The Egyptian rose

1341 BCE

Epilogue

The trial of Meritaten, the Pharaoh's first-born daughter, was the talk of the entire city. The rumors spread quickly about what she was arrested for—everything from rebelling against her royal bloodline to not obeying her father's bidding. Some actually spoke of her supposed confession while others gossiped about her quest for power among the elite. No one ironically spoke against the king and it was almost as if the riots never happened and turning her into more of a martyr than Nakhte would have liked.

One darkened, moon-less night though, Baruti found himself unable to sleep. He knew in his gut that all of this was wrong and Nakhte needed to be stopped once and for all. Leaning over his still sleeping wife, he gently kissed her temple and carefully slid his arm from under her. Getting dressed quickly, he made haste on his route to the jail. Being a high merchant he had the ability to go where others could not but this night he had vowed not to leave alone. His friends had been recaptured and so had spent many days and nights waiting, their sentences being held up by the importance of Meritaten's trial.

As he crept into the building he was surrounded by the same eerie silence that came with the night. He lit an oil lamp and carried it with him towards the back of the building and stopped. Everyone had fallen asleep for the night on their straw cots and he was wondering if it was a good idea to wake them. But there was a little girl that needed their help and maybe, if they could help her, she could help Egypt.

*  *  *  *  *

The queen's body was recovering from her attack but her life was not recovering from the anger that ensued upon her return to the North Riverside Palace. Akhenaten was quickly informed that she went looking for her daughter in the middle of the night and was attacked by her. He was told his own daughter was trying to gain possession of the crown before her time and wanted her mother out of the way. Nefertiti had painstakingly defended her daughter, trying to convince her husband that their child would never do such things, especially deliberately hurt her. He grew distant with her and spent many nights at the North Palace, leaving her alone in their bed.

On this particular sleepless night, she rolled over to find her husband not in their bed. He had gone to sleep there so she wondered where he could have gone and when he had left. Throwing on a robe, she crept quietly around the palace, searching for signs of his presence. Luckily, she did not have to go far—she found him sitting in the sun room, his body illuminated by oil lamps and his face lost in thought. When she entered the room, he looked up at her through painful eyes.

"Have I been wrong about Egypt?" he asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What do you mean?" she answered his question with one of her own, crossing the room in a few strides and closing the distance between them.

"Have my demands on Egypt cost me my own daughter?" His eyes drifted down, unable to hold her gaze. She bent down to look up at his eyes, wincing slightly in pain.

"You haven't lost your daughter. You haven't lost anything. You are still Pharaoh, just as the kings before you."

"I've hurt you more than I've hurt Egypt," he acknowledged, brushing his hand tenderly across her cheek. She cupped his hand with both of hers and gently kissed his palm. "Can I ever be forgiven?" he asked softly.

Nefertiti stood, another position stretching her side and causing a bit of discomfort. She placed each of her hands in his and gestured for him to stand as well. When he stood before her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. Feeling the tension between them fall, Akhenaten wrapped his arms affectionately around her waist, being extremely careful around her wound. It was her turn to speak.

"Only if you believe Nakhte did these things and not your first-born child," she whispered into his ear. She let go of him and looked him in the eyes, making sure he knew there was truth behind hers.

*  *  *  *  *

Mahu sat motionless in his office after working another late night. Ever since the trial began, his paperwork doubled and he spent many hours trying to decide whose side he was truly on. Nakhte held all the cards and they were not in the girl's favor. He had the signed confession, the girl's obvious bruises, and the queen's impaired health to prove her guilty. He also had countless witnesses to attest that she was in fact participating in these secret rallies, which he knew was true since he last spoke with Baruti. Had the daughter of Pharaoh really turned towards these people when she should have walked away? A knock at the door caused him to look up and he walked over carelessly to answer it.

"Hello Mahu," a voice from under a hood replied. He could tell the person was female by her stature but did not recognize the voice.

"Hello," he replied, his voice awkwardly shaky.

"I know you don't recognize me, but I needed to see you. Baruti has told me all about you," she tenderly spoke to him, pulling back her hood and revealing her face.

"Baruti?" Mahu stared at her and finally pieced it together. "Mother?"

She could not help the tears when he called her that. Ever since he became the chief of police, he never acknowledged her as his mother. So much so that Baruti had incidentally taken over as her son while he performed his elite duties for the king, forgetting she even existed. Even now, his attitude worried her.

"Why are you here?" he asked deliberately looking away.

"I needed to see you," she replied, letting her eyes drop to her feet.

"It's late. You shouldn't have come," he said sternly, but made no effort to force her to leave.

"Mahu, please, hear me out," she calmly begged.

"Fine," he sighed. "Why did you come here so late?" he asked again.

"I wanted to see my son."

"You have a son. His name is Baruti!" Mahu said, turning away from her.

"Baruti has become my son because the son that was born to me walked away," she argued.

"I had a duty to uphold and a status to maintain. If they knew—"

"If they knew what? That your father was a jewelry merchant?" she interjected. "That we actually had to work to make a living?"

"Stop it! I've already heard this lecture from Baruti as well as Kamenwati!" he clamped his hands over his ears.

She gently pulled his hands away. "You want to know why I'm here? To convince my son that he needs to do something for that little girl before it's too late! To ask him to come home to be with us and fight with us for a better Egypt!"

