When Meryre ended his boring litany Akhenaten remained seated, hands on the arms of the throne, head down. On this occasion he wore no crown, simply a band of gold with a jewelled uraeus in the centre. He lifted his head. Nefertiti went to touch his hand, a common gesture. Akhenaten thrust this away. Nefertiti ignored the insult, no reaction except for a slight tilt of her head. She stared across at me, a stricken look. I realised how the years had passed; she had aged, her cheeks no longer so smooth, her body slightly plump.
‘Your Majesty.’ Tutu, from where he sat opposite the King, bowed. ‘Your Majesty has words for us.’
Akhenaten’s hand went across his face.
‘You all must have …’ he began.
I remember those words so well, for they unleashed the storm.
‘You all must have wondered what will happen when I go back to my Father to be reunited with the One across the Far Horizon, Who will sit here and wear the Crown of Egypt? Who will hold the flail and rod? Who will intercede for you’ — he lifted his hands as if in prayer — ‘with me and my Father?’
Nefertiti, shocked, turned her face. The conventional chatter and gossip of the court was that Akhenaten’s eldest daughter would succeed him. Nefertiti made a strange move with her hands as if courtiers were standing too close to her and she wanted them to move away.
‘My lord, you have a daughter,’ Tutu said, puzzled.
‘And now I have a son.’ Akhenaten’s declaration rang through the chamber.
‘My lord!’ Tutu gasped.
‘I have a son,’ Akhenaten repeated. ‘Flesh of my flesh, body of my body. The Prince Tutankhaten, the offspring of Princess Khiya the Beloved! Nor is he the first …’
I shall never know why Akhenaten chose that time and place to make his declaration. Perhaps all the resentment and disappointment had curdled together to come pouring out.
‘He is not the first child,’ Akhenaten continued. ‘We also had a daughter who died, born prematurely. The Prince, however, is a vigorous child. He is my successor, the blessed seed of the Aten, the breath of God. He is my heir and shall be proclaimed as my heir.’
The Royal Circle was now in consternation. I had to admire Akhenaten’s cunning even as I grieved at Nefertiti’s public humiliation. She had made a hideous mistake. Khiya had become a Royal Ornament, a flunky of the court, someone who was seen and patronised. Like the rest, Nefertiti had failed to observe the Mitanni Princess’s long absences, her periods of seclusion in the rambling palaces of the Aten. An easy achievement, for who would seek Khiya the Monkey out? She was not liked by Nefertiti and so why should any power-hungry courtier wish to associate with her? Except of course Pentju … a man of nimble wits and cunning heart. He must have had a hand in this but, at the time, I sat like the rest in stunned silence. The look on Nefertiti’s face was heartwrenching: her manner wild-eyed and confused. The glory of Egypt, the necklaces, crowns and jewellery which adorned her no longer enhanced her beauty or her status but seemed to emphasise the mockery. Some of the Royal Circle moved to congratulate Akhenaten. Nefertiti suddenly stood up. She moved the children aside and knelt on the cushions before Akhenaten, her back to us.
‘My lord,’ her voice was strong, ‘my lord, I beseech you.’ Akhenaten was forced to look at her. ‘I am your Queen, your Great Wife. Surely the offspring of a Mitanni monkey will never wear the Double Crown?’
Akhenaten remained silent, face tense, body taut. He had to confront the fury of Nefertiti. She now moved forward; kneeling upright, she placed her hands on his knees, the classic pose of a supplicant.
‘I am your Queen, your wife.’
My heart wept at the pleading in her voice.
‘I have spoken. What Pharaoh has said,’ Akhenaten’s voice carried through the chamber, ‘will be done!’
Nefertiti remained kneeling, though she withdrew her hands.
‘Why, my lord? Why now? Why here? Could you not have told me in the privacy of our chamber?’
‘I have spoken,’ Akhenaten replied. ‘My will is manifest. My will shall be done!’
His twin daughters were now crying, sobbing quietly, moving to kneel beside their mother. Ankhespaaten, however, turned to face us, a beautiful little thing. She sat back on her heels, hands on her thighs and gazed coolly round as if she wanted to remember each of our faces.
‘You have betrayed me!’ Nefertiti sprang to her feet and moved away, half-facing her husband. She made her appeal to the Royal Circle but what comfort would she find there?
‘You have betrayed me,’ she repeated.
‘The Lady Khiya was the Divine One’s loyal rightful wife,’ Tutu spoke up. Beside him Meryre was nodding vigorously.
‘Silence!’ Nefertiti screamed.
If it hadn’t been for Ay’s outstretched hand she would have advanced threateningly on the sycophantic Chamberlain. She turned back on her husband. ‘You have betrayed me! You swore an oath!’
Akhenaten lifted his hand as a sign for silence. Nefertiti refused to concede.
‘You swore an oath, a great oath that would last for ever. Only our children, the flesh of the Sun, would inherit the Double Crown!’
‘Betrayed?’ Akhenaten now changed tack. ‘You talk of betrayal, my lady?’
‘What do you mean?’ Nefertiti hissed.
Akhenaten gestured at Ay, whose head went down.
‘Where is the brat?’ Nefertiti snarled.
‘He is safe.’
‘And the Monkey?’
‘She is dead.’
I gazed speechlessly at Akhenaten: the murmur of conversation died away.
‘The Lady Khiya is dead,’ Akhenaten repeated. ‘She has travelled to the Far Horizon. She is beyond our care and our tears, but not our memory. She died last night. The physician …’ I noticed the single title. ‘The physician was unable to staunch the bleeding.’
‘Then let her body rot!’ Nefertiti shouted. ‘And I pray her brat follows suit!’
Akhenaten sprang from the chair and, bringing up his hand, he punched Nefertiti full in the face, sending her flying back. Ay tried to catch her but the blow was so powerful Nefertiti was sent sprawling to the floor. The twins were screaming. Ankhespaaten remained kneeling. Courtiers half-rose, not knowing what they were to do. Nefertiti pulled herself to her feet, dabbing at the blood on the corner of her mouth. She whispered at Ay but he seemed like a broken reed, just slumped on his cushions, fearful of where Akhenaten’s rage might lead. Nefertiti now lost all control. She was screaming at Akhenaten who shouted back. Both their robes were now dishevelled, one of Akhenaten’s slippers had come off. The Royal Circle was so shocked it could only sit and watch Pharaoh and his Great Queen shouting at each other like a peasant and his wife in some back street of Thebes.
Rameses hid his smile. Horemheb just sat gaping at the scene. Meryre covered his ears. I realised that all the resentment which had seethed beneath the surface over the last few years was now surfacing in this violent shouting match. The Captain of the Guard burst into the chamber, alarmed by the noise but I gestured at him to leave. Rameses’ shoulders were now shaking with silent laughter as the argument continued; both Pharaoh and his Queen were about to lose all vestige of dignity. Akhenaten gazed wildly around. Perhaps my pleading look cut through the haze of anger for, gathering his robes about him, he walked back to his throne as if impervious to Nefertiti’s screams and imprecations. He gestured at me to come forward. I did so, knelt on the cushions and made obeisance. As I raised my head Ankhespaaten caught my eye, a smile on her lips as she moved closer to her father.