personal scribe. Her son’s missives were short, adulatory, and reassuring. He was well and hoped that his eternally beautiful mother was well also. He loved the cosmopolitan life of Memphis, particularly the variety of religious thought to be found there. He was carrying out his duties in the temple of Ptah with gravity and attention. Beneath the words, Tiye often fancied that she sensed a strange loneliness, a wistful desire to be back in the familiar surroundings of the harem but considered it natural that a young man, gaining his freedom for the first time in nineteen years, might sometimes yearn for the security of such a womb. Nor did she fail to note the fact that Amunhotep never asked about his father’s health. The one breath of human affection that rose from the stiff yellow papyrus, apart from that directed to Tiye herself and the occasional enquiry about Nefertiti, was for Horemheb. Eagerly Amunhotep described the young commander’s kindnesses toward him. Tiye found the protestations pathetic and alarming, for her son mentioned no other friends.
She turned from his letters to the more informal detailed scrolls that arrived regularly from Horemheb himself, describing vividly how the prince had settled into his new life. Horemheb did not equivocate and would describe how his royal friend delighted in being driven about the city in a golden chariot so that people would bow to him. Amunhotep had visited On twice, worshipping in the temples of Ra-Harakhti and the Aten and sitting with the priests of the sun, arguing religion with them long into the cool nights. The priests of Ptah were suppressing their irritation with him, for he carried out his duties in their own temple absently and was always ready to find fault with them. He had taken up the lute and was composing his own songs, which he sang for Horemheb and his concubines. His voice was light but true.
Tiye heard, sifted, pondered. She had the letters passed on to Ay, in his office in the palace grounds, where he supervised the care of Pharaoh’s horses and oversaw the Division of Splendor of the Aten. She had the letters Amunhotep sent to Nefertiti intercepted, and read them before they were re sealed and delivered to the girl, but learned little that was new. His words to his betrothed varied only slightly from his words to his mother, apart from allusions to several conversations concerning the worship of Amun and his place as protector of Thebes that he and Nefertiti had evidently had while he still lived in the harem.
Nefertiti had moved into a suite of rooms in the palace that adjoined Tiye’s own. She did not seem to mind that her own servants had been dismissed and her slaves sold. With those who now saw to her comfort she was a harsh mistress, obsessed with detail and brooking no mistakes, and no day passed without tears shed in the servants’ quarters. Her niece’s petulance did not concern Tiye, for it was Nefertiti’s ability to govern that interested her. But the girl was haughty and did not learn easily. Following her aunt from audience to formal reception to the warm winds of the military reviewing ground, her staff of women, fan bearers, and cosmeticians behind, she listened much and volunteered nothing. With her gleaming black hair, pale gray, almond-shaped eyes, dark satin skin, and sensual mouth, she knew she was without physical peer at court. Her whisk bearer also carried a small copper mirror into whose burnished depths Nefertiti would gaze at odd moments throughout the day in order to reassure herself, Tiye often thought with annoyance, that a wrinkle had not appeared since the last swift application of face paint.
Tiye had known her niece since she was born. Nefertiti’s mother, Ay’s first wife, had died giving birth to her, and Nefertiti had been raised lovingly but rather absentmindedly by Tey, Ay’s second wife and mother to Mutnodjme. Tey, a vague, nervous, but strikingly beautiful woman, preferred life on the family
She turned from his letters to the more informal detailed scrolls that arrived regularly from Horemheb himself, describing vividly how the prince had settled into his new life. Horemheb did not equivocate and would describe how his royal friend delighted in being driven about the city in a golden chariot so that people would bow to him. Amunhotep had visited On twice, worshipping in the temples of Ra-Harakhti and the Aten and sitting with the priests of the sun, arguing religion with them long into the cool nights. The priests of Ptah were suppressing their irritation with him, for he carried out his duties in their own temple absently and was always ready to find fault with them. He had taken up the lute and was composing his own songs, which he sang for Horemheb and his concubines. His voice was light but true.
Tiye heard, sifted, pondered. She had the letters passed on to Ay, in his office in the palace grounds, where he supervised the care of Pharaoh’s horses and oversaw the Division of Splendor of the Aten. She had the letters Amunhotep sent to Nefertiti intercepted, and read them before they were re sealed and delivered to the girl, but learned little that was new. His words to his betrothed varied only slightly from his words to his mother, apart from allusions to several conversations concerning the worship of Amun and his place as protector of Thebes that he and Nefertiti had evidently had while he still lived in the harem.
Nefertiti had moved into a suite of rooms in the palace that adjoined Tiye’s own. She did not seem to mind that her own servants had been dismissed and her slaves sold. With those who now saw to her comfort she was a harsh mistress, obsessed with detail and brooking no mistakes, and no day passed without tears shed in the servants’ quarters. Her niece’s petulance did not concern Tiye, for it was Nefertiti’s ability to govern that interested her. But the girl was haughty and did not learn easily. Following her aunt from audience to formal reception to the warm winds of the military reviewing ground, her staff of women, fan bearers, and cosmeticians behind, she listened much and volunteered nothing. With her gleaming black hair, pale gray, almond-shaped eyes, dark satin skin, and sensual mouth, she knew she was without physical peer at court. Her whisk bearer also carried a small copper mirror into whose burnished depths Nefertiti would gaze at odd moments throughout the day in order to reassure herself, Tiye often thought with annoyance, that a wrinkle had not appeared since the last swift application of face paint.
Tiye had known her niece since she was born. Nefertiti’s mother, Ay’s first wife, had died giving birth to her, and Nefertiti had been raised lovingly but rather absentmindedly by Tey, Ay’s second wife and mother to Mutnodjme. Tey, a vague, nervous, but strikingly beautiful woman, preferred life on the family
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