A Tale of Serpents and Sand

By M. R. Duncan-Taylor

In the shadow of the Amarna Dynasty, three members of the royal family must fight for their survival in a world that would see them crumble.

Nefertari is the daughter of King Smenkhkare, exiled to Amarna. Her life is changed when the illustrious Tutankhamun visits, and she is thrust into a terrifying world of intrigue, where her life is forfeit.

Tutankhamun is desperate to prove himself as King of Egypt, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of his father's legacy. How can he balance this, along with his developing feelings for both Nefertari, and his Head of Guard, Djau.

Ankhesenamun was married to Tutankhamun after the murder of his elder brother. She wars with her tragic past, trying to fight for her autonomy in a world where she is seen as collateral in the games of the men around her.

The legacy continues, with A Tale of Vultures and Wrath, in this three-part series about the rise and fall of the Amarna dynasty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris NZ
• Release date: Aug 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781664107946

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 by M. R. Duncan-Taylor.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 07/30/2022

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1   Nefertari

Chapter 2   Tutankhamun

Chapter 3   Nefertari

Chapter 4   Nefertari

Chapter 5   Nefertari

Chapter 6   Tutankhamun

Chapter 7   Nefertari

Chapter 8   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 9   Nefertari

Chapter 10   Tutankhamun

Chapter 11   Nefertari

Chapter 12   Nefertari

Chapter 13   Nefertari

Chapter 14   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 15   Nefertari

Chapter 16   Nefertari

Chapter 17   Tutankhamun

Chapter 18   Nefertari

Chapter 19   Tutankhamun

Chapter 20   Nefertari

Chapter 21   Tutankhamun

Chapter 22   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 23   Tutankhamun

Chapter 24   Nefertari

Chapter 25   Nefertari

Chapter 26   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 27   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 28   Tutankhamun

Chapter 29   Nefertari

Chapter 30   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 31   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 32   Nefertari

Chapter 33   Nefertari

Chapter 34   Nefertari

Chapter 35   Tutankhamun

Chapter 36   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 37   Tutankhamun

Chapter 38   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 39   Nefertari

Chapter 40   Tutankhamun

Chapter 41   Ay

Chapter 42   Tutankhamun

Chapter 43   Tutankhamun

Chapter 44   Djau

Chapter 45   Nefertari

Chapter 46   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 47   Nefertari

Chapter 48   Meritaten

Chapter 49   Nefertari

Chapter 50   Ankhesenamun

Chapter 51   Nefertari

Chapter 52   Ankhesenamun

Epilogue

Glossary

PROLOGUE

N EDJEM STOOD ATOP the naturally occurring pyramid that loomed over the Valley of the Kings. It was a silent protector, witness to all that had happened and all that ever would. It had seen men rise and fall, crushed beneath the weight of the sands that swirled through the valley, burying all their secrets. She looked out, leaning on her wooden staff as her near-blind eyes took in the tombs. Tombs of kings who had ruled many years before were dug out into the heart of the earth, where their bodies would be protected for all eternity; safe, where they could live out their days in the underworld as they had in life.

Beginning her descent into the valley, Nedjem sought the tomb of two women, knowing that the tomb of the king she once sought had long been consumed by the earth. The hot sun beat mercilessly down on the frail old woman, who stopped several times to breathe in the arid air and stretch out her aching bones. Nedjem was over seventy, almost the oldest woman in her village, with hair that had long since faded to white and was no longer the proud onyx mane it had once been. While no longer the great beauty of her youth, she still had a certain charm about her, with deep black eyes that now held years of wisdom as opposed to their former childlike naivety. To anyone who knew her, her very appearance echoed the harshness of her life. Still, she chose to be as generous as the bounty her farm produced within their small settlement.

Finally, she reached the tomb she was seeking. She knelt, balancing herself on her wooden staff as she prayed to Osiris. A priest brought her a goose to sacrifice, which she did, spreading its blood across the dry earth in the symbol of an ankh, for the eternal life they were now enjoying. Then she began her journey home, choosing to mount a merchant’s camel and travel with his party rather than brave the journey once again alone and on foot. Nedjem mused that this was one of the benefits of growing old, that people took pity and offered more comfortable alternatives.

