The Queen usually came to the temple of Sobek as the first flowers of dawn bloomed across the skies. It was her daily ritual, the same every morning when she was staying at The House of Rejoicing, but she was not on the west bank today, she was east of the river. So instead she decided to visit the temple of Mut, the mother goddess, at the temple complex of Karnak.
Tiye had not overindulged with irep in the night. She kept her wits about her. Oh indeed, she had 'drank' many glasses of 'wine' which were actually sweet shedeh, while the nobles loosened their tongues and spilled their secrets. She awoke as soons as Ra began to sail his solar barque across the skies, there was work to be done. Her ladies had washed her, oiled her, covered her in myrrh. She dressed in white linen, her wig placed gently on her head, heavy and regal. The Queen was carried to the temple. Between the palace and the temple her feet would not touch the ground. She was accompanied by Huya, her steward and most faithful servant.
In her heart she had a plea for the goddess: help me as a mother. Open my eye. Guide my hand.
When Tiye arrived the priestesses bowed their heads, bowed them low. None dared meet her eyes. The Queen was short, but all the world seemed to bend to her will, and even the tallest around her seemed shorter.
"Em hotep nefer weret, nebeti." The women echoed one another as they welcomed their noble lady before leaving her to her private worship. Huya also stood behind, allowing the Queen some privacy.
As the Queen lit solar kyphi under the statue of Mut in one of the inner sanctums she asked the goddess for peace. Peace for Sitamun. Peace for herself. A balm to cool the embers within. She prayed for blessings for all her children. She thought of Isis and her strong will. She thought of Djhutmose, his destiny to become Pharaoh, his womanising, his wife back in Memphis, and their young son Smenkhare. How neglected that poor boy was, living so far away from most of his family. Tiye sighed and took a deep breath. It was not abnormal for a man of his age to be inattentive with their first child. Djhuti's first wife, Amunet, was of no real importance. She was of royal blood, a daughter of the Pharaoh's half sister Petepihu, royal enough to make official, but not royal enough to make her his Great Wife. Tiye had chosen to marry Djhuti to his cousin, hoping it would slake his thirst, cool his lust. She had eyes in her head and ears all around the Nile. She knew how her son carried on with women, noblemen's wives, concubines, priestesses, even slaves. Isis had been too young to marry to her brother back then, but the time was approaching, she was nearly ready. And perhaps, Tiye thought to herself, Isis would be the only one who could calm him. The wife makes the Pharaoh. Djhutmose would need a strong woman at his side to support him through all that was to come. Tiye uttered her prayers to the Mother, her breath curled the incense smoke skywards.
When she was ready she called Huya to summon her oldest son.
Djhutmose arrived promptly.
He smiled warmly and came to embrace her, "Em hotep, mother." But she responded with unusual stiffness. "What is wrong?"
The Queen addressed him as soon as their attendants were out of earshot.
"You are aware, are you not, of the responsibilities of being Pharaoh?"
"Of course I am."
"Then I ask myself, why do you continue to act like a child in play?" She asked as his smile dropped.
"I am co-regent now, how can you speak to me so?" Djhutmose began to protest.
"I am still your mother." She did not raise her voice, but it carried an unspoken challenge.
He was silenced.
"It was Hotep who entertained our guest last night," she continued, "while you drank and danced. You and Isis continually shirk your duties, but at least she takes her divination seriously. She honours the Gods. When will you realise your destiny? When will you take hold of it? Were you not named after the god of wisdom? You were so named in the hope you would become wise."
"Not wise? Am I not the Director of the Craftsmen? Am I not a High Priest of Ptah? Do I not have the respect of all of Egypt?" He argued.
"Your charm has gotten you far. It is true you have had success in the north, but I see through you. I know you. You are my son. You care not for the work you have been given. You only wish to enjoy your life. You have always been good humored, the joker among your peers, you have never been truly serious."
"Oh, so you wish I were like Hotep, staying inside all day with my elders, shy and shrinking. Or perhaps you wish I were like Sita, without feeling, without passion."
"Sitamun takes her duties seriously. She feels. The difference is she puts family first, always." The Queen snapped.
"And so do I!" Djhuti shouted. "Have I not loved my brother? Do I not love my sisters? When have I not been good to you, or to father?"
"Love, yes you have it. Your heart is full. But you have not grown up. When do you go beyond the bare minimum? When do you rise to your duty? You are too used to riches, to luxury, to pleasure. While you lead the priests of the temple in the day you frequent the brothels in the night, and not the reputable kind, so I hear."
