ONE MORNING in the beginning of Aythyr, Paser asked, “Have you been practicing your Akkadian at all?”
“How can I practice,” I asked him, “when Ramesses might be killed in this Nubian rebellion?”
Paser took a long look at me from across Woserit’s table. “If you are worried about Ramesses in Nubia,” he said, “then you will be spending the rest of your life without sleep. To be a Pharaoh is to fight against the enemies who would like to make your kingdom theirs. And when a Pharaoh isn’t fighting invaders, he is settling rebellions. Even the Heretic King held on to the territory of Nubia, with its gold mines and electrum. I wouldn’t expect Pharaoh Ramesses to return until the uprising is crushed completely. There is nothing for you to do—”
“But there is,” I interrupted. “I can go with him.”
Paser looked at me as if an ibis had suddenly perched on my head. “And what do you think you would do?” he demanded. “Pharaoh Ramesses has trained for war since he was a child. There would be bloodshed, and death, and men crying in the night—”
“Women go to tend the sick,” I argued.
“Have you ever seen a man’s arm taken off by an enemy’s blade?”
I forced myself not to blanch. “No.”
“How about the sight of a soldier’s intestines gouged by an arrow?”
“No. But I have seen the chariot races in the Arena, where soldiers have been crushed by wheels and by horses.”
“Battle is not a game, and it is certainly not a sport!” Paser sighed with a great deal of exasperation. “What do you think would happen to you if Pharaoh was killed in battle? You would be taken by the enemy and abused,” he answered himself. “And the rest of Egypt would be thrown into chaos. Who would become coregent? Who would succeed Pharaoh Seti on the throne? There would be civil war, and every wise person with gold would flee.”
“But you said there was no danger in Nubia. You said he would return—”
“Perhaps not in Nubia, but what about Hatti, or Assyria, or Kadesh? War is no place for a princess. If you want to help Pharaoh, then pray to Sekhmet that he will be safe, and that the goddess of war will bring him home. Now study your Akkadian.”
But I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even eat. Merit ordered tempting bowls from the kitchens, roasted goose in garlic and honeyed nut cakes, but my appetite was gone. “You cannot continue like this!” she exclaimed. “You will shrink away to nothing. Already, look at you.” She held up my arm. “You will disappear!”
Finally, when the army had been gone for almost three months, Woserit came in to my chamber and said, “Merit tells me you are not eating. Do you want to look like a mangy cat next to Iset when Ramesses returns from Nubia?”
I stared at her in horror from the edge of my bed. “Of course not!”
“Then I will send to the cooks for several bowls,” she said sternly. “And you will eat from all of them.” She turned to leave, then hesitated at the door. “Messengers arrived this morning. Pharaoh’s army has crushed the rebellion.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
FIRST VICTORY
WHEN A PHARAOH comes home victorious from battle it means the gods are not only watching us, but have extended their hands to our kingdom in aid. Throughout the city of Thebes, crowds celebrated in the streets, eating the honeyed cakes being sold by vendors and washing them down with pomegranate wine. The men wore long kilts to protect them from the cold, and I was shielded against the wind by the soft fur of Woserit’s cloak. I stood with the court on the Avenue of Sphinxes by the Amun temple, and Woserit whispered nervously, “Remember what I taught you.”
“That Ramesses must come to me first,” I repeated.
“You must not run to him like a fish-starved cat. But if he wants a private audience with you, then you may give him one.”
I looked up in surprise, since Woserit had never said this before.
“Men are like iwiw,” she explained, making me think of Queen Tuya’s pampered dog. “Give them a good meal and they’ll come around wanting it again. But you will make sure he understands that meals don’t come free,” she said sternly, and I wondered why she sounded more nervous than I was. “Make him understand that you will return to the temple if he doesn’t decide.” Woserit’s gaze flicked across my golden diadem and the lined cloak that was opened to reveal my diaphanous sheath. “I’d be very surprised . . .”