When Nedjem reached the mudbrick walls of her home, it was dark. So, she sat down to eat the dinner her daughter and granddaughter had prepared for her. Her great-grandchildren ran about the house, as active and enthusiastic as ever.

‘Settle down!’ Nedjem’s granddaughter begged them, giving out bowls of food in exchange for peace.

‘Good luck with that,’ her daughter mused, setting her own aching bones down beside her mother. ‘How was the valley?’ she asked, turning to Nedjem.

‘Quiet as ever. There is an uncanny peace to it. The cult priests are there, but they do little to disturb the rest of the kings.’ Nedjem spooned the fish stew into her mouth, chewing through the rubbery karp on worn teeth with some amount of effort. Years of consuming sand-dusted bread had done little to help her teeth, some of which had worn out completely, years before.

‘Grandmother, why do you insist on going there so often? The kings who are in the underworld can help us very little. Your energy and sacrifices would be better spent visiting the temple of Amun,’ Nedjem’s granddaughter said, wrangling with her youngest son, imploring him to sit still and eat his stew.

‘I go to see how they are doing,’ Nedjem simply said.

‘Mother, Neferkare makes a legitimate point. You have often made the journey to the valley and insist on travelling alone. We worry for you . . . your bones are growing weary,’ her daughter, Neithhotep, warned.

At that, Nedjem laid back in her seat, tipping her head back and smiling solemnly as Neithhotep squeezed her shoulder emphatically.

‘I think it is time I told you all a story,’ she declared. Her voice carried enough potency that even her great-grandchildren ceased their gallivanting. ‘Where to begin . . . Well, it began with a princess, a daughter of the late Smekhkare, who ruled Egypt following the reign of Akhenaten, the tyrant king.’

‘I’ve never heard of such a king!’ Neferkare retorted, raising a finger in objection.

‘Ah, that is because Nesut Horemheb sought to blot him from history because of the horrors the people of Egypt endured under his reign and the sacrilege he inflicted upon priests and the gods alike. But he was not the only one who fell victim to the wrath of Horemheb.’

‘Who else, Grangran?!’ asked the youngest of Nedjem’s great-grandchildren, beating his tiny fists on the table in excitement.

‘We will get to it when we get to it. As I was saying, it began with the daughter of Smenkhkare and the youngest son of Akhenaten. The boy who became a king, and whose name would be a sin to utter . . .’

CHAPTER 1

Nefertari

T HE DESERT SANDS swirled around the legs of Nefertari’s mare, Sakhmet , kissing her hooves before sliding helplessly back to rejoin its many companions. She shifted on the horse’s back, adjusting her seat, which she had kept for many hours now. The cushioned pad between her and the mare did little to comfort her, especially with the sun beating down as it was.

‘How much longer must we wait?’ Nefertari enquired, barely making eye contact with her escort. He was a wizened man, with a beard long enough to make several wigs. His once night-dark locks were now faded to the same silver as the stars. Peeking out from under his hair were two witty, mysterious eyes that betrayed none of his secrets. He was an intelligent, respectable man but in her opinion was utterly boring, obsessed with maintaining Ma’at. He had been her mentor in politics, yet she still knew very little of his private life– in fact, she did not even know if he had a wife or children back in his village. Perhaps this was because he had shut her down on the only occasion she had bothered to ask.

‘The Nesut waits for no one, Nefertari. We await him,’ was his unsatisfying reply.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. ‘Then I’m going ahead,’ she declared, yanking the reins and spurring Sakhmet into a walk.

‘Nefertari, that is not the procedure. The Nesut asked us to meet him at the border! Nefertari!’ Finally, her companion made his most expressive face of the day, widening his eyes comically as if he would smack her, had he the authority. It was an expression she recognised, and it amused her to some extent that if she were not royalty, Seth probably would have slapped her many times over the last decade. She responded to his objections by encouraging her horse to a trot, taking a moment to look back at him.

