“How do you know that?” I demanded angrily.
Asha gave me a look. “You know it as well as I do! So why follow in her path?”
But Asha was cut off when Ramesses recognized the emissary from Mitanni. Although the Hittite empire had crushed their kingdom, the Mitanni people still had their own leaders, and there always smoldered a hope of rebellion. I watched as Ramesses strode ahead. I tried to avoid Asha’s interrogating gaze, since I already knew the answer to his question. Why follow in her path? Because unlike my mother, I was in love.
“You are Kikkuli of Mitanni?” Ramesses asked.
The fat man paused in his conversation with an emissary from Assyria. “Yes, Your Highness.” He bowed his head, and the Assyrian emissary did the same.
“My wife tells me you have some interest in our victory over the Hittites,” Ramesses said in Hurrian.
“Yes. Very, very interested,” Kikkuli replied.
“Then perhaps the princess Nefertari can explain, since her Hurrian is much better than mine.”
It was true. My Hurrian was better, but Ramesses seemed to follow all that was said. I introduced myself and Kikkuli bowed again.
“I am glad to make your acquaintance, Princess. I have been sent to the court of Egypt to learn how to speak your language.”
I was surprised. “Aren’t there any teachers of Egyptian in Mitanni?”
“Plenty! And all of them speak worse Egyptian than I do!”
Ramesses and I both laughed, while Asha and Iset stood quietly.
“But I believe you wanted to know about Pharaoh’s victory in Kadesh,” I said. I told him what I had learned while at the temple. When I was finished, Kikkuli looked humbled.
“Thank you, my lady. I had no idea that anyone in the court of Egypt spoke such fluent Hurrian.”
“Many royals study your language,” I flattered. “And we greatly admire the captive kingdom of Mitanni.”
Kikkuli’s eyes widened. “I shall be certain to report such warm feelings to my people.”
“Yes, please do,” Ramesses said. “For Egypt hopes to remain great friends with Mitanni, and we trust that your governor would send word if ever your invaders planned an attack against us.”
Kikkuli bobbed his head like an ibis. “If the Hittites should dare to march south through Aleppo, or even Nuzi, you have our word that Egypt will know of it.”
Ramesses smiled, but Kikkuli only had eyes for me. “Your princess is exceptional,” he complimented.
Ramesses met my gaze. Although he didn’t reply, his eyes said more than his words ever could, and I knew that I had made him proud.
“What? What did he say?” Asha asked.
Next to him, Iset had gone still and hard as stone. Her beauty might fascinate men, but it was difficult to charm them when she stood mute as an obelisk.
“He said he would bring back the news of how powerful Egypt’s army has become to his people,” I translated.
Next to Kikkuli, the emissary from Assyria cleared his throat. “And if the Hittites try to reclaim Kadesh?”
Ramesses shook his head. “I apologize, but your Akkadian is one language I cannot speak.”
“He is asking what will happen if the Hittites try to reclaim Kadesh,” I relayed, and turned to the emissary. “Then Egypt will march north with the might of twenty thousand men,” I promised, “and take it back for a second time.”
Ramesses stared at me. “Since when have you spoken Akkadian?”
“Since I’ve been at the Temple of Hathor.”
Ramesses regarded me with deep admiration, and Iset announced, “Look, it’s your aunt!”
I caught Woserit’s gaze across the courtyard, and I knew what was about to happen. When she smiled at Ramesses, my heart raced. “Enjoying the Feast of Wag?” she asked him. “I’m sure you were surprised to see Nefertari.”
“Yes,” he said, and his eyes lingered on mine. Standing beside him, I was aware of how fighting had sculpted him into a man. “Well, Nefertari,” Woserit said. “I believe you still have to visit the mortuary temple in Djamet tonight. Are you ready?”
“Perhaps we can go with you,” Ramesses offered.
But Woserit shook her head. “Nefertari should pay her respects alone.”
Ramesses and Asha both looked at me, as if I could offer them some reversal, but I understood Woserit perfectly. “Ramesses, Asha.” I smiled at each of them. “I very much enjoyed seeing you tonight. Iset,” I acknowledged.
“Will you bid us farewell at the procession?” Ramesses asked quietly.
“What do you mean?” I looked to Asha. “Pharaoh’s army just returned from Kadesh! You’re not going to war again?”
“The Nubians are rebelling. Ramesses is going to teach them a lesson.”
Ramesses nodded, and his eyes were fixed on mine.
“Then we shall see when the time comes whether Nefertari will be there,” Woserit said. “Until then, or perhaps until the next Feast of Wag, wish Nefertari well on the path she has chosen.”
This time, Iset’s smile was real. I followed Woserit dutifully beyond the courtyard, where Merit was waiting with chariots for hire. “Take the princess and her nurse to Horemheb’s mortuary temple in Djamet,” Woserit said.
The young man helped me into the chariot, and as the horses pulled away, I looked behind us. The court had left the mortuary temple, and Ramesses was gone.
