I opened my mouth, but it was Ramesses who came to my side and spoke. “Yes.”
Iset staggered backward. “You promised,” she whispered.
“Iset—” Ramesses reached out to stop her from leaving, but she shook her head angrily.
“No! You made a promise to me, and I should have known you would break it for her!”
“I have never betrayed a promise!” Ramesses swore.
“You have!” she insisted, and now wouldn’t move. A small crowd was gathering in the hall. Courtiers stopped to stare, and servants pressed themselves against the wall in fear. “On our wedding night, you promised to love me above all other women. You promised it!” she screamed, and there was a wildness in her eyes. “You took me in your arms—”
“Iset!”
“And swore there could never be a woman as beautiful or charming as me. You said the people loved me!” she cried. “But it’s not my name on that scroll. It’s Nefertari’s!”
Ramesses glanced at me to see my expression. The entire palace would know of it now.
“Go to your chamber,” Ramesses commanded. “Go to Ramessu and calm yourself.”
“How can I be calm,” she shrieked, “when you have slighted me in front of the entire court?” She looked around, and for the first time saw that it was true. Rahotep had come to see the commotion. Now he stepped forward to take her away. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted. “You are the one who convinced him to do this! You are the one who’s pretended to be my ally while speaking for Nefertari!”
“No one speaks for Nefertari,” Ramesses said sternly. “She speaks for herself. And that is why she will be queen when the feasts of Kadesh are finished.”
Rahotep stopped where he was in the hall, and Iset grew very still.
“You say you’ve never broken a promise,” she whispered. “Then what of your promise to your father to wait a year before choosing a Chief Wife?”
I held my breath. Then Ramesses said quietly, “It is the first and last promise I intend to break.”
There was nothing Iset could do or say. Rahotep led her away, and Ramesses closed the door. “She is not the same woman I took to wife,” he whispered.
I wanted to tell him that she was, that she hadn’t changed at all, but instead had grown desperate, knowing she would never be able to give Henuttawy what she wanted. Instead, I said cryptically, “Sometimes, we misjudge who people are.”
“Like the Shasu spies?” he asked miserably. “Perhaps I should leave the judging to you.” He took my hand and led me back to our bed. “You know, it’s true.”
“What’s true?”
“I have never broken a promise. This is the first promise I intend to break, and in a few days, Egypt will have another cause for celebration. A magnificent queen for its throne.”
BY EVENING, the entire palace of Pi-Ramesses had learned that I would be made queen. As I entered the Great Hall, where Henuttawy sat drinking with the prince of Hatti, I was flocked by courtiers wishing to congratulate me.
“It’s not done yet,” I told them demurely, but Aloli was among the women, and she exclaimed loudly, “Not done yet? All that’s left is to fit the crown!”
Woserit and Paser appeared arm in arm, and when they came to offer me their best wishes, Woserit squeezed my hand and I knew, at last, that our long struggle was over. For the first time in my life no one would look at me as the Heretic’s niece. In the streets, on the dais, in the Audience Chamber, I would be treated with the respect due to a queen. And in the temples, the images of my akhu would never be erased. Their names would be carved with mine until eternity, and the gods would remember them when they returned to walk among the living.
Woserit smiled. “It’s done.”
“There’s still the coronation,” I worried.
“And what do you think will go wrong by then?” She laughed with real joy, and I realized it was a sound I had heard very rarely from her.
Merit appeared with Amunher and Prehir on each hip, while about her servants rushed to light the hundreds of candelabra that would burn deep into the night. I looked to the dais and wondered what my reception there was going to be. Henuttawy was sitting with the Hittite prince, passing him wine and sipping from his cup.
Merit saw the line of my gaze and whispered, “She’ll still expect payment from Iset. And who knows what she promised to Rahotep to ruin your name.”
“I should think her body has been payment enough.”
“For Rahotep?” Merit’s upper lip curled. “She doesn’t know his history, then.”
I looked for the High Priest of Amun, but he was missing from his place at the dais.
