The Murder of King Tut by James Patterson, Martin Dugard
Authors: James Patterson, Martin Dugard
Tags: HIS002030
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“Just the two of us in this difficult
and complicated world. Not a parent to guide us. Just us.”
“It’s scary when you say it like that.”
“Yes. But Tut, let’s promise that we will always look out for each other and protect each other from those who would do us
harm.”
“I promise, Ankhesenpaaten. I will never let anyone harm you.”
“I promise too.”
The bedroom was still then, uncomfortably so. The warm desert air flowed in through the open window, and Tut could smell the
faint and wonderfully familiar musk of the Nile.
Ankhesenpaaten took a deep breath, and then she pulled back the sheets, unafraid to show herself to her husband.
In their many years together, Tut had never seen his half sister naked, and now he gasped at the realization that she was
exceptionally shapely and beautiful.
“Take off your kilt, Tut,” she said.
The pharaoh did as he was told. And he was beautiful too.
Chapter 42
Thebes
1326 BC
THE NIGHTS OF PASSION were but a bittersweet memory to Ankhesenpaaten now. Still the young queen had never been more excited—or
frightened.
“
I’m late,
” she whispered, rolling over in bed and propping her chin on Tut’s chest. She could feel her breasts pressing against his
ribs, as she reached down to touch between his legs.
“How often have I heard that?” Tut replied, doing his best to sound pharaoh-like, instead of utterly smitten.
“Tut,” Ankhesenpaaten whispered, mounting him. “I am three months late. We are going to have a baby. I’m certain of it. So
tonight, let’s celebrate.”
Tut gazed up at her and supported her body by clasping her breasts. She leaned forward and began rocking slowly, all the while
caressing his face with her hands.
“Think of a name,” she said softly, closing her eyes as pleasure coursed through her body.
“Nefertiti,” he said.
“What if it’s a boy?”
“Nefertiti.” Tut laughed.
“What about Tuthmosis? Or Amenhotep? Those are royal names.”
Ankhesenpaaten moaned then; names no longer seemed important to her.
She was usually very quiet in bed, but on that morning she was sure she woke all of Thebes as she climaxed. The sensation
seemed to go on and on, a wave of pleasure that rolled through her once-barren body just as surely as the Nile flowed through
Egypt’s desert sands.
She looked down at Tut and watched his shoulders tense as ecstasy contorted his beautiful face. Then he let out a most unpharaoh-like
cry.
“We are going to have a baby,” repeated Ankhe-senpaaten.
Chapter 43
Tut’s Palace
1326 BC
THAT HAD BEEN five months ago.
Now, perched atop a royal birthing stool, Ankhesenpaaten clenched her abdominal muscles and pushed one last time—at least
she prayed this was the last time. As Tut stood by her side, clasping Ankhe’s hand, their child finally joined them, delivered
into the waiting hands of the royal physician.
It was stillborn.
The poor baby was obviously deformed, with one shoulder much higher than the other and a spine curved sideways, and just as
obviously dead.
“Summon the royal magician,” the doctor said emphatically, speaking to a courtesan standing just behind Ankhesenpaaten.
The royal magician would be charged with healing whatever illness had caused the queen to miscarry, burning hot coals on the
floor between her legs as she remained on the low stool, allowing the smoke to enter her womb and clean out all impurities.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Ankhesenpaaten asked in a weak voice. She felt like crying but held back the tears. She had always
been a strong girl.
“I do not think it matters, Queen,” said the doctor.
“Boy or girl?” barked Tut in a voice that indicated he would not brook such insolence.
The physician sat up straight, remembering his place. “A girl, Majesty.”
Ankhesenpaaten held out her arms. The umbilical cord connecting mother and daughter was still intact, and now the queen pulled
her dead child to her bosom
and complicated world. Not a parent to guide us. Just us.”
“It’s scary when you say it like that.”
“Yes. But Tut, let’s promise that we will always look out for each other and protect each other from those who would do us
harm.”
“I promise, Ankhesenpaaten. I will never let anyone harm you.”
“I promise too.”
The bedroom was still then, uncomfortably so. The warm desert air flowed in through the open window, and Tut could smell the
faint and wonderfully familiar musk of the Nile.
Ankhesenpaaten took a deep breath, and then she pulled back the sheets, unafraid to show herself to her husband.
In their many years together, Tut had never seen his half sister naked, and now he gasped at the realization that she was
exceptionally shapely and beautiful.
“Take off your kilt, Tut,” she said.
The pharaoh did as he was told. And he was beautiful too.
Chapter 42
Thebes
1326 BC
THE NIGHTS OF PASSION were but a bittersweet memory to Ankhesenpaaten now. Still the young queen had never been more excited—or
frightened.
“
I’m late,
” she whispered, rolling over in bed and propping her chin on Tut’s chest. She could feel her breasts pressing against his
ribs, as she reached down to touch between his legs.
“How often have I heard that?” Tut replied, doing his best to sound pharaoh-like, instead of utterly smitten.
“Tut,” Ankhesenpaaten whispered, mounting him. “I am three months late. We are going to have a baby. I’m certain of it. So
tonight, let’s celebrate.”
Tut gazed up at her and supported her body by clasping her breasts. She leaned forward and began rocking slowly, all the while
caressing his face with her hands.
“Think of a name,” she said softly, closing her eyes as pleasure coursed through her body.
“Nefertiti,” he said.
“What if it’s a boy?”
“Nefertiti.” Tut laughed.
“What about Tuthmosis? Or Amenhotep? Those are royal names.”
Ankhesenpaaten moaned then; names no longer seemed important to her.
She was usually very quiet in bed, but on that morning she was sure she woke all of Thebes as she climaxed. The sensation
seemed to go on and on, a wave of pleasure that rolled through her once-barren body just as surely as the Nile flowed through
Egypt’s desert sands.
She looked down at Tut and watched his shoulders tense as ecstasy contorted his beautiful face. Then he let out a most unpharaoh-like
cry.
“We are going to have a baby,” repeated Ankhe-senpaaten.
Chapter 43
Tut’s Palace
1326 BC
THAT HAD BEEN five months ago.
Now, perched atop a royal birthing stool, Ankhesenpaaten clenched her abdominal muscles and pushed one last time—at least
she prayed this was the last time. As Tut stood by her side, clasping Ankhe’s hand, their child finally joined them, delivered
into the waiting hands of the royal physician.
It was stillborn.
The poor baby was obviously deformed, with one shoulder much higher than the other and a spine curved sideways, and just as
obviously dead.
“Summon the royal magician,” the doctor said emphatically, speaking to a courtesan standing just behind Ankhesenpaaten.
The royal magician would be charged with healing whatever illness had caused the queen to miscarry, burning hot coals on the
floor between her legs as she remained on the low stool, allowing the smoke to enter her womb and clean out all impurities.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Ankhesenpaaten asked in a weak voice. She felt like crying but held back the tears. She had always
been a strong girl.
“I do not think it matters, Queen,” said the doctor.
“Boy or girl?” barked Tut in a voice that indicated he would not brook such insolence.
The physician sat up straight, remembering his place. “A girl, Majesty.”
Ankhesenpaaten held out her arms. The umbilical cord connecting mother and daughter was still intact, and now the queen pulled
her dead child to her bosom
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