When Nefertiti moved into Akhenaten’s quarters, I felt a stab of jealousy though this was soon soothed by her very presence, my closeness to her. She and Akhenaten were absorbed with each other, living in a paradise of their own creation. Akhenaten lost his fretful energy, that occasional vindictiveness, and became calmer, more harmonious. The physical changes were equally noticeable; the furrowed lines disappeared around his brow and cheeks. Nefertiti also taught him how to move more easily, to exude a certain majesty in his bearing, a bravery in accepting his disabilities whilst turning them into something special.
The weeks passed. Ay was busy in the House of Residence. Akhenaten and Nefertiti, hand-in-hand, would tour what they now called their Palace of the Aten, be closeted in their chamber or, surrounded by their guards, go out into the gardens and grounds. At first Akhenaten was so besotted with Nefertiti, I hardly spoke to him. One day I was sitting in the pavilion when I heard his footsteps and there he stood in the doorway resting on his cane, clutching his gauze-like robe tightly. I could tell from the dirt on his knees and the specks of mud on his robe that at such an early hour, just after dawn, he and Nefertiti had been out worshipping their god. Once the Beautiful Woman had arrived, there were no more nightly forays into the desert or cloaked strangers gathering at the gates. This was not only due to Nefertiti but the arrival of imperial troops and the accompanying spies who watched us every second of the day. On that morning Akhenaten’s face was solemn. I would have slipped to my knees on a cushion but he gestured that I sit back and he knelt before me. He stared earnestly up at me.
‘I never knew, Mahu,’ he began, ‘there could be so much happiness. I have been in the Land of Incense. I have flown on eagle wings beyond the Far Horizon.’ He leaned closer, pride blazing in his eyes. ‘I am a Prince of the Blood, Mahu. I am Akhenaten but, first and foremost, I am a man. In that, there is no difference’ — he gestured with his hand — ‘between myself and those around me.’
It was the first and only time my master Akhenaten, beloved of the One, ever compared himself to another man, ever claimed to possess that ordinary humanity, ever boasted of our common heritage. He touched me gently on the forehead, rose and left. I knew what he meant. On occasions, both he and Tiye had hinted that, because of his disability, Akhenaten was a eunuch, impotent, incapable of the most sacred act, unable to beget an heir. It was one of those cruelties thrust into his soul by the malicious-minded priests and the detractors surrounding him. Nefertiti, with her consummate skill, potions and powders, soon changed all that.
My own relationship with Nefertiti developed; there was no more teasing and sometimes I would catch her studying me.
‘You are not a baboon, Mahu,’ she once remarked as I helped her supervise the gardens, ‘you are a cat, that’s what you are. You sit and watch us, don’t you, with those dark brooding eyes and heavy face? The Beloved,’ her constant description of Akhenaten, ‘always talks of you. How you have played, feasted and even fought together.’ I never contradicted her. In his fevered brain, Akhenaten apparently depicted me as a brother, the real blood-brother he wished he had.
Within a year Nefertiti’s influence over Akhenaten was complete. He wouldn’t do anything without her, constantly seeking her advice and, by implication, Ay’s. Sometimes he would rise late, heavy-eyed and drowsy, but always content, at peace. The most constant visitor was Ay, walking with his daughter or briefing the Prince on the gossip of the palace and what was happening in the great city of Thebes. Akhenaten, Nefertiti beside him, would listen carefully. Both of them would question Ay and later discuss what had been said. If my master changed, Nefertiti did not. She remained serene yet vivacious, a goddess in splendour, be it in her tight sheathlike dresses on formal occasions or in an elegant loose-fitting robe, flowers in her glorious hair as she moved around the palace. Never once was she, her father or the Prince invited into the imperial presence but this did not seem to bother them. In fact, they seemed quite content, as if lulling the suspicions of those they knew were watching them.
Nefertiti truly became mistress of the house. She would question Snefru and the servants, study the accounts, check the stores or go into the kitchens, supervising the cooks, winning them over with her charm and wit. She was fascinated by the gardens and proved herself a skilled herbalist, becoming in all but name, the palace leech and apothecary. She knew the properties of mountain celery — how, mixed with juniper berries and other ingredients it would calm pains in the belly; how birthwort in red wine would ease cramps and bring about sleep; how melon leaves could treat blood ailments whilst maringa oil mixed with figs would reduce inflammation in the gums. She was greatly interested in medicine and kept her own stores of potions and powders. She treated her own husband and, yes, the rumours were true — she was skilled in aphrodisiacs and in more exotic remedies for illnesses of the soul.
Ay was the only one who left the Residence, often journeying down to Thebes to the temples or to walk in the marketplace. He and Nakhtimin his half-brother would visit acquaintances, officials and officers and bring back all the gossip and rumour. Nakhtimin would often be the only guest at dinner, with food especially cooked by the Princess herself, delicious and savoury. The wine would flow and we would discuss, till the early hours, the affairs of Egypt, the growing might of the Hittites, the Magnificent One’s alliance with Tusharatta, King of the Mitanni, the disturbances in Canaan and how these problems must be resolved. On one occasion Ay announced that the Divine One, concerned that Ay was not receiving the help and support he needed, had despatched a highranking scribe to assist. The chosen scribe, Ineti, was from the House of Life in the Temple of Amun-Ra; he was lean-visaged and bony-framed. Ay had no choice but to accept him, but we all knew Ineti was really there to spy.
Queen Tiye also visited, but not as often as she used to: she had aged somewhat, seemed troubled and perhaps was a little jealous of Nefertiti’s closeness with her son. On rare occasions, Crown Prince Tuthmosis also arrived with his entourage. He looked better, though still thin, slightly weary with a racking cough. He, too, fell under the spell of Nefertiti and his envy of his younger brother was almost palpable.
If a distance had grown up between myself and Akhenaten, Nefertiti compensated for this. She would often single me out for discussion about this or that, her beautiful face always smiling, always serene but those striking blue eyes curious as if she hadn’t decided who I truly was. Sometimes she’d talk about her early childhood, her days in Akhmin, how her father had educated her and how, like her Aunt Tiye, she had entered the service of the God Min in the local temple. She could pull a bow, knew how to handle a sword or dagger and often asked me to accompany her to watch the Prince’s bodyguard be drilled on the parade ground. On occasion she’d even ask me to join her inspecting the Khonsu, the company camped beyond the walls. Naturally, she was a welcome guest there, being shown every honour. At first I thought she wanted to flirt with the officers, which she certainly did, but she was more interested in their knowledge, their experience in war, their handling of weapons, particularly the use of massed archers and the effectiveness of a chariot squadron. We went along the river, chatting to the marines, recalling the deeds of the great Pharaoh Ahmose who used barges to drive the Hyksos from the Delta. I revelled in such occasions. Nefertiti would often hold my hand, clutch my arm or whisper in my ear. She was not embarrassed about describing this to Akhenaten, remarking ‘how she and Mahu had been here or there, seen this or done that’.