Akhenaten: Dweller in Truth Read online

“You could have tried to make him more reasonable,” Tiye added. “Instead you joined him in his nonsense.”

  “How can I achieve what you have failed to do, my Queen?” I replied, trying to control my anger.

  “You deliberately encourage him,” she said accusingly.

  “When he returns,” Amenhotep interrupted with a wave of his hand, “I will have him choose between the throne and his religion.”

  My sadness grew. The morning after I met with the king and queen, Tiye woke me up and whispered, “The king is dead, Queen Nefertiti.”

  My heart was heavy with grief. I wondered if before he died King Amenhotep III had carried out his threat. Would Tiye sacrifice her beloved son? One time, when she was overseeing the mummification of her husband, she called me and said, “I want you to know that the priests requested that I appoint Smenkhkare or Tutankhamun king and that I should be regent.”

  I feared what Tiye would say next. “Your decision shall be the wisest, and I will embrace it regardless,” I replied.

  “Are you speaking the truth?” she asked.

  “What else do I have but the truth?” I replied desperately.

  “I denied them their request. My love for my son was greater than my wisdom.”

  I felt as though I had just begun to breathe. I was speechless.

  “Are you happy?”

  “Yes, my Queen,” I replied earnestly. “I abhor lying.”

  “Do you promise me to defend the traditions?”

  “I cannot promise that.”

  “You deserve to be punished,” she said. “But I also admire you. You and Akhenaten have chosen your path, so walk it. It is what the gods charted.”

  I returned to my quarters elated. I showered Meretaten with kisses. Then my beloved returned from his journey. I hurried to him and threw my arms around him.

  “At last your love has come, Nefertiti,” he said calmly.

  I was startled and said, “I loved you even before I laid eyes on you.”

  “But only now, you love me as your husband.” I was stunned by his ability to discern the secrets of the heart.

  After the burial of Amenhotep III, Akhenaten came to me with tearful eyes. “Death frightens me,” he said. “I did not love my father as I should have.” We ascended the throne surrounded by hostility and apprehension. Akhenaten called upon his men to join his religion. They declared their faith willingly. It never occurred to me to doubt their faith, until much later when they all abandoned him to save themselves. Except for Meri-Ra, the high priest of the One God. I believe that Akhenaten knew that they were not sincere. But he believed that love was the cure for all ills. He thought that in time their faith would grow deeper with love, and that they would believe in him. He waited patiently for their faith, as he had once waited for my love. But they were not deserving. Some of them even harbored a secret desire to claim the throne after him—Haremhab, and even my father, Ay. Do not think that my bitterness has led me to fabricate this. I do not rely on mere impressions either. I learned these facts from conversations I had with the men during the last days of Akhetaten. I was pleased that the priests decided to entrust the throne to Tutankhamun instead. I believe the others still dwell on their old dream.

  Despite the hostility that surrounded us when we first took the throne, Akhenaten and I were extremely happy. Meretaten was beginning to crawl, and a new life was growing inside me. Akhenaten had no other partner but me. He inherited his father's harem, with the beautiful Mitannian woman, but he abstained from visiting it. Then Queen Tiye came and I expected no good from her visit.

  “Akhenaten,” she started, close enough that I could hear her, “you are king now. You must not neglect your harem.”

  “I have but one love, just as I have one God,” he laughed.

  “But you must be fair. Do not forget that Tadukhipa is in your harem. She deserves to be treated well, if only for her father Tushratta's sake.” Tiye glanced at me and noticed my irritation. She continued, “Nefertiti has proven to be a wise queen. Perhaps she will agree with me about your harem.”

  I remained silent, trying not to reveal that I was upset. Tiye continued to talk about the duties of a queen.

  I became curious about the harem, particularly Tadukhipa. I visited them, saying merely that I wanted to make their acquaintance. Tadukhipa was indeed beautiful, but my self-confidence was not shaken. We exchanged a few words, and parted enemies.

