We had come to an inner chamber of the temple where light streamed down from high, narrow windows, bathing the colossal image of Hathor in radiance. I counted at least six priests in attendance, some singing the praises of the goddess, some perfuming the air of her sanctuary, some chanting prayers. At her feet was a heap of treasure—alabaster vessels, intricately painted wooden caskets overflowing with gold and silver jewelry, boxes fragrant with precious incense, bales of leopard pelts to clothe the goddess and her servants. To one side of these kingly offerings stood Pharaoh Amenhotep himself, his hands raised in an attitude of worship. Beside him stood his favorite queen and Great Royal Wife, my aunt Tiye.
But to the other side of the pharaoh’s sacrifice stood Thutmose, with a leering, knowing smile on his face that turned my blood to water.
“Welcome back, Nefertiti.”
8
TWISTING THE FEATHER
The priests fell into uneasy silence as Thutmose crossed the space between us in three strides. His eerie, disturbing smile remained as unchanging as a statue’s except for the moment when his gaze fell on Ta-Miu. I was holding the cat to my chest, and when he closed in on us, I automatically turned my back to protect her from being snatched out of my arms. To my surprise, Thutmose made no move to reclaim his beloved pet, though I did see a fleeting instant of longing in his eyes when he looked at her. His right hand also seemed to move as if it had a will of its own, slowly reaching out to stroke the cat’s silky fur.
With the swiftness of a sword’s slash, the moment was over. Thutmose jerked back his hand, recovered his cool, mocking attitude, and acted as if the cat weren’t there.
“Hathor’s power is great,” he said, tasting every syllable as if it contained a hidden core of honey. “I came to Dendera in order to tell my father and my lord face to face about your crimes, Nefertiti. It was a great burden to me, beloved. You were my promised wife, the beloved niece of my noble mother, Queen Tiye, Great Royal Wife of—”
“Enough, Thutmose,” I declared, making my voice fill every corner of the chamber. “No more lies, not here, not in the goddess’s own house!” I turned quickly to place Ta-Miu in Nava’s arms, then walked past Thutmose to bow before Pharaoh himself. “Mighty lord, wise king, god-on-earth, hear me,” I said. “I have much to tell you if you will only give me permission to speak.” I bowed low to him and waited.
“Stand, Nefertiti,” he said. It was a gracious invitation rather than a royal command. “Stand up so that I can see you. It’s been too long since these eyes have enjoyed the sight of so much beauty. Say anything you wish to me, only please, don’t be so formal and worshipful. Coming from you, my dear, it makes me feel much too old, too close to my … elevation. The stars can wait. I’m still just a god-on-earth, you know, and I’d like it to stay that way for a long time to come.”
I obeyed, feeling a new stirring of hope when I heard the warmth in his words. Pharaoh Amenhotep was a great lover of beauty, especially beautiful women, and he had many wives and companions besides Aunt Tiye. They, in turn, were the mothers of many children, any one of whom might be named heir to the throne if Pharaoh willed it. That was one reason Aunt Tiye decided I had to be Thutmose’s bride: She knew her husband’s tastes and guessed correctly that if the prince had a wife whose looks could win his father’s favor, Thutmose’s place as Amenhotep’s successor would be assured.
“I rejoice to see you looking strong and well, my lord,” I said, and I meant it with all my heart. Pharaoh had always been kind to me; I had no quarrel with him.
“And I am happy to see you looking so …” His voice trailed off. A perplexed expression twisted his features as he took his first really close look at me. I must have been quite a sight: borrowed, ill-fitting clothes, travel-battered feet, hair that hadn’t been near a comb for many days, face that still showed a few stubborn specks of red paint from my goddess disguise. “Er, so you’re feeling well?” he concluded lamely.
I inclined my head slightly. “My lord Pharaoh, you honor me with your concern. I am well, but what good does it do me to be healthy when I’m condemned to die on a false charge of blasphemy?”
“What?” He spun to confront his older son. “What is the meaning of this?”
Thutmose held his ground. “Father, I keep no secrets from you. You heard what I said just now: I came here to tell you everything about this unhappy business, but I haven’t had the proper chance to do it. Hathor’s powers have restored your health; I would die before I’d interrupt your thanksgiving offerings to her with such wretched news. I know the tenderness of your heart and how this girl took advantage of your goodness. I didn’t want you to hear about her treachery from a mere messenger. But now …” And he began to recount his own version of my alleged crime and of his brother’s treachery in helping me escape from “justice.”
What followed in that chamber of Hathor’s house was like a clash of armies. I had never seen a great battle, but I had read many accounts of them. First came the wild uproar of the charge, the riot and confusion as chariots and foot soldiers crashed against one another, the deadly hiss of thick swarms of arrows launched into the sky. Then the tumult faded, rose here and there across the field, faded again as the course of combat changed, fresh troops pouring into the fight here, exhausted or annihilated combatants dropping out of it there.