“Well, what did he say?” Merit asked.
“I … I don’t know,” I said breathlessly. “But he looked different. Older.”
“But what did he say?” she repeated.
“He asked me to speak with the emissary from Mitanni.” I looked at Merit as we sped through the night and wondered aloud, “What if he only values me for my talent?”
“Would it matter, my lady, as long as he’s interested? Your goal is to become Chief Wife.”
“No.” I shook my head in realization. “It’s not. I want him to love me.”
We had reached Djamet, and Horemheb’s temple rose from a vast plateau of sand. Its wide black gates were thrown open, for pilgrims who wished to remember the Pharaoh who had eradicated the Heretic King’s influence. Only members of Seti’s court could visit the temple at any time, but on the first night of Wag the doors of every temple were opened to anyone. Merit brushed the dust from my cloak, then paid the boy who had driven us through the night. Her steps slowed as we approached the heavy gates. On every Feast of Wag, I entered the temple alone, while Merit left to pay obeisance at the small shrine her father had built nearby. “Shall I leave you here?” she asked quietly.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Of course, you will not talk with anyone,” she warned. “And raise your hood.” She handed me my bowl. “Can you see where you are going?”
“There are reed torches inside. I have good eyes.”
I watched as Merit disappeared into the darkness, then I passed through the gates of Horemheb’s temple. I tried not to think of how it had once been the exclusive shrine to my akhu. It had been built by my grandfather, Pharaoh Ay, but all that was left of him now were the paintings in his tomb, somewhere deep within the Valley of the Kings.
Ahead of me, I heard voices. They might have been descendants of Horemheb’s, or commoners who had come to gape at the paintings. In the light of the torches, the old general’s eyes watched my progress through the halls. In every image he had been painted tall and fit, wearing the khepresh crown that had once belonged to my grandfather. Ay had died an old man, with no heir to take his throne. Only my mother had been left, and General Horemheb took her by force as his wife. Had I been a son, he would have claimed me as his own. But my mother had died in childbirth with only a girl to survive her.
I reached the end of the hall and touched the only painting that remained of my mother. A great deal of care had been taken to portray her. She was tall and thin, with green eyes that shone like emeralds from her long, dark face. She was the opposite of me in every way, but for her eyes
. “Mawat,” I whispered. Hers was the only painting that Horemheb had kept from Ay’s temple. He had ordered the others chiseled away, and with each stroke of the mallet they had erased my family from Egypt’s past.
“What a shame that this is all that’s left of her now.”
I felt my heart drop, for I knew the voice behind me. And before I could stop myself, I asked angrily, “What are you doing here?”
Henuttawy stepped out of the darkness into the light of the torches. She smiled. “Not happy to see me? I shouldn’t think you have anything to worry about. You’re not acting foolishly enough for me to slap you again. Although I should think that’s just a matter of time.”
I pushed back my hood, so she wouldn’t think I was hiding. Her eyes grew wide in mock surprise. “So the little princess has grown up.” She swept her gaze over my body and studied the way I filled out my tunic. “I’m guessing that’s Woserit’s cloak? You don’t have enough sense to dress yourself properly for a drunken revel, let alone the Feast of Wag.”
“Why have you come here?”
Henuttawy took a step forward to see if she could frighten me, but I didn’t move.
“Like a cat standing its ground. Or maybe you’re just too scared to move.” She looked up at the painting of my mother. “A pair of green-eyed little kittens, and just as curious.”
“I think you’ve come because you knew you’d find me in my family’s temple.”
Henuttawy narrowed her eyes, and her beauty looked cold and hard in the torchlight. “It’s no wonder Woserit took you in. She’s always taken pity on fools. It will come as a great surprise to know that the court doesn’t revolve around what Princess Nefertari is doing. But it may interest you to know I’ve come for Iset.” She opened her cloak and took out a small silver jar. “Of course, I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but since you’ve been such a good little friend to Ramesses, you might as well know.” She leaned close and whispered, “His wife is carrying the heir to the throne.”
I tried to hide my shock while Henuttawy placed Iset’s silver jar on the shrine below my mother and Horemheb’s image.
“Even Ramesses hasn’t been told,” she said with delight, “but when he finds out, there is no one at court who will doubt that he will make her queen. In light of such good fortune, it is only natural that Iset would want to thank her akhu. As a queen, she’ll want everyone to remember that her grandmother was Horemheb’s harem wife. So, you see, this was your family’s temple.” Henuttawy looked up and placed her hand on my mother’s cheek. “But when Iset is crowned, I wouldn’t be surprised if she changes a few of the paintings to remind the gods of her grandmother’s importance at court.”
She turned, and as she disappeared through the doors of the temple, I looked up to the painting of my mother and gasped. “Henuttawy!” I screamed, and two children who had come to gawk at the paintings inside the temple ran away in fear. I put my hand on my mother’s cheek, where Henuttawy had scraped her fingernail along the side of her face. My mother’s beauty was marred. I felt the kind of blinding hatred that whole kingdoms must have for invading armies. As my voice echoed through the corridors of the temple, Merit hurried in with a reed torch before her.