  The next day, as I sat with my husband in the palace garden, I found myself asking him, “What do you intend to do about the harem?”

  “I do not want it,” he replied simply.

  “But the queen mother does not heed your desires,” I complained.

  “My mother loves tradition.”

  “But you do not believe in tradition.”

  “You're quite right, my beloved,” he laughed.

  I suppose it was around that time that I met with the high priest of Amun.

  “My Queen,” the high priest started, “perhaps you know what I have come for.”

  “I am listening, High Priest,” I replied without enthusiasm.

  “Let the king worship whichever god he pleases. But all the deities, Amun in particular, have the right to be worshiped,” he pleaded.

  “We are not trying to harm your god.”

  “I am hoping that when the time comes you will support us.”

  “I can only promise what I know I can give.”

  “Your father and I are old friends. And I know that nothing can spoil our friendship.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”

  When he left I knew I had made an eternal enemy. Akhenaten devoted his time to the religion. He called for love, abolished punishment, and relieved the poor of their dues. People began to believe that it was a new era of love and benevolence. I gave birth to my second daughter, Meketaten. Once more I was disappointed and remembered all that had been said about the curse of the priests. But Akhenaten loved his daughters. “The crown prince will come when it is his time,” he said to comfort me. We built a temple for the One God in Thebes and went to visit it for the first time. The priests had gathered a mob of their followers and they stood outside the temple calling the name of Amun. The king was dismayed. He spent the night on the terrace of our room, addressing Thebes: “O city of evil, home of the lustful god, and merciless priests, O Thebes, I will never dwell in you.” The voice of God told him to build a new city. Bek the sculptor selected eighty thousand men and started work on the city of the Sole Creator. Meanwhile, we continued to live in Thebes, happy inside our palace, yet surrounded on all sides by malice. I bore two more girls, Ankhesenpaaten and Nefernaten. Then we moved to the new city. Smenkhkare and Tutankhamun came with us, but Tiye decided to remain in Thebes to preserve the last tie between the throne and the priests of Amun.

  When we reached Akhetaten, the city of light, I cried with bliss, “How great is your beauty, how sweet is your spirit, O God of this city and of the universe.” We prayed in the temple, and sang the hymns of the One God. Meri-Ra was appointed high priest of the Sole Creator. We lived in pure happiness, until one day the king returned from his solitude with a solemn look.

  “My God commands me that no other deity should be worshiped in his country.”

  I realized instantly the gravity of what he said. “And what will become of the other deities?”

  “I will decree the closing of their temples and appropriate their endowments.” He was determined. I remained silent. “You do not seem happy, Nefertiti.”

  “You are defying the priests of the entire land,” I replied.

  “Yes. It is in my power.”

  “If you do so, you are bound to use violence and punishment. You are a man of peace. Why resort to such measures?”

  “I shall never use violence as long as I live.”

  “What if they disobey you?”

  “I will distribute the endowments of the temples to the poor of the country and call upon them to worship the One God and
abandon the other deities.”

  I felt at once as though a weight had been lifted from my chest. I kissed him. “God will never forsake you.”

  The decree was made and executed without provoking the storms I had expected. It was God's power, and the power of the throne. We became more confident. In the evenings we visited the different quarters of Akhetaten in our royal carriage. The people received us with adulation. We descended from our carriage and walked among them under the palm trees, defying the long tradition that separated the royalty and the common people. We became so familiar with them that we knew their names and faces and professions. Love replaced the old fear in the people's hearts. The hymns of the One and Only were heard all over Akhetaten.

  “I am afraid you are diminishing the traditional status of the king,” my father told me once.

  “Father,” I replied laughing, “we only dwell in the truth.”

