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.