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Authors: James Patterson, Martin Dugard
Tags: HIS002030
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and, in truth, it became Howard Carter’s whole life.
Chapter 27
Amarna
1335 BC
NEFERTITI WEPT as she had never wept before.
“Aye!” she finally yelled. “Bring me Aye. I need him right this minute. Now!”
The royal scribe came running into the pharaoh’s bedroom. Nefertiti was slumped at the foot of the bed, her supple frame hidden
in an elaborate robe. The pharaoh lay on his back, unclothed, covered only by a scrap of bedsheet Nefertiti had laid across
his lower body.
“He’s dead,” Nefertiti said before Aye could utter a word.
Their eyes locked, and in that brief exchange, in the fire of Nefertiti’s eyes, the power in the royal palace shifted inexorably
in the new widow’s favor. She was no longer the wife of the pharaoh but ruler of all of Egypt. She was divine. And Aye was
still just the scribe—that is, if she allowed him to live.
Aye cleared his throat. “What happened?”
“What do you think happened, Scribe? Isn’t it obvious to you? I could barely get him off me.”
Indeed, the pharaoh had gotten heavy in his late thirties, and the lithe Nefertiti weighed less than half of his considerable
mass. Perhaps even that was being charitable to the late pharaoh. Aye had a clear mental picture of the queen’s bronzed biceps
straining to shove her dead mate off her after his final collapse.
“I’ll see to his burial, Majesty,” he said. “I will do everything.”
“And send out the messengers,” Nefertiti commanded, her lower lip quivering. “Send them to Memphis and to Thebes. Announce
to one and all that the great pharaoh is dead.”
“Majesty, do you think that wise? I mean, until we know who will succeed Akhenaten?”
The royal scribe looked at her insolently. To be sure, Aye was a powerful man in the kingdom, and he balked at taking orders
from any woman.
Nefertiti glared at him. “Have you forgotten that my husband fathered a child with another woman?” Her voice dripped with
sarcasm. She had also given Akhenaten an heir since arriving in Amarna, but the child had died.
“When the time comes, and he has grown into a man, I will place my husband’s son on the throne, but for now
I am the pharaoh,
Aye. Make no mistake about that.” She paused and looked at Akhenaten once more. “Now, leave me with my husband. Go. Do your
duties.”
Aye lowered his eyes and spun on his heels, then charged from the sun-filled room. He would do as he was told—for now anyway.
Chapter 28
Amarna
1335 BC
NEFERTITI GAZED DOWN at her husband. Then she sat on the bed beside him, gently running her hand across his shaved head. She
traced a lone finger down to his chest. Then she stroked his face, memorizing every detail.
These would be their last moments together, and she wanted to remember him as the powerful man he had once been, not the weak
and whimsical pharaoh he had become. Nefertiti shuddered to think what would soon happen to this body she had known so well.
She placed her index finger atop the bridge of his nose. The royal mummifiers would start here, slipping a long wire up the
nostrils into that marvelous and eccentric brain. They would spin the wire until the brain’s gelatinous tissue broke down
and revealed itself as gray snot running out of the nose.
They would then turn the body over, positioning the head at the edge of an alabaster table to let the brain pour into a bucket
glazed with gold.
Nefertiti now placed her hand low on her husband’s groin, anticipating the spot where they would slice him open, shove a hand
up inside, and yank out the internal organs.
Who would do this task?
Would it be some vile little man with a filthy beard and dirt under his fingernails? Or a professor, a stately academic chosen
to mummify the king because he was more knowledgeable about the ways of the afterworld?
She smiled as she placed her hand atop his sternum, the spot where she had laid her head so many times and felt the beating
of his heart. At
Chapter 27
Amarna
1335 BC
NEFERTITI WEPT as she had never wept before.
“Aye!” she finally yelled. “Bring me Aye. I need him right this minute. Now!”
The royal scribe came running into the pharaoh’s bedroom. Nefertiti was slumped at the foot of the bed, her supple frame hidden
in an elaborate robe. The pharaoh lay on his back, unclothed, covered only by a scrap of bedsheet Nefertiti had laid across
his lower body.
“He’s dead,” Nefertiti said before Aye could utter a word.
Their eyes locked, and in that brief exchange, in the fire of Nefertiti’s eyes, the power in the royal palace shifted inexorably
in the new widow’s favor. She was no longer the wife of the pharaoh but ruler of all of Egypt. She was divine. And Aye was
still just the scribe—that is, if she allowed him to live.
Aye cleared his throat. “What happened?”
“What do you think happened, Scribe? Isn’t it obvious to you? I could barely get him off me.”
Indeed, the pharaoh had gotten heavy in his late thirties, and the lithe Nefertiti weighed less than half of his considerable
mass. Perhaps even that was being charitable to the late pharaoh. Aye had a clear mental picture of the queen’s bronzed biceps
straining to shove her dead mate off her after his final collapse.
“I’ll see to his burial, Majesty,” he said. “I will do everything.”
“And send out the messengers,” Nefertiti commanded, her lower lip quivering. “Send them to Memphis and to Thebes. Announce
to one and all that the great pharaoh is dead.”
“Majesty, do you think that wise? I mean, until we know who will succeed Akhenaten?”
The royal scribe looked at her insolently. To be sure, Aye was a powerful man in the kingdom, and he balked at taking orders
from any woman.
Nefertiti glared at him. “Have you forgotten that my husband fathered a child with another woman?” Her voice dripped with
sarcasm. She had also given Akhenaten an heir since arriving in Amarna, but the child had died.
“When the time comes, and he has grown into a man, I will place my husband’s son on the throne, but for now
I am the pharaoh,
Aye. Make no mistake about that.” She paused and looked at Akhenaten once more. “Now, leave me with my husband. Go. Do your
duties.”
Aye lowered his eyes and spun on his heels, then charged from the sun-filled room. He would do as he was told—for now anyway.
Chapter 28
Amarna
1335 BC
NEFERTITI GAZED DOWN at her husband. Then she sat on the bed beside him, gently running her hand across his shaved head. She
traced a lone finger down to his chest. Then she stroked his face, memorizing every detail.
These would be their last moments together, and she wanted to remember him as the powerful man he had once been, not the weak
and whimsical pharaoh he had become. Nefertiti shuddered to think what would soon happen to this body she had known so well.
She placed her index finger atop the bridge of his nose. The royal mummifiers would start here, slipping a long wire up the
nostrils into that marvelous and eccentric brain. They would spin the wire until the brain’s gelatinous tissue broke down
and revealed itself as gray snot running out of the nose.
They would then turn the body over, positioning the head at the edge of an alabaster table to let the brain pour into a bucket
glazed with gold.
Nefertiti now placed her hand low on her husband’s groin, anticipating the spot where they would slice him open, shove a hand
up inside, and yank out the internal organs.
Who would do this task?
Would it be some vile little man with a filthy beard and dirt under his fingernails? Or a professor, a stately academic chosen
to mummify the king because he was more knowledgeable about the ways of the afterworld?
She smiled as she placed her hand atop his sternum, the spot where she had laid her head so many times and felt the beating
of his heart. At
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