He looked into her eyes as she continued her plea. "Please Mahu, come back to us. Baruti misses his best friend, the merchants miss your smile in the marketplace, and I miss my son!" Mahu stood there staring at her, torn between his duty to the king and his heart to Egypt.

*  *  *  *  *

Kiya stirred in her sleep, visions of death still playing in her head. She rolled over to an empty pillow and automatically began to panic. A light tapping at the front door made her even more nervous. A woman's voice on the other side, though, eased her mind as she let out the breath she had been holding. Pulling herself sleepily out of bed and throwing on a robe, she crept to the front door to open it for her night visitor.

"Kiya, you cannot stop your fate," Ramla said to her, her voice soothing and quiet.

Kiya sighed and shook her head. "It can't be true." She began to sob as she let the prophetess in.

"I wish it weren't. Baruti is such a good husband to you. But your fate lies in a much larger plan."

"I don't understand. The visions told of death!"

Ramla answered her. "Sometimes death in a vision isn't truly a death but a rebirth, a new life. There is a rebirth for Egypt coming and that new life will be the son of a Pharaoh and a merchant's wife!"

"It can't be me! I love my husband! I love Baruti!" Kiya shouted, almost loud enough to convince herself of it.

"Kiya, please. The prophecy says—"

"I don't care what the prophecy says!" she spat. "Baruti is my husband and I have vowed to be with him until the afterlife!"

She was crying now, not wanting to believe that the king courting her was part of her fate. Ramla sighed and hugged Kiya against her frail body, allowed her to cry into her shoulder. Being the prophetess all these years made her almost numb to the pain her truths sometimes caused others.

"Where is Baruti now?" Kiya asked, knowing full well Ramla would know the answer.

"He has gone to the jail to free the others and save Meritaten from death."

"Free the others? Who else was arrested?" Kiya pulled herself back so she could look Ramla in the eyes.

"Kam and Amisi and Khenti," she sighed.

"And what can they do to save the girl?" Kiya pressed further, probing for the right information.

"Once they find the child, they can free both her and Egypt from Nakhte's grasp!" At the sound of his name, Kiya shuttered, knowing how evil he could be.

"So the purpose of the prophecy then?" Kiya sighed, not wanting to give in to her fears.

"The king needs a son to rule the thrown and Meritaten will only bear a daughter when her time comes," Ramla continued. "You must understand it is time to meet your destiny."

*  *  *  *  *

An Egyptian rose can withstand the scorching heat of the sun as well as the driest soils. It blooms in late spring, a bright deep red color, and dies in winter, only to come alive again the following spring. Like every rose it produces sharp thorns for protection. He had compared her to the rose. He had said that her skin was as soft as its petals but that her tongue was as sharp as its thorns.

Meritaten sat in her room, on her bed, while a guard stood watch outside her door, reminding her she still stood trial. Her father could not look her in the eyes for what she had done, or for what was being said she had done. She could not understand whether he was more upset with her siding with the people or her finding out that what he had done to them all those years ago was true. A solid knock at her door shook her out of her thoughts and she jumped, hoping it was not her father or worse, Nakhte, coming to torture her more.

"Meritaten?" a voice whispered into her room as the door creaked open.

"Yes, I'm here," she whispered back, unsure who it was by voice alone.

"Grab a robe and some clothes. We're getting you out of here tonight," the voice called to her.

Meritaten almost screamed with glee when she realized it was Amisi's voice. Amisi silently helped her gather some things and place them in a small box that was easy and light to carry. She then made her way over to the bed where she arranged the pillows to make it appear that Meritaten was fast asleep in bed. Grabbing Meritaten's box and hand, she propelled them both quickly out of the room. When they were safely outside and into the gardens, Meritaten stopped Amisi and looked around, trying to catch her breath at the same time.

"Did you come by yourself?" she panted.

"No, the men are behind us making sure we aren't followed," she smiled dreamily. "Come on!"

Meritaten was again pulled forward through the garden until they were safely beyond the North Riverside Palace walls. They did not stop running until they reached the banks of the river Nile and tried to catch their breath, their hearts racing in time with their breathing. There they sat and waited for Khenti, Baruti and Kamenwati to join them. Once they were reunited, Amisi jumped up and into Khenti's arms, kissing him square on the lips, almost forgetting that others were there. They were about to continue walking when they noticed Meritaten had not gotten up from the bank.

"Are you alight, child?" Kamenwati knelt down beside her.

She stared out into the distance and he followed her plane of view. "He called me an Egyptian rose," she whispered, looking down the banks. There in a single bundle, stood a patch of roses, bright red pincushion flowers atop long thorn-covered stems. Kamenwati stood up, walked over to the patch, and carefully plucked one single rose.

She looked up at him as he went to de-barb its stem. "NO!" she cried, jumping up and grabbing for the flower. "Don't cut the thorns!" she demanded, remembering Nakhte's words.

Not realizing what she had done, Kamenwati turned her palm over and made her look at the hand that grabbed the rose. Fresh blood trickled down her wrist as well as the rose stem. As she winced in pain, small tears formed in her eyes. She cried not just from the pain of the thorns that hurt her—it was the pain of knowing she had chosen sides and could not stop her destiny.
 

 

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