The Murder of King Tut - James William Patterson [10]
“At least thirty minutes.” The callous little man crumpled a sheet of papyrus to start fresh.
“You have ten.”
“But Queen—”
“Not a second more.”
“I’ll do my best,” the sculptor replied.
Nefertiti pursed her lips in a thin crocodile smile—and made a mental note to have the so-called artist killed once the statue was complete.
Chapter 10
Thebes
1347 BC
THE PRIESTS, PREENING AND PRATTLING, filed into the temple room when the sculptor finally left. They were as haughty as the queen’s famed cats. Nefertiti despised their power and how they used religion to make themselves rich. Indeed, Ptahmose, the high priest, was one of the wealthiest and most feared men in all of Thebes.
“Where to next?” Amenhotep IV said to the aged Ptahmose, slipping back into his ceremonial Sed cloak. The priests now attempted to set the pharaoh’s schedule for the busy festival day ahead.
“The temple of Wepwawet awaits, sire. We must apply holy ointment to the standard.”
“I do not honor that god,” Amenhotep proclaimed. “Wepwawet is nothing to me.”
The priests shuddered at this heresy. Even Nefertiti was shocked, though her religious belief was much the same as her husband’s. Egypt was a land of several gods, and all were to be worshipped according to law.
Before Nefertiti could say something diplomatic, Amenhotep grabbed her hand and yanked her down the smooth stone corridor toward the street. “I know what I’m doing!” he told her as the raucous crowd grew so loud the pair could hear nothing else.
The royal couple entered the reviewing stand through the back and stood where they could observe the assembled masses without being seen themselves.
Nefertiti was awed at the sight of the crowd. “They are here for you,” she told her husband. “They love you, as I do.”
Rich and poor, scribe, surgeon, and farmer, had come from all over Egypt. They had cheered with delight when their pharaoh oversaw the morning’s cattle census. An even larger group gasped in wonder as he donned the Sed cloak at noon. But that was six hours ago.
Now the crowd numbered in the tens of thousands. A combination of too much sun and too much ale had turned their enthusiasm into restlessness. Artisans, shopkeepers, even slaves were chanting as one, demanding to see their pharaoh make the dangerous chariot run.
How could he possibly fail—if he was divine?
Chapter 11
Thebes
1347 BC
NEFERTITI GLANCED AT HER HUSBAND, expecting to see him trembling in fear. Instead, Amenhotep wore a look of serenity. “When I am done with this, I will have put my mark on all of Egypt,” he told her. “No longer will I allow those pompous buffoons in the temple—”
“You speak that way about the priests?” Nefertiti whispered. She had little respect for the priests but knew better than to talk like this. What was happening to her husband? Was he saying all this because he knew he was about to die?
“That’s right. You heard me. No longer will they have any say in how I rule my kingdom. Starting tomorrow, Amun, Re-Harakhty, and all their other pitiful gods will be banished.”
“You speak heresy,” Nefertiti said. She felt faint. Had Amenhotep gone mad? Was it his terror speaking now?
“We will worship Aten—and Aten alone.” Aten was the sun god.
“Do the priests know? Any of them? Does Ptahmose know?”
Her husband’s cunning smile answered her question.
“They will be furious!” she said. “They will come after you. And me as well.”
“That won’t matter. Do you want to know why?”
Actually, she didn’t. In his current state, Amenhotep IV was likely to say something utterly crazy. He didn’t disappoint.
“I’m building a new city for us.”
“I don’t understand, Pharaoh,” said Nefertiti. “What new city? Where would it be? Why haven’t you told me before?”
“It will lie halfway between here and Memphis,” he continued. “It will be the greatest city in the world. I will never leave there. Not even to wage war or collect tribute. Thebes and Memphis can return to the desert for all I care.”
The crowd was loudly chanting the pharaoh’s name, but Nefertiti wasn’t ready to let him