Outside the Great Hall, Woserit turned to me. “What happened in the Audience Chamber?” she demanded. But the doors of the Great Hall swung open, and Paser joined us in the courtyard. Woserit hissed at him, “You allowed a heretic to see Nefertari?”
I rested my hand on the swell of my stomach and tried to fight back a sudden nausea. “He wouldn’t give his petition to anyone else,” I explained. “His name was Ahmoses; he was a Habiru.”
“But tell her what he wanted.” Paser’s look was riotous.
I realized he had heard more than I’d thought in the Audience Chamber. “For me to free the Habiru from the military.”
“Every Habiru?” Woserit exclaimed.
“Yes. He calls himself the leader of his people. He wishes to take the Habiru back to Canaan where they may worship as they please.”
“Canaan is still Egyptian land,” Woserit said angrily.
Paser shook his head. “Only in name. There are no temples to Amun or shrines to Isis. He clearly thinks that the Habiru would be free to worship whom they wish in the land of Sargon.”
I recalled the ancient myth Paser had taught us in the edduba, about the high priestess in the east who secretly gave birth to a son despite her vow of chastity. She had placed her newborn infant in a basket made tight with reeds and set it adrift in the River Euphrates where the child was found by Aqqi, the water bearer. The boy was given the name of Sargon, and he grew up to be a powerful king, conquering the lands of Gutium and Canaan. And now, Ahmoses wished to return to the land that Sargon had made fruitful.
Woserit exchanged a look with Paser. “Why did he request to see Nefertari, and not Iset?” she asked suspiciously.
“Because Princess Nefertari has a reason to grant his request,” Paser guessed. “He knows that she could win favor with the people by telling them she is expelling the heretics from Thebes.”
Woserit looked at me. “It could turn the people in your favor. There would never again be any question of your faith in Amun.”
“You can’t seriously consider it!” I exclaimed.
“A sixth of Egypt’s army is Habiru,” Paser warned. “Someday, the Hittites—”
But the seed had been planted in Woserit’s mind. “She could finally win over the people, Paser …”
“I’ll win them some other way,” I said. “Ramesses can’t risk Egypt’s safety for me.”
“He could increase the army’s pay,” she protested. “More men would join.”
“With what gold?” Paser asked wryly.
“He could increase taxes on the land.”
“And have the people resent him instead? Think of what you are saying,” Paser said. He placed a tender hand on her shoulder. “There are other ways for her to win the people’s love.”
“And Rahotep?” she asked. “Did he hear all of this?”
“No. He was listening to petitioners. But Merit has told me what he did,” I said darkly.
Woserit sighed heavily. “I know it was a terrible thing to learn. Especially the fire—”
“You knew he set the fire?” I cried.
“No one knows for certain,” Paser said quietly.
“But everyone believes it?”
Neither Paser nor Woserit denied it.
“You must never speak a word of this to anyone,” Woserit cautioned. “No matter how your heart bleeds, let only the gods hear its cries. Do not weep on anyone’s shoulder. Not even Ramesses’s.”
I pressed my lips together, and Paser added emphatically, “Especially not Ramesses.”
“The truth does not stay buried forever,” Woserit promised. “Eventually the winds blow away the sand and expose what’s beneath. But don’t think of this now,” she advised. “The most important thing is the child. You don’t want him to feed off bitterness and anger. Have Merit send for food and heat you a bath.”
I nodded my consent, but how could I stop myself from being angry? I watched Woserit and Paser leave, then listened to them as they whispered in the dark corridors of the palace, their silhouettes bent together like two sycamore trees, and I felt a deep longing to speak with Ramesses. If he had been in Thebes, we would be lying in my bed, talking about the Habiru Ahmoses, and I would have told him the painful story of how my uncle had come upon the idea of a single god. But out there in the darkness to the south, Ramesses was traveling on toward Nubia.
