The Twelfth Transforming (53 page)

The stench of death hung over palace and city while the disease ran its course. Tiye kept to her quarters, having her servants burn perfumed oil to mask the odor, but it could not be entirely erased. Every day she sent a herald across to Ay’s house with orders to bring back a full report on the welfare of Beketaten and Tutankhaten, waiting anxiously until he had returned to reassure her that the children were not ill. Five times she received thankfully the same message, but on the sixth morning the herald reported sickness among Tey’s servants and the grim news that Princess Beketaten was suffering from a cold. Immediately Tiye began to arrange for the children to be sent north to her estate at Djarukha.

She had almost completed the preparations for the journey by noon of the next day when Huya came to her, his face grave. “Majesty”—he bowed—“Princess Tey begs your presence, together with your physician. Beketaten is too ill to be moved.”

Tiye’s heart sank, but she fought against the dread stealing over her. “Very well. Send Piha to dress me and have my barge ready. Is Tutankhaten well?”

“Yes. But two of Tey’s tiring women died yesterday.”

Tiye had been resting. She swung her legs over the edge of the couch, her heart suddenly pounding, sweat breaking out all over her body. The heat was unendurable. “Go and inform Pharaoh.”

“Majesty, the god has been vomiting all morning, and his physicians will not let him rise.”

“Well, then, tell Panhesy.”

She let Piha drape her in thin linen but could not bear either the touch of paint on her aching face or the weight of a wig on her head.
In one more month it will be New Year’s Day
, she thought as she walked slowly into the sunlight,
and in another, the river will begin to rise. Winter will be here again. Isis, I have prayed to you every day to turn your anger away from us. Soften your heart and let the tears flow
. She went slowly, one hand on Piha’s shoulder to steady her self, dizzy and frail.
Beketaten, I loved you as a child
, her thoughts ran on painfully,
but I have ignored you of late. Have you been lonely?
But under that new source of guilt an older one flowed dark and inevitable.
She is her father’s sister. The gods are finally punishing me. Beketaten will die
.

The river was so low that the boatman had to pole against jagged, half-submerged trees and even rocks that jutted ominously above the surface. Tiye, in the cabin with curtains raised to catch any breeze, saw the bloated body of a huge crocodile go by, circling lazily under the poleman’s quick thrust. She looked away; it was a bad omen. When they reached the west bank, the ramp was run out, canated upward to reach the first water step, and Tiye needed her captain’s arm to stop herself from falling as she crossed. The odor of the milky water was like a physical blow, and she raised her perfumed linen to her nose and hurried through the brittle garden toward the shade of the portico. Tutankhaten came running to meet her, and before steeling herself to go within she bent and hugged him, all at once terrified for his safety.
It is no use sending him to Djarukha
, she thought, feeling his sturdy arms around her neck.
There is plague everywhere. Perhaps Nefertiti would take him. The sickness in her palace seems to be slight
. Warning him to stay close to his own apartment, she kissed him and plunged into the stifling house.

Tey had had the good sense to raise the window hangings on the west side of Beketaten’s room and to station fanbearers beside the window to waft air within. Beketaten lay on her side, wracked by shivers. On touching her Tiye recoiled, for the girl’s skin was dry, and as hot as a brazier.
The Aten is consuming her. Her own father is eating her up
, she thought hysterically, and then immediately mastered herself. Bowls of river water stood on the table by the couch, and a physician washed the girl continually. At a nod from Tiye, her own physician made a swift examination, but Beketaten was unaware of his touch. She was muttering and occasionally calling out in delirium. Both physicians consulted while Tiye stood overwhelmed, looking down on the thirteen-year-old fruit of herself and Pharaoh.

“There is a boil on the princess’s lower spine that is not ready to be lanced,” her physician said quietly. “It must be causing her great pain. As you know, Majesty, nothing can be done for the fever. It must run its course. Spells might be efficacious.”

Spells
. Tiye closed her eyes.
Do I have any right to obstruct the anger of the gods? Yes, I do, for their wrath ought to be directed at me, not my child
. She turned to Tey, hovering anxiously in the background. “Is it too much to hope that there are magicians in Akhetaten who know the old chants against fever demons, Tey?”

