertiti took the tray from Thanuro and walked to the middle of the platform.
"Courage." Nefertiti tightened her lips, angry that the word had slipped out.
Thanuro was chanting and hadn't heard. She bit her lip and made her body go through the motions of worship. She needed courage to perform this adoration, for she prayed to her husband. Long ago Akhenaten made it clear that pharaoh was the only one in the world who could approach the Aten directly. Everyone else, including Nefertiti, prayed to the Aten through pharaoh as the incarnation of the sun disk. She never got over the feeling that the old gods watched her, for in truth, she'd never really believed in Akhenaten's god.
Oh, she lived as though she believed. No other course was possible, and for a while in the early years she had almost succeeded in convincing herself that Akhenaten's way was the truth. But Nefertiti found that her own nature fought against her. She was practical, as grounded in the black land of Egypt as any peasant. Her heart reasoned that the gods who had guided the Two Lands from the beginning of time, who had brought prosperity and empire, wouldn't go away simply because Akhenaten denied them. And now the Two Lands suffered. She suffered.
Perhaps her children's illnesses were a sign of the gods' wrath. The gods knew she worshiped the sun disk. Every time she approached the altar of the Aten, she expected to be struck down for her heresy.
Forcing the words out, Nefertiti begged her husband's intercession with the Aten so that her prayers would be heard. She raised the box of frankincense to the rising sun. Over the tops of the trees a band of pink light grew faint as the golden orb rose.
"Exquisite is thy dawn," Nefertiti chanted. "Thou living sun, beside whom there is no one else. Make thy son, the king Akhenaten, to live with thee for all time, to do what thy heart craves, and to witness what thou dost every day, for he rejoices when he beholds thy splendor."
Thanuro handed her another box. Nefertiti placed it on the altar as she recited the prayer for Akhenaten. "Give him all that thy heart wishes, as much as there is air in the sky, as grain in the fields, and as water in the sea, while may I continue in attendance upon him, until he assigns me the burial that he has granted."
When the ceremony was over, Nefertiti backed away from the altar. It was an effort not to run down the steps, for she was impatient to get away from the priest.
"Majesty."
Thanuro sidled around to block her escape. He wasn't a man one could ignore. Possessed of a body that looked as if it were a block of wet clay that had been stretched sideways, Thanuro seemed to have grown horizontally rather than vertically. It wasn't that he was fat, just wide. He had thick bones, a square face, and protruding ears. Nefertiti thought he would have made a perfect gate for a temple.
"Yes, Thanuro." Nefertiti watched the prophet's face for telltale signs of eagerness. Thanuro took pleasure in giving her the details of his latest onslaughts against heresy.
"It has come to the ears of this servant that the great royal wife has visited the temple of Ptah in Memphis."
Nefertiti took a look at the aforementioned ears. "Your ears hear much that doesn't concern you."
"I beg forgiveness, majesty, but pharaoh has made me responsible for thy religious welfare. Thy ka must not be tainted through association with unbelievers. It is said that thy majesty has opened the royal granary at Memphis to beggars and heretics."
"Your ears don't look big enough to hear things said all the way from Memphis," Nefertiti said. "What is it you wish to say?
Thanuro bowed low. "It grieves this servant that he might be forced to bring news of such disobedience to the notice of pharaoh. The king, may he live forever, will be most displeased. However…"
"Continue."
"It occurs to this servant that thy majesty might be in need of a better teacher in the way of the Aten. Perhaps if I were raised to a higher position in thy majesty's service, I might be of help."
Nefertiti studied Thanuro's dark rose lips and straight nose with its thin nostrils. The man was one of many she distrusted simply because of his willingness to abandon all principle for his own gain. Akhenaten seemed to have no interest in a servant's character as long as the servant groveled before him and his personal god.
"I've already written to pharaoh about the temple of Ptah," she said. "I shall consider your request."
She left Thanuro before her rage mastered her. Never had a servant tried to coerce her. Thanuro was getting greedy. It wasn't enough that he appropriated most of her offerings after the Aten had partaken of their essence. Nefertiti was sure that the valuable myrrh, frankincense, and cassia would find its way into the coffers of the priest or his relatives.
Charging out of the altar court, her women trailing behind, she passed a line of water jars waiting to be carried to the kitchen. She grabbed one, raised it over her head, and sent it crashing against a wall. The women backed up and gawked at her. Then they sank to the ground, faces in the dirt. Sebek and her bodyguards barreled into view. They halted and stared from the shards of the container to the servants.
Sebek was brave enough to speak. "Thy majesty forgot to wait for us."
"Serpents of the netherworld!" Nefertiti cast a look of longing at the remaining water jars. Shattering the clay vessel had been satisfying. No. She'd frightened the servants already. She set off for the stables again. "Slayer of the gods. Foul wretch. Thinks he'll force me to serve his corruption."
Sebek caught up with her. Nefertiti glanced at him and shut her mouth. Should the bodyguard learn that she loathed Thanuro, the priest was likely to end up impaled on a spear.
