FOUR

| ANKHESENAMUN | AMARNA | 14th CENTURY BCE |

Benut is dead. My dearest and only true companion. And it was I who killed her. No one ever speaks of how my half-brother-husband went to the gods. But I have long suspected the truth. Poison. They say he died alone in the night, while he slept, from the sickness in his blood.

Perhaps. It is true he had an infected leg from where he broke it, and the stench was terrible, but he was mending. The day before he went to the gods, his fever had broken, and he asked for food. In the morning, he was dead, and I, forbidden to see his body.

Since, I have not touched the food brought to my apartment. Instead, I send Benut to the kitchens deep in the night to throw my food into the fire and bring me a portion of the bread and cheese meant for the slaves from the storage jars. She never questioned me, even when I began to lose weight and the bones of my ribs and hips began to show through my flesh. But I saw it in her eyes. The fear that I was hastening my life’s end, to free my ka and join my half-brother-husband and our two stillborn daughters and walk with them among the gods.

Of course, the jackal Ay would not dare attempt to poison my food while I dine among others, where his crime would be blunt and obvious. Though those occasions are rare now. No, he prefers to work in the shadows where he can cast uncertainty in the minds of my people, force them to doubt what is happening right before their eyes, the murder of a whole family. A coup in progress with only myself remaining. It suits me to let him think I am starving myself from grief and will do the dirty work for him and end my life. If anything, it has bought me time.

The wait since I burned Prince Zanannza’s letter has been arduous. Aten drags his chariot across the sky instead of racing through it. And all the while, Ay spreads his lies, denying the truth of his intentions with honeyed praise for me and false words of support where the others can hear. The hypocrite. The eater of hearts must be slavering to consume Ay for his multitude of crimes. Unfortunately, the jackal lives, and lives well on the abundance my father created. He clothes himself in the finest pleated linens, sewn with gold thread, and helps himself to the gem-laden collars of my dead mother, and gifts them to his favorites. And all I can do is walk past these women and say nothing. They, at least, have the shame to look down, their faces flushed with the dishonor of wearing jewels that should be mine.

And yet, all of this was bearable with Benut beside me. We never spoke of any of this, but she knew and remained steadfast and faithful to me, even as I became alienated in my own court. The pariah blocking the power Ay longs for, the thorny bush in his well-tended garden.

Loneliness has been my companion since Benut died. And guilt my new friend. She died in my arms, frothing at the mouth, her eyes wide and terrified, her breath stolen by the food she ate. My food. She admitted when she returned, she ate a little of it before she burned the rest. It was her favorite, honeyed almond cake. An innocent thing. But it cost her her life and confirmed my suspicion: That I will be next. Only this time, now that he knows I know what he has done, I suspect it will be a blade to my heart. There is no more need for ruse. My time is up.

May my prince come to me soon. Before it is too late.

| ZANNANZA | HATTUSA | 14th CENTURY BCE |

I stand, naked in the bathing pool. Water sluices off my body leaving droplets glistening on my skin. The attendants have earned their payment well. Cleansed of the grime of twenty-five days of hard travel, I am renewed, and the crisp scent of natron soap invigorates me. They wished to ply various oils on my skin, but I declined, I am not yet ready to smell like a flower garden. So much is different here. Where in Hattusa, we move with efficiency, are direct in our words and actions, these people seem to have time to spare as they move with grace and without haste. Everything is done with care and even the simplest task seems to follow a ritual. Impatience saws at me. I am a man of expedience and simplicity. All this activity has no purpose but to please the senses. Perhaps for the royal family, but for a merchant? Do all the ordinary people live thus? Spoiled as though they are noble? It seems I have much to learn, and most of it to my dislike. I wonder if my queen will spend half her day in such activity, and if I will be expected to do so.

No. It will not be. I will not tolerate it. I cannot waste my life soaking in flower-strewn baths and being smothered in scented oils. If she wishes to bring a prince of Hatti into her empire and crown him Pharaoh, she will soon learn that Hatti’s customs come with him. But for now, it is time to dress for my role and prepare for our departure to Amarna.

Two days, and I shall be there. The current is not flowing as strong against us this time of the year, and we will have a light load I am told. Teshub watches over us. It is my destiny to find her, and no amount of treachery will stop it. My father has made sure I am invisible. A no one. A mere merchant. I turn away to hide my smile. The attendants are watching me, their curiosity high because I insist on dressing myself with haste. Soon, they will know who I am. But for now, I place the merchant’s ring on my finger, pick up the satchel laden with false evidence of sales, a fortune of opals, and precious purple cloth and leave.