Tey looked thoughtful. “My artisans would know. I will ask at once.” As she went out, Beketaten began to shriek, and the physicians ran to her. Her body had begun to convulse, her spine arching, her legs stiff, and the men needed all their strength to hold her against the mattress. When the fit was over, Tiye bent to comfort her, but though her eyes were open, consciousness had not yet returned to the girl.

In Tey’s pretty reception room Tiye accepted wine and some dried fruit from the previous year’s crop, chewing and swallowing with distaste. She had scarcely finished when Tey bowed, three swarthy, awed workmen in coarse kilts and bare feet behind her. They hurried to prostrate themselves.

“These men are employed in my workshops, Majesty,” Tey explained apologetically. “I do not think any priest-magicians of the old order reside at Akhetaten, and in any case, finding them would take too long. My men are not priests but know the spells. Fever is a constant companion of the workman.”

Tiye looked down on the sturdy backs and untidy black heads at her feet. It was true, there was no time.
What has Egypt come to
, she thought resignedly,
when a royal princess must endure the presence of three fellahin such as these?
“Get up,” she said unwillingly. They struggled to their feet and stood awkwardly with eyes averted. “You will sing against the demon in my daughter’s body. You will keep your backs turned to her couch. When all is finished, I will reward you with one month’s supply of grain. Come with me.”

She took them to Beketaten. The girl was crying now without tears, a whimper on every outward breath that stabbed Tiye to the heart. As carefully as they could, the men went to the far wall and faced it, clearing their throats, humming until they found the tone they wanted. They began to sing, a rough, uncouth sound that nevertheless brought back to those listening a distorted reflection of the past. There was a small flurry behind Tiye, and she swung round to find a herald on his knees. “Well?”

He held out a scroll. “Pharaoh is very distressed for his daughter,” the man whispered. “He commands that this be laid on her breast. He cannot come himself.”

“What is it?”

“It contains a prayer of healing to the Aten.”

“Go.” When he had been ushered out, she unrolled the scroll and deliberately ripped it in two. Dropping the pieces on the floor, she stalked after him. The workmen would sing until the fever abated or the princess died. There was nothing more that Tiye could do.

Beketaten died four hours later, weakened not only by the fever but also by the convulsions that had not been prevented by the physicians’ attempts to cool her. Huya arrived, and Tiye gave him instructions for the disposition of the small body. She did not go to look at her daughter herself. She could not bear the sight of another corpse, another lifeless husk, even one to which her own body had given form. “Take her quickly to my embalmers,” she ordered. “By the time her father issues his own directives, her beautification will have begun. I would send her to Karnak for proper burial if I could. I will stay here with Tey for another night, Huya. I do not wish to go back into the city just yet.”

Huya hesitated. “Majesty, while I was preparing to come, a letter arrived for you from the Delta, from the estate of the Princess Tia-Ha.”

Tiye did not need to be told its contents. Her judgment had begun, and from now on nothing would halt the pitiless revenge of the gods “She is dead, then?”

Huya nodded. “In her sleep, Majesty. She left certain pieces of jewelry to you, and a promise that she will speak favorably of you to the gods.”

A goddess did not need the pleadings of a mere human, Tiye knew, but Tia-Ha understood the needs of her empress.
The strongest link with my past has been broken
, she thought as she made her way unsteadily to the chamber Tey had set aside for her.
My dear friend, my cheerful companion, I have not laughed since we parted. There is no loneliness as poignant as this. I cannot grieve for my own daughter as intensely as I mourn for you, the one who shared my life since girlhood and who has taken its memories with you
. She lay on her couch, watching the sunset paint the walls red before washing them with darkness, aware, with the dying of the light, that to be left alive after all she had cared for was gone was punishment enough for any sin.

22

B
eketaten’s funeral was conducted in the blazing height of summer without so much as a single flower to lay upon the nest of gilded coffins. The hand of the god lay heavy on those who stood outside the rock tomb, listening to Meryra and his priests recite from the Teaching. Nowhere in the beautiful words was there a suggestion of punishment or retribution, yet Egypt panted, shrunken and dying in the grip of famine and disease. No feast took place afterward, and the participants parted quietly, seeking a solace that no longer existed in the palace.