Ramesses joined me in the doorway, dressed in a kilt striped with gold, and his smile was brilliant. “Ready?” he asked. He took my arm in his, and through a crowd of courtiers offering us their blessings, we approached the dais. For the first time, small wooden seats had been arranged for my sons, and because they were too young to behave themselves, there was an armed chair for Merit where she could sit and watch over them as they ate.
I took the throne to the right of Ramesses. The viziers stood, and Henuttawy announced with a sneer, “The princess who will be queen. Come. A toast to Nefertari!” She raised her cup and everyone at the table did the same.
“To Nefertari!” they echoed merrily.
“Of course, I don’t want to celebrate too long,” Henuttawy said, and her words were slurred from too much wine. “After all, I have to make obeisance in the morning.” She stood up and, as she looked at Iset, added bitterly, “Are you coming?”
Iset glanced at Ramesses. “Of course not. My . . . my place is here.”
Henuttawy narrowed her eyes. “Then I will see you all in the morning.” She smiled intimately at Urhi. “Good luck with your petition.”
Her scarlet robes disappeared through the double doors, and for the rest of the night, the Hittite prince sat alone, watching Ramesses anxiously. Finally, when the feast was nearly over, he asked, “Has Egypt made its decision?”
“I’m sorry, but we must consider it further.”
“Your Majesty,” Prince Urhi said passionately. “My throne has been taken. There is no chance I can raise an army on my own, but with you at my side, think of the triumph we would know! I would cede you all the lands that Pharaoh Akhenaten lost. Every last one in our empire.”
Though I could see that Ramesses was desperately tempted, peace was more important now. “I understand your proposal,” he began, then the doors of the Great Hall suddenly swung open and a servant cried, “The High Priestess of Isis has been murdered!”
There was a moment of stunned silence in the hall, and then the entire chamber was thrown into confusion. The courtiers rose, and Ramesses rushed from the dais, as I followed close behind. General Anhuri reached the boy first and took a bloodied knife from his hand.
“Move!” Ramesses shouted. “Move!” He grasped my arm, and as we approached Anhuri and the stained blade, Ramesses’s face became ashen. “Who did this?”
The young stable boy looked fearful. “Your Highness, I heard a scream coming from the quay. I took the other boys to see what it was, and the High Priest of Amun rushed into a boat. His robes were covered in blood, Your Highness. I called for the guards. They’ve already captured him!”
I tightened my hold on Ramesses’s arm as seven soldiers escorted the High Priest of Amun into the Great Hall. Bright smears of fresh blood stained Rahotep’s kilt, and when Ramesses stepped forward, his voice became enraged. “What have you done?”
There was a moment when I thought that Rahotep would deny it. But he caught sight of the servant who had seen him, and his shoulders tensed. “I have avenged Pharaoh Seti’s death, Your Highness,” he swore, and when he saw the baffled look on Ramesses’s face, he added, “Your father was poisoned!”
A murmur of shock spread through the Great Hall, and as Ramesses tried to comprehend this statement, Rahotep said bitterly, “If that news is so shocking to you,
perhaps you should question the other viziers. Or your future queen, the princess Nefertari.”
Ramesses turned to me. “Is it true? Did you suspect—” He followed my gaze to Paser, and then shouted, “Did Henuttawy murder my father?”
His voice echoed through the Great Hall, and a fearful silence fell over the room.
Paser stepped forward in the crowd. “No one knows,” he said quietly. “A conversation was overheard in the Audience Chamber.”
“Between who?” Color bloomed on Ramesses’s cheeks.
“Between Henuttawy and Iset,” Paser replied. “It’s possible that Henuttawy gave your father poison.”
“And no one knows the truth?” Ramesses shouted. Rage and heartache broke his voice, and I realized how deeply we had all betrayed him.
“What could we have said?” I cried, but even as I spoke the words, I knew that I should have told him the truth. “To accuse a High Priestess and have her deny it . . .” I tried to comfort him, but he shook off my touch.
“No!” he shouted, and he looked at Rahotep. “You know,” he challenged. “What did she tell you?”
“That she murdered her brother with antimony in his wine.”
Ramesses’s rage seemed to crumble, and he looked around him. “Iset. She heard it from Henuttawy herself and never told me.”