But her words were cut off by the sound of trumpets and the cheers of the crowd heralding the approaching army.
Above us, on the temple’s steps, Pharaoh Seti and Queen Tuya waited proudly for their son’s return, surrounded by the most important men at court. But of everyone who stood above us, dressed in gold bangles and heavy wigs, Iset appeared the most triumphant. Her five-month belly curved beautifully beneath her cloak, and across her chest a servant had powdered the skin with crushed mother-of-pearl.
By stepping forward and craning my neck with the crowd, I could see the war chariots with their polished wheels and gilded sides. The scent of horses intermingled with incense and roses. As the army approached, the cheers of the crowds reached a feverish pitch, and I felt a pair of hands push me forward. I looked back and saw Aloli’s brazen smile from among the priestesses of Hathor.
“You want him to notice, don’t you?” she demanded.
Merit tugged at my shoulder. “She also wants to avoid being crushed by the chariots.”
At the end of the Avenue I recognized Ramesses’s khepresh crown of war. He was sharing a chariot with Asha, and both of them absorbed the adoration of the people. As Asha reined in a pair of sleek black horses, Ramesses searched the crowd, and when he found me, I felt a strange heat under my cloak despite the chill in the wind. Then Pharaoh Seti spread his arms in a gesture of welcome, and Ramesses tore his gaze away from my face. He dismounted at the steps of the temple to bow before his parents, then he slowly withdrew his sword from its sheath. Around us, the cheering grew even more frenzied as Ramesses prepared to give his sword of victory to Iset. To be presented with this is the greatest honor any person can receive. I arranged a smile on my face; then I noticed that Asha was staring in our direction.
“Who is that?” Aloli whispered.
“Asha? He’s the commander of Ramesses’s charioteers.”
“So why is he staring at us?”
“Probably because he’s never seen anyone like you before.” Aloli was the only priestess of Hathor whose hair outshone Ramesses’s. She wore a heavy turquoise cloak that brought out the vivid blue of her eyes, and the sheath beneath it was spun from a linen so fine it was nearly transparent. When Iset accepted the sword and the ceremony was finished, Aloli stepped forward to make sure that Asha didn’t miss her.
“Don’t bother,” I said as the army made its way to the palace. “Pharaoh Seti calls him Asha the Cautious.”
“Then perhaps what he needs is a woman with spirit.”
I laughed, but Aloli’s voice was earnest. “This will be my first celebration in the palace, and I don’t plan to sleep at all,” she admitted.
Because it was Choiak, it was growing too cool to feast in the courtyard of Malkata. The victory celebration would be held in the warmth of the Great Hall, where cinnamon would burn all night on the braziers and the doors would be shut against the wind. That afternoon, when I entered the chamber, it wasn’t the number of soldiers that surprised me, or that Ramesses’s horses had been brought into the hall and decorated with flowers. It was the long, polished table on the dais, with four thrones in the middle and two dozen chairs around them.
Woserit saw the direction of my gaze, and nodded. “You haven’t been inside the Great Hall since Ramesses changed court tradition. The most important members of the court no longer eat below the dais.”
“They eat on top? In front of everyone? Why?”
“You can’t guess?” she asked. “Iset’s conversation isn’t as interesting as he had hoped. What could he possibly have to talk about with her and his parents
, night after night?”
Now he had his viziers and emissaries from foreign kingdoms on the dais. So while the rest of the court ate below, Pharaoh’s closest advisers and friends would be eating on the highest step. Ramesses had not yet taken his throne. I imagined that he was probably in his chamber, changing from his armor to a long kilt and thick cloak. He would probably put on his blue and gold nemes crown, since the khepresh was tall and burdensome. And then what would he do? My heart raced. Would he speak with me at the table? Or would he have eyes only for his pregnant wife?