“My lady, what is it?” she cried.
I pointed to my mother’s cheek. “Henuttawy,” I said between clenched teeth. “She’s ruined it!”
“We will tell Pharaoh Seti!” she vowed.
“And who will he believe? You saw her tonight. She wears him like a cloak!”
The tears coursed down my cheeks, and Merit placed her arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry, my lady. We will hire a painter to fix it.”
“But this is all that I have of her,” I sobbed. “And even if a painter comes, what does it matter when her entire image is going to be erased?”
“Says who?” Merit cried.
“That’s why Henuttawy was here. She came to tell me that Iset is pregnant with Ramesses’s child. And if Iset is made queen, she’ll take this temple for her akhu.”
Merit narrowed her eyes. “She’s seen tonight that you are competition and wants to frighten you away. By telling you this, she imagines you’ll have no incentive to return to the palace.”
“Then she is wrong!” I swore. And suddenly, I could see the future clearly. I was going to be relegated to a temple in the Fayyum, just as Woserit had predicted. I would never be allowed at court, and if I was, Henuttawy and Iset would be there to make life miserable for me. Ramesses would make Iset Chief Wife, and when he shared a joke with her, Iset’s laugh would ring hollow as a reed. But no matter. She would be his queen and mother to the crown prince, and he would tolerate her ignorance for her great beauty. If ever he thought of me, it would be only to wonder where I had gone and why I had chosen never to come back. And my closest friend would be lost to me forever. I looked at Merit beneath the moonlight and repeated, “Then Henuttawy is very, very wrong.”
I had every incentive to return.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PRAY TO SEKHMET
IN THE TEMPLE of Hathor, Aloli pressed me for details on what happened that night. For several days, I avoided her questions, until finally I blurted, “She’s already pregnant!”
Aloli stood up her harp, and frowned. “Who’s pregnant?”
“Iset.” I blinked away tears. “With Ramesses’s first child.”
Aloli’s look was compassionate. “It might be a girl,” she said helpfully. “Or she might not even carry it to term. What’s most important is what he said. Had he missed you?”
I thought of the way Ramesses’s cheeks had reddened when he looked at my beaded dress, and I nodded. “Yes. Woserit thinks that by the time he returns from battle, he’ll have made his decision about who will be Chief Wife. If the army is victorious, she wants me to attend his procession.”
Aloli clapped her hands. “That’s excellent news!” She searched my face. “So why aren’t you happy? You were his closest friend when you were children. And now you are a woman. A beautiful woman. What more could he want from a queen?”
“A child.”
“So who’s to say you won’t give him one?”
“Aloli,” I said miserably, “my mother died in childbirth with me.”
She sat back and her jewels caught the light of the oil lamps. “And you think the gods won’t watch over a princess of Egypt?”
“My mother was a queen, and they didn’t watch over her! Besides, what if I don’t want a child?”
Aloli sucked in her breath. “Every woman wants one.”
“Even you?”
She waved her hand, as if swatting at one of her loose curls. “Who cares about me? I’ll never become queen.”
“But would you risk childbirth?” I persisted.
“I suppose that if I ever find a man who can afford to keep me in necklaces and jewels,” she said lightly, “then yes. I will want to have children with him.” She saw my look and swore earnestly, “I’m not lying! When I dream at night, I never see just a man. It’s always a family.” She frowned. “Why? What do you dream about?”
I flushed.
“You dream about Pharaoh!” she exclaimed.
“But there are never any children! It’s always just the two of us.”
“Alone? In bed together?”
I knew my cheeks were red, but I nodded.
“And are you practicing what we’ve been talking about?” she asked swiftly.
“Aloli!”
“This is important!” she cried.
“Yes. Since Ramesses left with the army, I can’t stop thinking about him. In the baths, at the shrine, even here in the eastern sanctuary.”
“Then if you are dreaming of him every night,” she said eagerly, “he must be dreaming of you!”
I stared at her. “How can you possibly know that?” I demanded.
“Because you’ve caught his eye.” She smiled widely. “Trust me, Princess. And when he returns, he’ll be looking to make those dreams come to life.�
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I wondered if Ramesses’s dreams were like mine, and whether he could smell the scent of my hair the way I could smell the scent of his skin when I closed my eyes. Did he imagine us lying alone together, with only the warm summer’s air between us? Or tumbling on his bed between the soft linen sheets perfumed with lavender? I thought of everything Aloli had taught me, about where to kiss tenderly and places where my kisses could bring him to tears, and soon my dreams became more vivid. In the night, I lay in his imaginary arms, and in the day I worried about what was happening in the south, and whether he would ever come back to Thebes.
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?”
The Egyptian Royals Collection Page 55