“How could she have told you,” Rahotep demanded, “when your aunt would have blamed her for Pharaoh’s death? Henuttawy poured your father’s wine out of sight. She gave innocent Iset the cup. Your High Priestess was cunning.”
I saw what was happening. If no one challenged his story, Ramesses might pardon him for Henuttawy’s murder. But he had killed Nefertiti. He’d still set the fire that destroyed my family.
“She was a snake,” Rahotep went on proudly, “and now she’s dead.”
“But that’s not why he killed her.” The entire court turned to me. “He may tell you that he murdered her in your father’s name, but that is a lie. He killed Henuttawy to silence her. Henuttawy had no reason left not to accuse his daughter of murder. And she had every reason to try and save herself.”
“And who is his daughter?” Ramesses whispered.
I closed my eyes briefly, so I wouldn’t have to see the betrayal on his face, and when I opened them again, she was standing beside us. I nodded. “Iset.”
Ramesses turned to her in bewilderment. “The High Priest Rahotep is your father?” he demanded.
“How can I be certain?” she exclaimed.
Rahotep stepped forward, and this time, the guards didn’t pull him back. “Henuttawy wanted things my daughter could never give her. Gold, deben, promises of power. I killed her not just in the name of your father, but in the name of Iset.”
“Don’t believe him,” I swore. “He murdered your aunt just as he murdered mine. For vengeance.” I turned to face Rahotep. “I know that you murdered Nefertiti. Twenty years ago, Merit saw you at her chambers, just as this boy saw you bloodied tonight. But when you returned to Thebes as the High Priest of Amun, you threatened to tell the court that I was cursed by Amun as a heretic’s child. You threatened to have me banished from Thebes, and Merit kept her silence. But no one can keep me from the palace now.” I looked at Ramesses. “Ask him about the fire in Malkata. Ask him who killed my father, and my cousins, and what he did it for!”
The guards tightened their circle around him again, and this time, Rahotep’s voice shook with fear. “Remember what Henuttawy did to your father. She was a murderess!”
“Did you murder Nefertiti and set that fire?” Ramesses demanded, and when Rahotep saw he was defeated, he simply looked at me with loathing. “Strip him of his cloak,” Ramesses commanded.
Iset covered her mouth in horror, and Rahotep shouted, “I saved you from a murderess! I saved you from a lifetime of ignorance!” Two guards held Rahotep’s arms behind his back; his nostrils flared, reminding me of a bull that had been penned for the slaughter. He had escaped punishment for the murder of a queen, and now it was a lowly stable boy who’d brought him down.
“Why did she kill my father?” Ramesses asked. Rahotep’s red eye darted in every direction. “You can die by the blade or slowly of starvation.”
When I saw that Rahotep wasn’t going to answer, I said, “Because she wanted power over Iset. Henuttawy promised to put Iset on the throne, but she wanted to make sure Iset would never forget their bargain once becoming queen.”
“And what bargain was this?”
“To rebuild the Temple of Isis into something so vast that every pilgrim in Egypt would leave their deben at its gates.”
“Making her treasurer of the greatest fortune in Egypt,” he said slowly. He had awakened from blissful ignorance to a nightmare of intrigue he’d never known existed. He looked at Rahotep and drew himself up to his fullest height. “General Anhuri, escort Rahotep to the prisons. Give him death in whatever manner you think he deserves.”
Iset shrieked as her father was taken away, as her ladies fluttered helplessly around her. I pressed Ramesses’s arm firmly in mine and steered him through the commotion into the privacy of my chamber. When I had locked the door behind us, we sat together on the edge of the bed.
“I wanted to tell you,” I whispered. “It has haunted me for months, but everyone cautioned me to keep my word. Paser, Woserit . . . even Merit swore that if I ever spoke out, Henuttawy would find a way to make me look like a liar.”
“So everyone knew?” Ramesses cried.
“Yes, but there was no way to prove it! After the coronation, once you knew that I had no reason to lie, I was going to tell you about Henuttawy and Rahotep. And they must have sensed that my queenship would spell their ruin. For so long they had worked together—until the time came to save themselves. But I couldn’t tell you—they would have done anything in their power to keep you from believing me! You have to understand—”
But I could see that he didn’t.