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Aloli murmured. I had forgotten that it was her first time in the Great Hall. Harpists played in all corners of the room, and the rich scents of roasted beef and wine filled the warm chamber. Every woman had come attired in her best jewels, and at night, their thick collars of gold would reflect in the light of the oil lamps. In the polished glaze of the tiles I could already see a thousand sandaled feet reflected, walking and dancing and secretly touching under the tables.
As we moved through the crowded hall toward the dais, someone approached from behind a column and touched my shoulder. I turned, and there was Ramesses, dressed in a long linen kilt, trimmed with gold thread and painted with images of charioteers at war. His belt was wide, and beneath the gold pectoral on his chest was a fresh scar where he’d been hurt in battle. I opened my mouth to exclaim about the wound, but Ramesses put a finger to his lips. I glanced at Woserit, who took Aloli’s arm and escorted her toward the dais. Ramesses never stopped looking at me.
“It’s true,” he whispered.
Suddenly, I was aware of how close we were standing, so close I could touch the square of his jaw or the chiseled planes of his face. “What’s true?”
“You are as beautiful as I remembered. Nefer,” he said, and his breath came quickly. “Perhaps you want to simply remain my friend, but when I was gone, all I could think about was you. When I was supposed to be thinking about the rebellion, or how my men would find fresh water in the desert, all I could think of was how you wanted to be hidden away in the Temple of Hathor. Nefer,” he said passionately, “you can’t be a priestess.”
I wanted to close my eyes and step into the shelter of his embrace, but beyond the column the entire court was gathering. “But if I’m not to be a priestess,” I asked him, “where will my place be in Thebes?” I held my breath, waiting for the right answer to come, willing it into his heart. Then he took me in his arms and brushed his lips against mine.
“With me,” he said firmly. “As my queen.”
LEAVING BEHIND the entire court, now feasting in the Great Hall, we headed directly to his chamber, and Ramesses immediately barred the door. His room was neatly kept, and the blue and green tiles of the floor had been polished for his arrival. Cuneiform tablets were stacked on a low table, and a Senet board that could not have been used in many months was ready to be played. He took my hand and led me to the bed, stopping only to whisper, “And you are sure you want me the way I want you?”
I didn’t respond. I simply brushed my lips against his, then kissed him the way I had imagined kissing him all of those nights when he had been gone in Nubia. We fell together on his pillows, and the victory feast might as well have been in another kingdom.
“Nefer.” Ramesses pressed his hands against the bed so that his muscular arms were on either side of my face. I reached up and stroked him the way Aloli had told me I should. He closed his eyes, allowing me to trace my finger along his shaft.
“Let me taste you,” I whispered.
He rolled so that his back was against the pillows, and I began with the inside of his thighs, licking my way up to his chest and the tender flesh around his new scar. He cupped my breasts in his hands, feeling the nipples harden beneath my sheath, and he groaned as I licked my way back down to the hardness between his legs.
“Undress for me,” he begged.
I knelt above him, slowly unfastening the cloak, then my sheath, and finally taking off my wig so that my nakedness was covered only by my hair.
“You are even more beautiful than I thought.” Ramesses sighed. I’m sure that I flushed at being called so. Henuttawy was beautiful. Iset was beautiful. But as I straddled him in the position that Aloli promised would increase fertility, I wondered for the first time if it might be true. His breath was ragged, and as I balanced above him, he thrust his hips forward in his eagerness to be inside of me.
I had dreamed of what it would be like with Ramesses a hundred different times. Yet when the moment came, everything that Aloli had taught me flew out of my head and I knew nothing but the feel of his body against mine, the taste of his skin, and the burning sensation that began as pain and soon became pleasure. When it was done, and Ramesses had spent himself inside of me, I looked down at the linens. I was no longer a virgin.
In the amber light of a setting sun, Ramesses caressed my cheek. Our reverie was only broken when a heavy fist pounded on the door outside of his chamber. He looked at me, and then both of us were rushing to find our clothes.
“Your Majesty,” someone called from without. “The feast has begun and Pharaoh wishes to know where you are!”
“How long has he been knocking?” I exclaimed.
