A God Against the Gods by Allen Drury

to see our triumphal progress up and down the river, from Nubia to the Delta. Everywhere we went, all day, all night, crowds lined the banks of the Nile on both sides: the cheering never seemed to stop. Even when we were sleeping, when we were in our private quarters, when they could not see us, it continued. We were their dolls, two little figures clad in gold who held Kemet in our hands.
    So do we hold it still.
    Then came growing up. The marriage became real, passion woke, we were lucky: real love followed. In commemoration he gave me the small cartouche of royal blue porcelain, bearing on both sides his given name, Neb-Ma’at-Ra, which I wear always on a gold chain around my neck. The dolls were dolls no longer. The Good God began to take more and more power unto himself. My aunt the Queen Mother Mutemwiya, my parents Yuya and Tuya, aided by those court officials whom they trusted, aided by the priests of Amon who then were friendly to our House, gracefully yielded authority into his hands. They perceived that he was growing into a clever boy who could handle it. They perceived that I, Tiye, could handle it too. They perceived more than that: they perceived that I was becoming as astute at statecraft as he. They did not object when he raised me to be always at his side, when he published scarabs in my honor, when he listed my titles with his on our monuments, temples, palaces, such as had almost never been done before with a Great Wife in all of Kemet’s history—such as had never, ever, been done with a commoner Queen.
    They knew he needed me. They knew that without Tiye, the Great Wife, he might weaken and falter. They knew I would keep him strong, because I am strong.
    Our first child came, Sitamon the laughing and happy: another doll for Kemet. He married her immediately, with my acquiescence, indeed at my urging, for thus was the royal succession established once and forever, beyond all challenge. Relieved of his worry about that—for until then, in the eyes of the people, he was somehow not quite legitimate, though they loved him—he loved me more. The great years began. And presently, too, began the struggle, and the pain.
    We could understand why our House needs a strong priesthood at its side, we knew the history of Amon-Ra and how he had become so entwined with us. We could not understand that he should be our equal, that he should own as much wealth as we, that he should attempt sometimes to override our wishes and flaunt our orders, in ways silent, secret, subtle, apparent to us if not to the people. We made clear our displeasure in ways as silent, secret and subtle, but unmistakably. A mutual hostility was born. Presently we could imagine another such intervention as had lifted Tuthmose III from obscurity and toppled his father Tuthmose I (life, health, prosperity to them both!) from the throne. We did not see where the threat might come from, for no one else had the royal blood, but we felt that Amon might be ready and capable, should the chance arise. Then the God brought me to bed again, and this time we had a son, Tuthmose. Now there was a Crown Prince. Now Amon had his weapon.
    But so, of course, did we.
    Aiee, aiee, aiee! May Bes and Hathor help me! I shall not cry out, I shall not let them see my face! I shall be strong. I shall be … strong .…
    Tuthmose is a sunny child, like his sister yet with an instinctive gravity that indicates awareness of his position, which we have explained a little, in simple terms. We have educated him at Memphis as much as possible, using as our excuse the fact that many of the Pharaohs have been educated there when they were princes. To placate Amon, and—he foolishly thought—to give our House control of his priests, my husband decided to name my next older brother, Aanen, to be Priest of Amon, second only to Pharaoh himself, in the temple at Karnak. It was perhaps the only time he ever went directly against my advice: some instinct told me to beware of this