Instead of returning to Merit, I kept walking through the halls. The palace was silent. Every servant who wasn’t in the Great Hall with Iset had gone to bed, and I made my way through the corridors to a door that no one ever opened. Once, that door had been guarded by four men in polished breastplates, and my family had used it to reach the royal courtyard. But that courtyard and all of its chambers had burned. I had not seen the charred remains since Merit had taken me as a little girl. There had been nothing to see then except weeds and ashes, but now I wanted to see with a woman’s eyes the destruction that Rahotep had brought on my family.
I stepped through the door, and in the moonlight the scene looked like a shipwreck that had been washed onto a black and desolate shore. Charred timbers lay where they had fallen, surrounded by rocks and thickly growing vines. I moved through the courtyard, swatting at an insect that had made the devastation its home. I could see where a bed would have stood once, although all that was left was part of its frame. It might have been the one my mother shared with my father, but of course, there was no way of knowing. Smudged tiles supported its blackened legs, and I used the edge of my sandal to scrap away a few layers of dirt, uncovering more burnt tiles. No one had thought to take them away. The damage was so complete that Horemheb had left the chambers for nature to reclaim.
I picked up one of the broken tiles and smoothed away the ash with my palm. Although Merit would be furious, I used the sleeve of my robe to reveal the image, then held up the tile to the silvery light. It was nothing like what Asha had brought back from Amarna. Just a blue glaze where the fire hadn’t melted the paint. But my mother’s foot had probably touched it once. I pressed my hand to the cool surface and thought of how much Rahotep had taken from me. And yet the power of rebellion rested in his hands. My heart felt sick knowing I would have to keep his secret from Ramesses. I wanted to tell all of Egypt what the High Priest had done to my akhu. I wanted him to suffer the way I had suffered. I wanted him to know loneliness, and fear, and despair. Without Ramesses and Merit, whom did I have in the palace of Malkata? I looked down at my swelling stomach and thought that at least I would always have my children, and I was aware of the irony—that I was standing in a place of ruin and death while inside of me, new life was growing. I wrapped the tile in a fold of my robe, then cast a last glance across the shipwreck that had swallowed my family, pitching me alone into the waves of palace life. Merit would say that they were still watching me; that your akhu never leave you except in body. I hoped that this was true. I wanted to imagine my mother looking down at me from the realm of Aaru, the starry sky that separates the land of the living from the land of the dead. And I hoped that in Aaru she was sitting at Ma’at’s table, whispering into the goddess’s ear all the terrible things that needed to be set right on earth.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AMUN WAS WATCHING US
IN THE WORST heat of Mesore, a messenger ran ahead of the army and declared that Ramesses had been victorious. “An uprising in Nubia has been averted and the rebels have been crushed!” the herald exclaimed. “The army is already approaching Thebes!”
There was elation in the Audience Chamber, and I shouted over the noise from my throne. “The dead! Where is the list of the dead?”
“There is no list!” The messenger was jubilant. He knew this news would bring him a dozen deben. “Pharaoh Ramesses has been completely triumphant.”
I fought my way through the crush of bodies hurrying to leave the Audience Chamber, and Merit found me in the hall. “Hurry, my lady, or we’ll be late! There’s a ship already waiting.”
“But did you
hear? Not a single officer killed!”
“And all of it accomplished in only a month! The gods have protected him.” She touched the ankh at her neck and murmured a quick prayer of thanks. Then she took my arm and pressed forward. “Move for the princess Nefertari!” she shouted. “Move aside!” Dozens of courtiers stepped back, as we emerged onto the quay, where Iset was already waiting aboard Amun’s Blessing, shielded from the sun by a canopy of painted linen.
I settled into a shaded chair next to Merit, and when I put my fingers to my lips in excitement, Merit pushed them down.
“You’re not a child!”
“But I feel like one.” I giggled. “It feels like the first time I saw Ramesses, after being hidden away at the Temple of Hathor.”