‘Do not fret, Seth. He is my cousin, after all.’

With that, she broke into a canter, then a gallop. Racing across the desert, the Arabian mare was slick with foamy sweat once again. By the time she finally reached the king’s party, they were partially obscured by the desert haze and several miles further than she had anticipated. She eased the horse into a trot once more, pulling a rein back to slow the mare.

‘My lady Nefertari,’ greeted the priest and Tjaty, whom she recognised to be Ay. He bowed to her, as did the slaves and soldiers who flanked the litter that carried the royal party.

‘You are late,’ Nefertari stated, arching a painted onyx eyebrow.

‘Apologies, my lady. The king had an emergency meeting before we departed Thebes. We had sent an envoy, but they must not have reached you.’

‘No indeed,’ she responded, finally moving to dismount. The slaves who were carrying food baskets made to assist her. ‘I am quite capable.’ She dropped onto the sand, which sprayed from her feet. A flick of a bejewelled bronze hand-signalled the slaves to lower the litter. From within emerged four individuals, two were faintly familiar, while two were clearly the head chambermaids of the queen, as they were dressed plainly and in white but for a few items of wooden jewellery. The queen herself wore her hair in heavily beaded braids, with a collar so embellished with precious stones it was surprising she could stand. Then there was the king. He was very tall, the queen barely reaching his shoulders. He leaned against a golden stick, elaborately carved and decorated. The stick was new. Nefertari had known he had had issues with movement since his youth but never to this extent. Nearly a decade had changed his features from boy to man: his face was not quite angular aside from his narrow nose, which bore a heavy resemblance to his late father.

‘Lady Nefertari, I trust we find you in good health?’ His voice was sonorous, and he wore a slight smile across his full lips.

‘Your Majesty.’ She fell to her knees and pressed her forehead to the burning, dusty ground, as was the custom.

‘Arise. Such formalities can be reserved for your estate,’ he replied, flicking his heavily bangled wrist dismissively.

‘Nefertari! Child, you are all but feral! I swear . . .’ Seth started, but when his eyes fell on the king, his expression turned horrified. ‘Your Majesty!’ Seth practically fell off his horse, scrambling to prostrate himself before the Nesut, who had the grace to stifle his amusement. ‘I apologise, Majesty. Nefertari can be –’

‘Feral?’ the king enquired, raising his eyebrow before glancing at Nefertari, who was leaning against her mare and picking her cuticles. She looked up at him with an indifferent shrug.

‘I . . .’ Seth’s eyes bulged from his head yet again.

‘Some things never change,’ the queen cooed. ‘El Amarna was always a breeding ground for all sorts of . . . ill-refined folk, wouldn’t you agree, husband?’

‘Yes, very much so. However, the lives spent to build the city . . . we must maintain it in the name of honour. Despite the sacrifice.’

‘I suppose that makes our dear cousin the sacrificial goose.’ Ankhesenamun peered down her crooked nose at Nefertari, who scratched her horse’s chin as Sakhmet rested her giant head on her mistress’s shoulder, snorting her apparent disapproval at the queen. ‘Tell me, cousin, how has it been orchestrating management of the city since Uncle passed into the underworld?’ The queen cocked her head, painted onyx eyes slightly narrowed. If Nefertari didn’t know better, she would think it was because of the sun.

‘All is well in fact. The usual . . . the proper rituals and ceremonies have been taking place as our Nesut demands. Though this seems like a conversation for the estate. Would you not agree, Majesty?’ She turned her gaze upon the king, who nodded in agreement.

‘Indeed. Should you like to travel the rest of the way in the litter, you would be most welcome.’ He extended a beringed hand to Nefertari, who shook her head, moving to mount the palomino mare once more. The horse shook her head and grunted in objection, rearing up on her back legs. Nefertari moved with the movement, leaning flush against the horse until she dropped. Sitting up, as to not get headbutted, Nefertari reached forwards to rub the mare’s throat.