  Then we went on our journey through the empire, calling the people to worship the Sole Creator. Our enemies were in awe of our success. Maho, the chief of police, told us about the priests' attempts to win the people over to their side by slandering the king and the throne. But we took little notice. People grew accustomed to Akhenaten's peculiar ways of worship, his solitariness, and his complete devotion. I suppose it was I who became a mystery in their eyes. How could I be so immersed in worship, when I had to manage all the administrative and financial affairs of the country? Perhaps they even questioned the sincerity of my faith. The truth is that I believed every word Akhenaten uttered. I shared his faith and his life. “When all the spirits have become pure and free of any evil,” he used to say, “everyone will hear the voice of God and we shall all dwell in the truth.” That was his real purpose, that everyone should dwell in the truth. When we returned from our journey we found Meketaten sick and bedridden. Her face was so pale that we hardly recognized the daughter we had created. Akhenaten remained by her side, praying. I asked Bento, the physician, to save her.

  “Bento,” I said, calling him to the corner of Meketaten's room, “my daughter is dying.”

  “I did all that I could,” he said mournfully.

  “The priests have cast a spell to deprive Akhenaten of his most beloved daughter,” I cried in horror.

  “Do not burn my heart with the grief of mourning her, dear God,” I heard Akhenaten whisper. “I love her and cannot live without her in my life. She is far wiser than her age, O God. If you spare her life she will spend it in your service.”

  But Meketaten's soul faded until she left our world and ascended to the stars in God's Kingdom. We threw ourselves upon her, wailing, abandoned to grief.

  “Why, O God?” Akhenaten cried. “Why do you try my faith so very severely? Must you be so cruel in showing me that I still do not know your mighty power? Why do you treat me so harshly when you are full of compassion, so coldly when you are love, so angrily when I am your obedient servant? Why do you insist on being a mystery when you are the light? Why did you make her so beautiful, and give her such sound reason? Why did you make us love her, and prepare her for your service? O Mighty God, why?”

  We remained in mourning until the sorrows of the country pulled us out of our grief to face a tragedy. We conferred with Nakht and he told us the details of the strife and the rebellion that had swept the empire. I must admit that my determination was no longer as firm as it had been before Meketaten died. But Akhenaten endured the most severe storms, as if he were the Great Pyramid, imperishable.

  “God will persevere,” he said. “I will not compromise.”

  I was encouraged by his strength of spirit, and my strength returned afresh. My misgivings subsided, and I felt remorse for my momentary weakness. Then the queen mother, Tiye, visited us in Akhetaten. First she met with our men in her palace in southern Akhetaten. Then she summoned me and my husband.

  “The skies are filled with dark clouds,” she began. “Your men have given me their word of honor that they will remain loyal to you under any circumstances.”

  “Do you trust them?” I asked curiously.

  “In times like this, I am compelled to lend them my trust,” she replied reproachfully.

  “My God will be victorious,” Akhenaten said.

  “Soon the country will be consumed by civil wars.” She was incensed.

  “God will never forsake me,” he repeated.

  “I cannot speak for the gods, but I can speak for what transpires in the world of people.”

  “Mother,” he said sadly, “you do not believe.”

  “Do not speak to me of the unknown. Speak to me as the king that you are and heed me as a queen. You must act before it is too late. Use the armed forces to protect your borders from the enemies. Use the guards and the police to stop the corruption inside the empire. Hurry, before your throne is lost to the enemies.”

  “I shall not have one drop of blood shed.”

  “Do not make me regret that I entrusted you with the throne.”

  “I only believe in the throne as a means to serve God.”

  Tiye looked at me and said, “Speak, Nefertiti—perhaps the gods meant you to marry him so that you can save him this very moment.”

  “Our God will not forsake us, Mother,” I replied.

  “Madness has won.” She was desperate.

  Tiye left the palace sad and ill. She returned to Thebes, where she lived only a few days more, then died with her worries. A few days later, Haremhab, Nakht, and my father Ay asked to speak with us.

  “Your faces betray bad news,” Akhenaten said.

  “We have come because of our love for Egypt and the empire,” my father began.

  “What about your faith in the Sole Creator?”

  “We still believe in him. But we are responsible for our lives, too, not only our faith.”