“I should have told you sooner,” I said. “I should never have kept anything from you, Ramesses. I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t Iset tell me about her father?”
“Perhaps she was ashamed.”
“Of the High Priest of Amun?”
“Of a murderer and a man they call the jackal!” I cried, and though I knew I should have been trying to defend myself, I was tired of calculating every move and weighing every word before I said it. “This palace has been a web of secrets,” I told him. “Every night, I’ve gone to bed wondering what Henuttawy might do. Or Rahotep. It doesn’t pardon what I’ve done,” I said desperately, “but don’t be harsh with Woserit and Paser. Even Iset must have had her reasons.”
Ramesses buried his head in his hands. “But I trusted Henuttawy and Rahotep,” he said, “just like I trusted the Hittite spies in Kadesh. Why?” His voice rose with his anger. “Why?”
If there had ever been a time to tell him about Iset and Ashai, it would have been then. But I was a coward. I was afraid he would wonder how many other secrets I had hoarded in the chambers of my heart, and I hoped it could lie hidden in Ashai’s quiet village.
“Everything feels like darkness,” he whispered, and I caressed his cheek.
“You are Pharaoh of the greatest kingdom in the world. And you have princes. Three handsome princes.”
He looked through the open door of the milk nurses’ chamber, and when he smiled, I knew he was going to forgive me. But I didn’t deserve his kindness. I had kept from him things that a better woman would have revealed without worrying over her status. Still, I felt a sudden lightness in my heart, as if a long and terrible journey had finally come to an end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
FOR THE KING IS PTAH-SOUTH-OF-HIS-WALL
THE NEXT MORNING, the palace lay subdued. Men quietly offered their petitions in the Audience Chamber, unwilling to break the uneasy silence. But when Woserit appeared in her blue robes of Hathor, a ripple of whispers passed among the courtiers.
“Woserit.” Ramesses stood
to embrace her, and the viziers rose to offer sympathy. I searched her face for any trace of sadness, but when she turned to me, I could only see immense relief in her eyes.
“Nefertari.” She embraced me, and when I encircled her in my arms, I heard her whisper, “It’s over.” There was an unsteadiness in her voice, as if she had never really believed that her sister was mortal. The courtiers of the chamber surrounded her, wanting to express their own sympathy and shock. That evening as I prepared for the Great Hall, I asked Merit quietly, “What do you think will happen to Henuttawy?”
“What does it matter?” She placed Amunher with his brother on the bed and returned to fasten a pectoral around my neck. “She will probably be buried in an unmarked grave, placed inside the earth without even an amulet for the gods to identify her with.”
I thought of Henuttawy’s final moments, and I shivered to imagine how she must have felt knowing that Rahotep’s blade was meant for her. I walked to the bed and kissed Amunher softly on his cheek. “There will never be a question anymore,” I whispered. “When you learn to walk, when you learn to speak, all of Pi-Ramesses will pay attention and know that you are the heir to your father’s throne.” He reached out and pulled at my earring, giggling as if he understood what I was telling him. But the rest of Pi-Ramesses was not so merry.
For ten days, we waited for news from the Hittites, and though only two thrones of polished ivory and gold now rested on the tiled dais of the Audience Chamber, it felt as though I had been robbed of my triumph. In the month of Thoth I would become Ramesses’s queen, but it wasn’t until a message arrived from Hattusili that I felt it was complete.
Ramesses took the scroll, and when he’d finished reading, he looked up with amazement.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Peace,” he said, triumphantly. “With the Empire of Hatti.”
Cheers erupted in the Audience Chamber, breaking the silence that had hung like a heavy pall over the palace of Pi-Ramesses. He handed the scroll to me and watched as I read. There was agreement that the Hittites would retain Kadesh, and in the case of war with Assyria, neither country would use the advantage to encroach on the other’s kingdom. For the second time, I read over Paser’s flawless Hittite and thought, It is a pact for the ages. In a thousand years this treaty will remain as a testament to our reign.
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