‘Ah, Sakhmet. Stop this. I promise I’ll give you honey-coated grains when we return.’ With a level of understanding, the horse made one final snort before submitting.

‘You handle her impressively,’ Ay stated, admiring the shimmering, palomino, Arabian mare that had been her father’s most prized possession.

‘I’m used to her temperament. She was a bit challenging for my father to break in, very unresponsive to aids. She prefers to do her own thing, so I let her.’

‘How interesting that you have mutual respect,’ Ay commented, looking somewhat impressed.

Nefertari grinned. ‘Thank you, Ay, and I thank you for the offer, Majesty. However, I must make it to the estate promptly to freshen up.’

‘Indeed you must. We shall reconvene there.’ He replaced his hand upon the stick and made his way back inside the litter, followed by the queen and her flanking maids. Nefertari could have sworn she heard the word ‘savage’ thrown her way.

‘Nefertari, I am very disappointed,’ Seth complained to her.

‘I am not a child, Seth. I’m two decades old. I don’t need you reprimanding me before the king.’

‘I’m surprised he didn’t have you beaten for coming upon him unannounced.’

‘He’s not Akhenaten,’ Nefertari scoffed, snorting.

‘Never say that name again. It is forbidden by royal decree,’ Seth snapped. ‘How would you know that? It’s been half your own life since you last saw him.’

‘I know him.’

‘Correction, child, you knew him.’

‘I don’t need to be reminded of who my cousin is, especially not in the context of having me beaten.’ She pouted, spurring the mare into a trot, then a canter, practically feeling Seth’s frustration radiating off him like a fire.

-

Nefertari reached El Amarna several hours later, finally entering the palace quarters, which had been reformed into an estate since the court returned to Thebes a decade earlier.

She dismounted, leaving the exhausted horse with the stable master, whom she bid to reward Sakhmet with sweets. Sore, sweaty and tired, she made her way up to her room to bathe. The cool water was welcome against her sun-baked skin. Even with a long white dress and headscarf, it seemed as though she had been baking on the face of the Aten. Nefertari’s ladies entered to rub her aching shoulders with musk-scented oils and rinse her scalp and hair clean from sweat and sand. Afterwards, she was changed into her best blue kalasiris and collar, a simple band of gold rope placed around her head, leaving her dark curls loose. Maids slipped on her beaded sandals as she made her way to the dining hall to ensure all necessary preparations were being made. It was her job to ensure the daily workings of the old palace, as well as to receive reports of the goings-on in the Nome. While not necessarily a Khaty-a in name, her duties reflected it, and there was no one to stand against her if she ordered new roads to be made or temples to be built, as she did rather often, much to the delight of her subjects.

It was dark by the time the royal party made it to the estate. Nefertari made her way out to the steps to meet them.

‘Late again, my, my,’ she teased, leading the Nesut up the stairs into the dining room.

‘As I said, my lady, some things never change,’ he replied, smiling.

‘Judging by your stick, I don’t suppose you still chase birds.’ Her face fell to a frown as she looked at him. ‘I know it’s never been particularly well. Does it hurt terribly?’

‘Nothing escapes your notice, does it?’ The king chuckled wryly.

‘It’s pretty obvious,’ Nefertari stated, flashing him a serious glare.

‘It’s not debilitating. I can still walk myself. This simply eases it.’ He waved the stick slightly, his face betraying his words and revealing exactly what he thought about it.

‘I see,’ Nefertari replied, searching for a way off the topic that had clearly bothered him. ‘I hope you fancy the same honey cakes you used to enjoy. I had the chefs prepare them especially.’

‘How thoughtful. In fact, I am still very partial to them.’ He exchanged a conspiratorial grin with Nefertari.

‘You do recall sneaking into the kitchen with me to commandeer them after Nebetah told us off for eating too many.’

‘I remember well.’ The king’s gaze softened as the two made eye contact. A nostalgic smile tugged at his blossom lips.

