Naguib Mahfouz - Akhenaten - Dweller in Truth

I recalled how Tiye had claimed that my marriage to the crown prince was her idea. I hid my smile. I felt as though I was expected to speak. I wanted what I said to be the truth.

“I believed in your God before I even saw you.”

“What joy!” he cried. “You heard from Ay?”

I nodded. “You are the first woman to believe, Nefertiti,” he said.

I wanted to speak to him longer, to delay the moment when we would lie together. “I want to be the first to sing hymns in his temple.”

“I promise you that,” he whispered, and kissed me. “You shall bear me an heir to the throne.” Suddenly, all the magnificent emotions I had felt disappeared. All that remained was reticence and irritation.

We continued to walk our path together, both as man and wife and as believers. I delved further into the faith with him. His spirit engulfed me and filled me with so much light that I expected God might speak to me as he had spoken to him. As for my body, it convulsed silently every time he came near me. His seed grew inside me. I became pale and ill, as the child within me made a mockery of my beautiful, slender body. Akhenaten dwelled in the truth. He despised all lies and falsehood. I wondered how I would reply if he ever asked me, “Do you love me, Nefertiti?” I knew I could not find the courage to lie to him. I tried to be prepared. “Love will come in time,” I would tell him. I would ask his forgiveness and explain to him that he had taught me to love the truth. Perhaps it would have brought an end to my dreams even before I became queen. But he never asked.

One day Queen Tiye called for me, and as I approached her she looked at me closely. “You must mind your health,” she started. “You are carrying a precious life within you that will soon be part of the history of this country.”

“Pray for me, my Queen.”

“You have a long life ahead of you,” she said confidently. “Do not let fear control your mind.”

“Some things are not in the hands of people,” I replied.

“A queen is more than just ‘people.’” She heaved a sigh.

The queen was destroying my defenses. What a powerful woman she was, just as my father had always described her. My husband loved her dearly, and she regarded him as her sole property. Even after our marriage, I felt the weight of her shackles.

The news about the One God reached the priests and the strife began. During that time I had grown to know the extent of the power my husband possessed within his feeble body. I felt the strength of his spirit, and the intensity of his courage and determination.

“All the stones of the pyramids cannot move me from my position,” he said to me once.

“And I am with you,” I replied.

“Our God shall not forsake us,” he cried.

Even his mother could not persuade him to change his stand. One day, Tiye called me to her chamber. When I walked in I realized that this was perhaps the most important day in my life.

“Has the pregnancy distracted you from following the affairs of Thebes?” she asked.

“The affairs of Thebes are my affairs.” I was prepared for a battle.

“Did your kind words have no influence on your husband?” she asked.

“The words of his God are more powerful.”

“You do not seem saddened or worried.”

“I believe in what he says, my Queen.” My wrists were free at last. With that declaration, I made it known that my love for my God was stronger than my love for the throne.

Tiye glared. “Do you really believe in the Sole Creator?”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“You renounce the deities of Egypt?”

“God is one and has no partner,” I replied.

“Do you believe that other people have the right to worship their gods?”

“My God is not a threat to anyone.”

“But one day your husband will be king, and he must serve all the deities.”

“We serve no other but the One and Only.”

“Your rebellion,” she cried, “shall have the gravest repercussions.”

“God will never forsake us.”

“You promised me your unconditional loyalty,” she said bitterly.

“You are my queen. But God is above all else.”

I returned to my quarters with a heavy heart and tearful eyes. I did not know what destiny held in store for me. Yet I felt at peace. Soon the prince was ordered to tour the empire. I felt that Tiye had begun her punishment. She meant to deprive me of my husband when I was going to deliver my child at any moment. When Akhenaten left, I was gripped by new emotions. The light of life had gone; even the sun had only darkness. I was choked with fear. Nothing could compensate for my husband's absence, not even having my stepmother, Tey, by my side. I was enshrouded in sorrow. I missed Akhenaten wherever I was and at every hour of the day. I could not believe that he had occupied so much of my life. I realized that, without him, I was not happy. It was then that I became aware that I loved him, not only as my spiritual companion, but as husband and lover. Bitter tears seared my face. I regretted my ignorance and my blindness. I longed for him to return so that I could throw myself at his feet.

Queen Tiye and I went into labor at the same time. I had Meretaten, and the queen bore twins, Smenkhkare and Tutankhamun. When I found out that I had given birth to a girl I was overcome with grief. I heard the whispers of the harem saying that it was the curse of the priests of Amun. They said I would never bear a son as long as I lived.

Around that time, King Amenhotep III married Tadukhipa, the daughter of Tushratta, king of Mitanni, to reinforce the ties of friendship between Egypt and Mitanni. Tadukhipa's beauty was renowned. She entered Thebes in a magnificient procession with three hundred slaves. Tey tried to entertain me by talking about the new princess in the palace. She spoke to me of her wealth and beauty, but added at the end that, of course, no sun shone more brightly than mine. King Amenhotep III adored Tadukhipa, his new bride who was the age of his grandchildren. But the king was not able to savor his newfound happiness for long. For word arrived that the crown prince was preaching his religion throughout the provinces. I was summoned to appear before the king and queen. I did not expect to see the king so frail, but it seemed that he had exhausted himself in the pleasures of life.

“He is mad,” the king cried viciously.

“We can send the armed forces to the provinces to correct the damage that has been done,” Tiye said.

“He has lost the succession to the throne. Nothing we do will help him regain it.”

“Perhaps he will succeed. Perhaps they will heed his words,” I said after a moment's hesitation.

“You are foolish, Nefertiti,” the king shouted. “Just like your husband.”

“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.