When the ship reached the eastern bank, armed guards led us down the Avenue of Sphinxes so we could greet Ramesses beneath the freshly raised columns of Luxor. Thousands of Thebans swelled in the streets, so filled with joy that the women even shouted blessings to me. Then they began chanting Ramesses’s name and breaking off palm branches to shade him as his army went by. Heat billowed up in a shimmering haze from the sandy streets, and as we passed through the market I could taste the scent of cumin in the air. When we reached the gates of Luxor, I was amazed once more by the towering statues of Ramesses. Woserit took my hand and led me to the steps of the temple, beside Iset in her best sheath and crown. She looked stunningly beautiful, carrying the weight of her coming child in her swelling breasts and rounded hips. What if Ramesses gives her his sword? I worried.
There was a loud call of trumpets as the army appeared on the Avenue of Sphinxes with Ramesses at its head. He was wearing the khepresh crown of war, and his hair streamed behind him like wisps of fire. He was the tallest of any of the men and bronzed from the sun. In his kilt, with the golden pectoral of Sekhmet, there was no more beautiful man in Egypt. He met my gaze and slowly withdrew his sword. I could feel the rush of blood in my ears. Then Iset stepped forward, and Ramesses lowered the blade back into its sheath.
“Ramesses!” She rushed down the temple steps and flung herself gracefully into his arms. A deafening cheer went up around the temple, and she placed his hand on her slightly swelling stomach so that everyone might see him blessing her child.
Merit nudged me painfully in the side. “Go! Don’t let her steal this chance,” she hissed.
I moved carefully down the steps, and Ramesses let go of Iset. Immediately, the cheers of the people faltered. “Nefertari,” he breathed. He swept me into his embrace and inhaled the scent of my perfume, my hair, the warm sun on my skin. “Nefertari, look at you!” he exclaimed. My profile was like a willow stick attached to a heavy ball.
“Five months,” I told him. I didn’t add that for the past month I had been sick every night.
“Gods, how I missed you in Nubia,” he admitted. Then he reached for his sword and Iset immediately stepped closer to us.
“The entire court has been waiting for you,” she said quickly. “There is a magnificent feast planned for the Great Hall tonight.”
Ramesses smiled. “I am looking forward to it.”
“Are you looking forward to visiting my chamber as well?”
He glanced at me, and when she realized where he meant to spend the night, her voice became urgent. “But I have something for you. A gift in celebration of your triumph.”
At last, Ramesses let go of his sword, and I knew that he wouldn’t present it to either one of us. I could feel the anger darkening my cheeks as Ramesses promised, “I’ll come to see you before the feast.”
Then the High Priest of Amun walked down the temple’s steps. I felt my stomach turn. From his position on the lowest step, he smiled at Iset before announcing, “Night after night we have spent our time at the feet of Amun, praying for Pharaoh’s safe and triumphant return.”
I sucked in my breath at his lie. Night after night he had been in the Audience Chamber, drinking and eating and plotting with Henuttawy.
“Now it is Mesore,” Rahotep went on, raising his arms like two hollow reeds. “And in this last month of the Season of Harvest, Amun has granted Pharaoh a harvest of his own. A victory over rebellious Nubia!”
The courtiers cheered, and the priestesses shook their long bronze sistrums. Then the army sailed to the palace in a spectacle of blue and gold pennants. While Ramesses shared a ship with his men, I sat next to Merit on the deck of Amun’s Blessing and was too angry even to speak.
“He was going to present you with the sword,” Merit swore. “I saw him reach for it.”
“And, as always, Iset was there to stop it! And now he’s going to her chamber before the feast so that she can give him a gift.”
Merit sat back on the cushion chair and fumed. “And she will tell him she prayed for his safety every night when you were the one lighting incense at Amun’s feet. I will let Pharaoh know what really happened!”
I sat forward. “No! He will think I have sent you out of jealousy. He won’t believe you.”
“Then he can confirm it with someone else.”
“Who? Who will be brave enough to tell him the truth?”
The feast in the Great Hall lasted all night, but when the food had been served and the musicians began a victory song, Ramesses found me out on the balcony.