  “This responsibility you speak of is worthless if it is not inspired by faith,” Akhenaten added.

  “The enemies of the empire have crossed our borders,” Nakht said. “The provinces are in open rebellion. We are trapped in Akhetaten.”

  “God will not forsake me, and I will not forsake his teachings,” he insisted.

  “We are facing a civil war!” Haremhab said.

  “There shall be no wars.”

  “Are we to wait until we are slain like sheep?” Haremhab asked.

  “I myself will confront the army that attacks us, alone and unarmed,” the king said.

  “They will kill you and then come after us. If you insist on upholding your message, then relinquish the throne and devote yourself to religion.”

  “I will not forsake the throne of my God. It would be treachery. I release you from your vow of loyalty to me.”

  “We will leave you some time to decide,” Haremhab said.

  They delivered their last warning and left us. I never imagined a pharaoh could be so humiliated. I wondered why God was so harsh on us, but Akhenaten's faith was not shaken. I admired his determination.

  Then Haremhab asked to meet me privately. “Act now,” he said. “Do whatever is in your power. If he insists on his position, he will be killed. He may be slain by his own men! You must act promptly.”

  I was bewildered. I saw the ghastly shadows of death and defeat. My faith was shaken. I felt the torment of helplessness. How could I save my beloved? It occurred to me that if I left him he might falter and take the advice of his men. He would be convinced that I had betrayed him, but at least his life would be saved. Thus I left my beloved king and husband, my heart seared with grief. I went to the palace in northern Akhetaten. My sister, Mutnedjmet, visited me and told me that the king had not wavered from his position. She told me that the men had decided that in order to save him, they must abandon him and pledge their allegiance to the new pharaoh, Tutankhamun.

  “When will you move to Thebes?” she asked.

  “A part of the old prophecy has come true,” I said, reading the meaning between her words. “Now it is time for the other part. So you go to Thebes in peace, Mu
tnedjmet. I will stay here beside my husband and my God.”

  Sadness set its roots deep in my heart, as though I had never once been happy in my life. I was haunted by guilt as I watched from my window the people leaving the city of light before the curse claimed them. I heard their voices, the cries of their children, and the howling of their dogs. I saw them come in waves, carrying whatever they could salvage of happier days. They hurried toward the Nile, the north, and the south. I watched until I saw the last of them leave the city. Akhetaten was deserted. Gloom hung over the magnificent houses, the gardens, and the streets. “Akhetaten,” I cried, “O city of light, where are the hymns and melodies, where is the victory, where is love? Where are you, my God? Why did you forsake us?”

  The city was now empty except for two prisoners— my beloved and I—and a few guards appointed by the priests. When I wished to return to his palace to see him and talk with him, the guards stopped me. I was not allowed to leave the palace, they said. They did not allow me even to write to him. I knew then that there was nothing I could do but await my death in this prison. I tried sending messages to the new pharaoh and to my father and Haremhab, stating my simple request to see Akhenaten. But the guards told me I was allowed no contact with the outside world. I waited patiently and without hope for my days to end. I was no longer aware of the passage of time. I prayed constantly, until I finally regained all my faith in the One God. Indeed, I believe now that the final victory will be for the Sole Creator.

  The chief of the guards came to me one day and said, “I am ordered to tell you that the heretic has died after a long illness. A royal party has been sent to mummify and entomb him according to the royal rituals.”

  I did not believe a word he said. My beloved did not fall ill and die. They must have killed him. His soul now rests eternally. One day I shall follow him. I will explain to him why I left him and ask his forgiveness, and he will seat me beside him on the throne of truth.

  Queen Nefertiti was quiet, her sweet voice stilled. I bade her farewell, dreading the path that took me away from her. My heart was infused with her beauty.

  When I returned to Sais, my father greeted me happily. He asked me about my journey, and I answered him. For days we talked and I recounted the details of my travels. I told my father everything I had learned, except for two things—my growing fondness for the hymns of the One God, and my profound love for the beautiful Nefertiti.