‘Tutankhamun,’ the queen called, already seated on the right side of the dining table, which was heavily laden with wine, fruit, beer, bread and beef.

‘Coming, my dear.’ He sat as Nefertari found her seat next to Ay, who was to the left of the king. ‘The gods have blessed us this day with a safe journey and a hearty meal. Let us dine and rejoice.’ At this command, the musicians began playing pipes, and the party began feasting. Slaves brought each of them a bowl and cloth with which to wash their faces and hands.

‘You ride like a man,’ the queen piped to Nefertari, picking at the food.

‘My father taught me,’ Nefertari explained dismissively, biting into a slice of bread. ‘I’m surprised you don’t remember. He taught me archery and how to fight with a khopesh as well.’

‘Galloping across the desert-like that, why, one could almost mistake you for a vagrant, or some kind of medjay. Wouldn’t you agree, husband?’

‘These cakes are even better than I remember, my lady,’ the king interjected, fixing the queen with a pointed look.

‘I thank you, Majesty. My queen, you liken my skill in the saddle to a man, yet you forget that our ancestor, the Nesut Hatshepsut, also rode with such skill men would give their firstborn to compare. As the stock of such a great queen, I suppose I’ve taken it upon myself to honour her legacy.’

‘That is different, cousin. Hatshepsut was a Nesut, a king in her own right, which, might I add, is considered deplorable. You are neither true-born nor mother to any heir. You are the lady of this god’s forsaken house, and that is all you will ever be.’ The cutting remark was biting, even for Ankhesenamun, who had barely touched her food. Nefertari also noted the pallor of her face and hollowness of her eyes, wondering if perhaps it had to do with her lack of appetite. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall be retiring early. The trip has made me weary.’ She brushed past the king as he nodded his dismissal. It was a simple gesture, but Nefertari thought she recognised the intent.

‘Cousin,’ Nefertari blurted out, unable to allow such an insult to her status to go unaddressed. The queen stopped to turn her head in Nefertari’s direction. ‘I am still Thutmosid. The same godly blood that runs in your veins is present in my own. I would not take that for granted, was I you.’

‘Some blood is purer than others, Nefertari. I would not forget it, were I you.’ With a final catlike smirk, Ankhesenamun disappeared.

Seth clapped sarcastically across the table. ‘Bravo. Well done, Nefertari. I thought you promised me not a few hours ago that you would make peace with our queen.’ Seth sighed, resting his face in his hands. His voice was projected so that he could easily be heard by the king, who seemed mildly amused.

‘That was before she likened my riding to that of a man.’ She snorted inelegantly. ‘It’s far superior.’ Nefertari bit into another piece of bread as though it would have bitten her otherwise.

‘Gods, child, is there anything you can do that doesn’t involve pissing people off?’

‘Yes, actually. My late husband would attest to that. The problem is with her, apparently. I breathe and it pisses her off.’

Seth gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘I must retire also, Nesut. My ward is pushing my last nerve.’ He stood and fixed Nefertari with a pointed look.

‘Good night, dear warden. May the gods bless you with a pleasant rest and even better company.’ Nefertari cooed back with a toothy grin. One of the female courtiers snorted at the remark before scurrying after Seth.

‘What did he say to warrant that, cousin? Must have been a pretty compliment to receive a blessing of pleasant rest and, I’m assuming, arranged company?’ The king gave her a look.

‘Oh, you know me, Majesty. I am ever the generous soul.’

‘Indeed,’ the king responded, smirking. ‘Though not one to dish things out freely. There is always a catch with you.’

‘My, Nebkheperure, what a haughty accusation. There is never any such thing.’ Nefertari flicked her fingers in faux insult before resting her chin on her fist and smiling knowingly.

‘Is there not? Because I distinctly remember you having shot three ducks but only agreed to give any of the meat to Seth if he would let you off from lessons early for as many days. See? A catch.’

‘Your memory fails you, Nesut,’ the young woman insisted, clicking her tongue.

‘Oh? Who’s the one making haughty statements now? I could have you flogged if I saw fit,’ the king did his best to maintain an insulted expression, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

‘You would never,’ Nefertari gaped at him, feigning shock.