“Nefertari.” He had grown dark after long marches in the sun. The white of his sheath shone against the bronze of his skin and the blue of his eyes was like turquoise. “I have been waiting to find you alone.” He took me in his arms, and when I saw the new golden bangle on his wrist, I wanted to be angry with him. What kind of a fool couldn’t see the game that Iset was playing? But his kisses were urgent and I felt a need beneath his kilt. He pressed his hand to my belly. “I thought of you every day,” he whispered. “There were a thousand times when I wanted to send back a message to you, but I was afraid it might be intercepted,” he admitted. “I want to know everything. Tell me everything.”
We went to my chamber, leaving the feast and the musicians behind, but it was a long time before we spoke. We fell into the bed and Ramesses took me in his arms, slipping the sheath from my shoulders. We were gentle together, so we wouldn’t hurt the child, but that night our embraces grew more urgent until finally Ramesses swore, “I never want to leave this bed again, Nefer. I never want to go on a campaign without you.”
As the music echoed in the courtyard, we shared our secrets together. Every night I had lit incense at the feet of Amun, praying for his safety, and now I wondered how I could have feared he wouldn’t come home. He was tall and strong, with hands that were capable of anything.
“While you were gone, I was so worried,” I admitted.
Ramesses laughed, then saw the trembling of my lip and hesitated. “Oh, Nefer.” He held me against his chest. “You and I are bronze and gold,” he promised. “We will last for eternity.”
“In name,” I said. “Not in body. Not like this.”
“It will always be like this,” Ramesses swore. I wondered if victory had made him more rash. How could he be so certain? “We will live together in the Afterlife,” he added, “and eat with the gods. They have heard all of our prayers. Amun was with me in Nubia. You should have seen how easy it was to surround the palace and find the men who were plotting rebellion. We slaughtered them like cattle.”
When I shuddered, Ramesses said forcefully, “They were disloyal to Egypt. They betrayed us, after we built everything for them! A clean city, a citadel taller than any in Nubia, protection from the Assyrians.” There was a conviction in Ramesses’s eyes that I had never seen before, and I wondered what he would do if he knew how Iset had truly acted in his absence. “But Amun was watching us,” he said seriously. “How else could it have gone so well? Next time, you will come with me, Nefer. When our son is born—”
“What if it’s a daughter?”
“It will be a son,” he said confidently. “Amun has heard my prayers and he will give us an heir.”
My heartbea
t quickened, and the fear of childbirth welled up inside of me again. What if I didn’t bring him a son, or worse, didn’t survive to see my child grow?
“But tell me about Thebes,” he said gently. “Tell me what’s happened while I’ve been away. Paser says a Habiru came to visit you.”
“Yes, Ahmoses of Chaldea,” I said, and Ramesses heard the hesitation in my voice when I added, “He came to the Audience Chamber with a petition for me.”
Ramesses frowned. “Specifically for you? And what did he want?”
“For me to release the Habiru from your army.”
He sat up in the bed. “All of the Habiru?” he exclaimed. “And what did you tell him?”
“That his petition must go to you, of course!”
“The Habiru cannot be released! Every year there is talk of a Hittite invasion from the north, and someday it will happen. Why did he think you would grant such a thing?”
“Because it was my grandfather who brought his people to Egypt. And under the Heretic King,” I explained, “the Habiru were used as slaves.”
“The entire army was used as slaves.”
“But it was the Habiru that the Heretic King promised to set free. He lied.”
“So this Ahmoses of Chaldea came hoping that you would honor the promise of your akhu?”
I looked across my chamber to the burned tile I had placed next to the painting from Meryra’s tomb. Though the edges were blackened, the center was still a vivid blue. I thought of the fires that had destroyed my family and marveled at how destiny had brought back the man who had first kindled them. Why was I telling Ramesses his story? Why did I care what Ahmoses wanted when he had risked my reputation by approaching me? But I looked across the bed into Ramesses’s eyes and replied, “Yes, that was his hope.”
Ramesses laughed. “And where does he think so many people would go?”
“North. To make the land of Canaan their own.”
“Canaan is Egyptian land!” His curiosity turned to anger. “Who is this man?”
The Egyptian Royals Collection Page 66