“Probably for a while!” Ramesses laughed, then took me in his arms. “You must move back into your chamber,” he said. “No more of the temple.”
“I shall have to ask Woserit,” I said coyly.
“Forget Woserit! If I make you my wife, she can’t take you back. I need you here.” He cupped my breast in his palm. “I want you here.”
“And they want you in the Great Hall,” I said teasingly.
EVERY NIGHT since he had been married, Ramesses had entered the Great Hall with Iset. But that night, on the celebration of his first victory as leader of Pharaoh’s army, he would enter with me and everyone would know where he had been. From the table on the dais, Henuttawy would see us, and Iset would turn to her ladies from the harem and unleash a storm.
Be brave, I told myself. Iset is the granddaughter of a harem wife but I am the daughter of a queen. We left the royal courtyard as the chill of evening had settled over the palace. I sheltered beneath Ramesses’s strong arm, and as we passed through the halls the whispering began. I heard my name behind me and I shivered.
“You’ll grow used to it,” Ramesses promised.
“The whispering or the cold?”
He laughed, but as we approached the Great Hall and the herald who would announce our presence, my stomach clenched. I could already hear the murmur of surprise from within.
“Pharaoh Ramesses II,” the herald declared, “Lord of the Two Lands and son of Pharaoh Seti.”
Ramesses stepped forward and waited for me.
“Princesses Nefertari, daughter of Queen Mutnodjmet and General Nakhtmin.”
Ramesses took my arm, and as we moved through the hall a horrified murmur passed through the court, that on this night—of all nights—Ramesses should appear with me instead of his wife, who would bear his child. I caught my name several times before we reached the royal thrones, and at the table on the dais, a servant hastily added a chair between Pharaoh Seti and Ramesses. Iset’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits, and next to her, Queen Tuya’s face became hard as stone. Her iwiw, Adjo, sniffed at the air, and though there was no one else in Thebes he seemed to dislike he raised his lips in a silent growl as I passed.
I took my seat in the uncomfortable silence, and it was Queen Tuya who finally spoke. “How nice of you to escort the princess Nefertari into the Great Hall. I would have thought you might have chosen to escort your wife.”
Woserit caught my gaze across the table, and I knew that she was willing her strength into me. I kept a smile on my face and replied, “I’m afraid it is my fault, Your Highness.”
“What does it matter?” Seti demanded. “My son is returned from war, and the Nubians are crushed!” He raised his cup, and the rest of the table did the same. “So Nefertari,�
� Pharaoh Seti exclaimed with mock surprise. “Not so little anymore.”
I lowered my head bashfully. “No, Your Highness.”
“Well, we have missed your smile in Malkata. My son, especially, I believe.” He glanced at Iset, who was sulking next to the queen. The pair of them looked like Tuya’s long-faced iwiw.
“It’s true,” Ramesses replied, meeting my gaze. I knew there was more he wanted to say.
“So tell me, Nefertari.” Henuttawy lowered her cup. “What was it that you and my nephew discussed? He must have told some very exciting tales to have taken all afternoon. Why don’t you share one with the table?”
I’m sure my face turned as red as the cinnamon burning in the braziers, and Ramesses said firmly, “We spent our time discussing how Nefertari will be returning to the palace.”
Henuttawy exchanged a look with the High Priest, Rahotep. “Really?Was her time at my sister’s temple so unbearable?”
“Of course not.” Ramesses’s voice became stern. “But she is of greater use here than in the Temple of Hathor.”
I looked across the table at Woserit. Was it true? Did he want me simply because he thought I was useful to him? But Woserit avoided my gaze.
“So you have decided not to become a priestess?” Pharaoh Seti confirmed.
I nodded. “My wish is to return to the palace of Malkata as soon as possible.”
Pharaoh Seti sat back. “Then perhaps you will be here for my announcement in the Audience Chamber tomorrow. In a few days, my court will be leaving for Avaris.”
The Heretic Queen Page 12