Nefertiti remembered the day Sebek's dutiful service had turned to absolute loyalty. The warrior had been assigned to her by Queen Tiye not long after she'd been chosen to marry Akhenaten. She hadn't paid much heed to him until she'd heard some gossip from her maids. Sebek had a young wife whom he adored. She was sick after a difficult childbirth, and Sebek was near madness with grief and fear.
It had cost her nothing to send her own physician to Sebek's house with orders to remain there as long as necessary. Unfortunately the young mother had died; yet when he returned to her service after burying his wife, Sebek had thrown himself at her feet and promised lifelong devotion, promised to die for her.
"Rise," Nefertiti said. "I regret that my physician couldn't save your wife, Sebek."
The guard got to his knees and kissed the hem of her robe. "Because of you, lady, I know that all that could be done for my wife was done. Never could I have afforded so fine a physician."
"But—"
"The lady is unaware, I see, of how many great ones pass their entire lives without performing such a kindness."
She hadn't argued with him. She hadn't said that perhaps her kindness derived from her less-than-great origins. She wasn't royal. She was the daughter of a noble, one without a speck of divine blood in her. And perhaps that was why Thanuro annoyed her so much. A woman of truly divine blood would know how to deal with the man.
Seeking to calm her agitated heart, Nefertiti indulged herself by going to the city docks on foot, with only Sebek and a couple of his men as escort. Before embarking on this adventure, she cleaned the eye paint from her face, discarded her jewels, and pulled off her wig. Without the trappings of her station, few would recognize her; they simply wouldn't expect to see the great royal wife on the docks.
Sebek protested that they should go by chariot. Nefertiti laughed at him and reminded the companion that ordinary citizens walked. She was supposed to be a commoner.
At the river the air was filled with the noise of dockworkers' chants, the hawking of vendors, and the frightened bellow of cattle on a freighter from the delta. The last of Nefertiti's rage at Thanuro faded. She reveled in the sights and smells of the quay. It wasn't often that she could wander about freely among the people as she had as a child. With her escort close behind, she walked down a row of stalls across from the ships. Each vendor sat behind trays, tables, or baskets laden with goods. She stopped beside an awning hung with belts and sandals. A toothless old man immediately began his chatter.
"The finest-quality sandals in Horizon of the Aten, good lady. I have pairs in reed or leather, and look at this belt. The best-quality faience beads. I have amulets for buckles, and they're charmed for health."
Nefertiti let the man drone on, fascinated by his rough voice, the accent that betrayed his origin near Elephantine in the far south, and the way the man looked her directly in the eyes. She took the belt from the vendor and ran her fingers over the glazed surface of the beads. They were brilliant Egyptian blue. She had no idea of the value of the garment. She'd never bargained for such a thing. The man wanted one-half copper shat, and she could tell from Sebek's expression that the price was too high. Letting the beaded length fall from her hand, she wandered away.
As she left, the vendor lowered his price. Nefertiti shook her head and wove through the crowded street to a booth where a woman sold beer to sailors. Several men squatted in the shade of an awning and sipped through long pipes fitted into clay jars. On the dock opposite this stall, a merchant from Byblos argued with an inspector of the palace about a bill of lading. Nefertiti's eye was caught by the lurid purple-and-red dress of a Syrian. She stared at the foreigner and wondered, not for the first time, how Asiatics could stand those long, tight sleeves and all that hair on their chins, faces, and heads. Linen and bare skin were much more comfortable.
Sebek moved to her side. "Majesty, we should be going. Pharaoh will be anxious if we aren't at the reception of the Babylonian emissaries."
"Just a little longer, Sebek."
The guard held out a sweet cake to her. He had a sack full of bread, onions, and dessert cakes. "You forgot to eat again, majesty."
Suddenly hungry, Nefertiti ate the cake in three bites and took the cup of beer Sebek offered. She heard a little girl's laughter, turned, and without warning beheld the cavernous eyes of the starving girl in Memphis. Sailors, dockworkers, and officials plowed past them while she stared at nothing. What could she do? Akhenaten wouldn't listen to her when she told him of the peoples suffering. Her constant reminders of the consequences of his campaign against the gods already threatened to drive a wedge between them.
"Is something wrong, majesty?"
There were few men to whom she could speak freely. Sebek was one of them.
"Sebek, I swear that being a great royal wife is a burden heavier than a pylon gate, more confining than the bonds of a war captive. I can't rest from this burden if my guards won't let me. I ask you to help me by leaving aside courtly politeness and diplomacy, just once in a while." She waited for a reply, but Sebek appeared to have lost his tongue. Loneliness weighed on her ka with the heaviness of a thousand gold collars. She turned away.
She hadn't gone far when Sebek appeared at her side.
"Majesty, I promise not to object."
"Object? To what?"
"To thy majesty when she tries to drive her chariot down a near-vertical slope." Sebek glanced around the docks. "To visits to the dock vendors and the tomb makers' village."
Nefertiti began to smile for the first time since leaving Memphis.
"We'll follow thy majesty cheerfully. Even if it means spending hours in the House of Life reading from old, dust-infested books." Sebek hated reading. "Such duties are better than listening to the complaints of thy majesty's tenants."