New Year’s Day was celebrated in a continuation of the fatalistic mood that had surrounded the funeral; it was more like a gathering of outcasts or a drawing together of the wounded for comfort than a demonstration of Egyptian power. No foreign delegations waited to pay homage to Pharaoh and present rich gifts. Few courtiers could summon the optimism to flaunt new fashions on a day when traditionally every important official displayed his power and the climbers made themselves eagerly obvious. No mayors presented the good wishes and bounty of their cities, and one by one they sent apologies for their absence. They were all trying to cope with fresh crops of bodies in their streets every morning; epidemics of disease, blindness, and paralysis; and outbreaks of violence between the fellahin, who had left the land that held only death, and the townspeople, who had little and did not wish to share what they had. Even Horemheb was not present, having been called urgently to Memphis to deal with a mutiny in the barracks there. Mutnodjme, as unruffled and indifferent as ever, kissed Pharaoh’s feet and laid the artificial flowers of custom across them. Meritaten sat beside her father in glittering gold and blue eye paint, but she was withdrawn. Tiye did not attend. After the news of Tia-Ha’s death she had suffered a collapse, a small fever accompanied by throbbing joints and a recurrence of abdominal pain that kept her on her couch. Ay held the fan by his lord’s right knee, as outwardly confident as ever, but he would meet no one’s eye.

The feast that followed, though it featured many entertainers, was sparsely attended, and the laughter of the guests was more dutiful than gay. By midnight Pharaoh was alone on the dais amid the ruins of the meal, and the great hall was empty but for Smenkhara, who sat cross-legged before his little table, head sunk onto one palm, picking moodily at the dry bread remaining on his plate. Servants stood motionless in the shadows that drowned the walls, out of reach of the few torches that still guttered. The queen had excused herself much earlier, pleading a faintness in the close heat. Behind Akhenaten his fanbearers, steward, and butler waited patiently for him to leave, but he made no move, his mouth parting occasionally, as though he were going to speak. The cloying stench of discarded perfume cones hung in the unmoving air, mixing with the odor of stale food.

Smenkhara was sunk in some gloomy reverie of his own, only his fingers moving among the crumbs and shreds of black bread. At first he did not hear his name, but Pharaoh called again, and Smenkhara looked up, startled.

“Majesty?”

“Come up here, Prince.”

Obediently, Smenkhara rose and mounted the dais, bowing low several times. Akhenaten indicated Meritaten’s vacant chair, eyeing him expressionlessly for several seconds, and then smiled slowly.

“Smenkhara,” he whispered, “what has happened to the most favored nation under heaven? Everywhere I look there is pain and death. Even here, in the place the Aten chose for his own abode, there is evil. I am used up, I am become as a discarded pot. My prayers do not leave my mouth and taste of famine. My breath is as the khamsin; it blows only death.” He stopped and swallowed, and Smenkhara could still hear the emotion Pharaoh was trying to control. “I, the one who stood between the god and the people, do not know what to do. My intercessions are not heard. The god no longer gives me direction.” The full, orange-painted lips shook as his gold-draped shoulders hunched. “I had thought when I made you my heir, the god would be satisfied, but it is not so. It was not enough.” He pressed both palms together, and Smenkhara watched the fastidious fingers knit around one another with the slow tightening of extreme agony. “For some reason that I do not understand, my divine father has repudiated me. He no longer loves me. My immortal task must go to you.” Behind him Smenkhara heard a sharp intake of breath and thought it must be Ay.

“Majesty,” he said, “I do not know what you mean.”

“I must pass my powers to you. Already the Aten is changing your body, fashioning it after the pattern he most desired in me. You will officiate in the temple and make known the god’s will to the people.”

“But, Horus, I do not want to!” Smenkhara stuttered, suddenly cold. “The god has not indicated anything of the sort to me! I am only a prince, a Horus-Fledgling. I know nothing of the Teaching!”

“Neither did I until the god chose to enlighten me.” Akhenaten’s voice was muffled, his eyes big with tears. “In another month the river should begin to rise if I have done right in the sight of the Disk.”