The Egyptian Royals Collection (103 page)

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.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
E
IGHT

F
OR THE
K
ING
I
S
P
TAH
-S
OUTH-OF-
H
IS-
W
ALL

                  
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.

“Is there anything you would change?” Ramesses asked.

“No.” I smiled triumphantly. “I would seal this treaty and dispatch it before sunset.”

“Bring me the wax,” Ramesses commanded. A tablet with heated wax was brought, and when Ramesses was finished, I took my ring and pressed it deep enough to make an impression. Two sphinxes with the ankh of life appeared, the symbol that had belonged to my
akhu
since the scrolls of Egypt had first recorded history. My family would live on; even when the sands buried Amarna and my mother’s face disappeared from the mortuary temple in Thebes, the cartouche that belonged to our family would endure.

“Our kingdoms are now at peace!” Ramesses declared.

“And the blessing of the treaty?” Paser asked. “Shall we consider the replacement for High Priestess now?”

Asha spoke up from the table beneath the dais. “I would like to suggest Aloli of Thebes,” he offered.

Ramesses looked to me. “I think she would make a fine High Priestess. But the decision to release her must be Woserit’s.”

Woserit was summoned, and when she arrived, I again searched her face for any trace of sadness. Her sister was condemned to be forgotten by the gods for eternity. But she smiled at Paser as she approached the dais. When Ramesses asked her about Aloli, she looked to Asha.

“Aloli would make an excellent replacement,” she pronounced. “If she would like, she may start with morning prayers.”

Asha settled back in his chair, red-faced from his brow to his neck. “And the High Priest of Amun?” Ramesses asked his viziers. “By the first of next month, there must be another High Priest. I have waited two years to crown my queen, and I will wait no longer.”

I CAN
remember very little of my coronation in that month of Thoth. For all the anticipation, when the moment came, I felt a strange calm settle over my chamber. Although Merit was rushing from chest to chest, and servants were tearing through boxes to find my best leather sandals and lotus perfume, I sat in front of the polished bronze mirror and thought of the events that had brought me to this day. My bitterest enemies in the palace were gone, and though they say that snakes can’t kill each other with their poison, I saw it happen.

When Rahotep was executed and the news was brought into the Great Hall, the court looked to Iset, but she didn’t cry. Perhaps the shock of her father’s death weighed equally against the murder of Henuttawy. But aside from these thoughts, I remember very little, and in my memory the day seems like an artist’s palette, with colors and scents running into each other.

I know that Merit dressed me in Pi-Ramesses’s finest linen, and that the Dowager Queen gifted me her collar of lapis beads and polished gold. I can recall Aloli coming into my chamber with Woserit, and that both of them had never looked so happy or talked so much. Aloli thanked me for what I had done for her in the Audience Chamber. I told her that it was Asha who had first spoken her name.

“I think he is very much in love,” I said. “Perhaps like someone else I know.”

We both looked to Woserit, who bowed her head like a young bride.

“Will you marry after Nefertari’s coronation?” Aloli pressed.

“Yes.” Woserit blushed. “I believe we will.”

“But as High Priestess—”

Woserit nodded at me. “I’ll have to give up my chambers in the temple and move into the palace. Someone else will perform the morning rites. Then someday, if there are ever any children, perhaps I will have to leave altogether. But … but not yet.”

“And Henuttawy?” I whispered. “Do you know what will be done—”

“She is to receive a burial without recognition. But I will place an amulet in her mouth,” she promised. “So the gods will know who she is.”

I nodded quietly, and I understood that even though they had never been friends in life, they had still been sisters, and Woserit would do what was right.

In the Temple of Amun in Avaris, the new High Priest, Nebwenenef, poured the sacred oil over my wig. I closed my eyes, knowing that somewhere below the dais Iset was watching. I imagined her face holding the same bitter expression Henuttawy used to wear. If she had sent Rahotep after Henuttawy, I didn’t want to know. Then came the words. “Princess Nefertari, daughter of General Nakhtmin and Queen Mutnodjmet, granddaughter of Pharaoh Ay and his wife, Queen Tey, in the name of Amun I crown you Queen.”

There was a deafening sound of cheers from all around me. Amunher and Prehir were bouncing and clapping as well, caught up in the jubilation of the crowd. My wig was removed and the vulture crown of queenship placed on my head. The wings of the vulture swept from the diadem over my hair. I would never wear the
seshed
circlet of a princess again. On the steps of the altar, Ramesses took my hand.

“You are queen,” he said, marveling at the beauty of the vulture headdress that framed my face in lapis and gold. “The Queen of Egypt!”

A thousand courtiers celebrated behind us, and when I looked beyond the Temple of Amun, the faces of the people were filled with joy. The morning had dawned cloudless and brilliant, and the sound of sistrums filled the temple and echoed far beyond the banks of the River Nile. Children held palm branches above their heads, and the women who had come in their finest wigs laughed beneath their white linen sunshades. For as far as the eye could see, there was smiling and celebration, and the scent of roasted duck with barley beer and wine filled the streets. Thousands of people pressed into the roads, wanting to share in the joy of the day. I was their queen. Not the Heretic Queen, but a Warrior Queen, beloved of Ramesses the Great.

“So what will you do first?” Ramesses asked me.

I thought of the Ne’arin who had come to Egypt’s rescue in Kadesh, and when I turned to Ramesses, he knew my request before I said the words.

THAT EVENING
, Ramesses announced to the Great Hall that I had expelled the heretics from Egypt. The people rejoiced as if the army had just taken back Kadesh. But across from me, Iset’s face grew pale. “Will every Habiru be leaving?” she asked desperately.

“Only the ones who want to go,” I replied in a low voice.

Iset excused herself early, and though I knew where she was going, I kept my silence.

The next morning, Merit reported that a painter named Ashai would be keeping his family in Avaris while the Habiru journeyed north.