‘Well, someone is getting too big for their sandals.’

‘Someone is getting too big for their two crowns, Nebkheperure,’ Nefertari countered, wagging a finger at the king in accusation. Both of them collapsed in a fit of laughter, unable to maintain their charade.

‘Ahh, how I’ve missed simple conversations like this.’ The king slouched back in his ornate chair.

‘Me too.’ Nefertari smiled at him. ‘I wish I hadn’t been too afraid to see you off when they loaded you into the litter to go to Thebes.’

‘I think we all have regrets about that day.’ Tutankhamun’s expression appeared strained, the laughter dying on his lips like wilting lotuses in the arid desert heat.

‘That’s my biggest regret,’ Nefertari admitted, looking down and fiddling with her kalasiris. He was staring at her; she knew as much. His gaze, however, was too intense for her to maintain.

‘Well, I must rejoin my own company and pray that you have a pleasant rest as well, cousin.’ Tutankhamun stood, addressing her with a nod before he sauntered to the door.

‘I pray for you too, Majesty.’ She bowed her head in reverence as was the custom for family.

‘Oh. My lady, I forgot, I never gave you my condolences for the loss of your husband in the Asiatics.’ He turned and met her gaze from the door.

Yet again, she didn’t hold his eye for long before fixing on the detailed enamel swirls of the wooden table. Her breath caught in her throat. It took her a moment to think of how to reply – to think at all.

‘I did receive your letters,’ she muttered, still not looking up. The letters had been brief, oftentimes of a professional nature rather than the friendliness she had craved, particularly after the loss of her husband. Other than him, she had never really had a friend. The daughters of the courtiers had either travelled with Tutankhamun back to Thebes, or those who stayed in El Amarna failed to share any of Nefertari’s interests. Being the daughter of a former king, there was a very select pool of girls who were considered appropriate company.

‘I should have given them personally. As I am now. I apologise if I have fallen short of what is expected of me.’ The boy king lowered his gaze bashfully as Nefertari glanced up at him.

‘I hold no expectations for you. I understand how difficult it has been, to repair relations between yourself and the priesthood of Amun. My husband’s loss came at an ill-suited time.’ Nefertari stood and bowed briefly, before letting herself out into the night air through the opposite door.

CHAPTER 2

Tutankhamun

A NKHESENAMUN WAS SITTING at the boudoir when Tutankhamun entered their temporary bedroom. It was the room in which his mother had stayed and died, as opposed to the far grander quarters his father or Nefertiti had used. He did not want to be reminded of either of them, yet, standing at the foot of the stairs leading into the palace had perturbed him – walking the same steps his father had walked all those years ago. If he closed his eyes, he could almost swear the metallic stench of blood burned his nose.

‘This place is full of ghosts,’ Ankhesenamun murmured, barely audible. She was removing the beads and braids from her hair herself, having dismissed her maids early as she sometimes did. His wife was a private person, keeping to herself where possible and trusting no one. He figured on this occasion, it meant his half-sister and wife was bothered by something and needed time to herself.

‘It is,’ Tutankhamun agreed, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt at comfort. ‘I thought . . . I don’t know. I suppose I thought that this would be cathartic for us.’

‘And now?’ Ankhesenamun asked, inclining her head slightly in his direction.

‘Now I’m not so sure.’ Tutankhamun discarded his Nemes headdress, running a hand over his lightly stubbled scalp. His dark hair was beginning to show through, but he had been too distracted to sit still and have it shaved in the days leading up to their trip. Admittedly, he had been nervous about seeing Nefertari again. Their last encounter had not gone the way he would have wished – in fact, the entire seventy days after his father’s death had not gone the way he would have wished.

‘I hate it.’ Ankhesenamun breathed. ‘I hate him.’

‘You aren’t the only one,’ the king agreed, leaning his head down and tilting her chin up so he could kiss her.

The queen drew back after a moment, studying his face. ‘Do you think of me or