The Egyptian Royals Collection (16 page)

“You should do it,” Ipu encouraged me. “I could fetch any herbs for you at the quay. You might not have a garden, but if you told me what you needed …”

I thought a moment. It wouldn’t just be acacia and raspberry. The women had asked for other herbs, too. Safflower oil for muscle pain and healthy hair, fig and willow for toothache, myrrh for healing. I could harvest some of those from my potted plants, but Ipu would have to find me the rest. “All right,” I said hesitantly.

“And will you charge for them?”

“Ipu!” I gasped.

But she continued to stare at me. “The women in Pharaoh’s harem charge for the linen that they weave. And your father does not work for free simply because he works for the royal family.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I might charge.”

She smiled, pulling out my chair. “I will be back with your food, my lady.”

My parents were in attendance at the royal table. Nefertiti would eat with Amunhotep at the top of the dais from now on, overseeing the entire hall. And tonight, because there was no arranged seating, the architect, Maya, sat with us beneath the Horus thrones. He and his wife looked cut from the same cloth, both tall Egyptians with watchful eyes.

“Pharaoh wishes to begin building a temple to Aten,” Maya said warningly, and my father exhaled.

“He has said as much to you?”

The architect looked nervously over his shoulder. Nefertiti and Amunhotep regarded the proceedings with apathy, more interested in their talk of temples and taxes, and Maya lowered his voice. “Yes. And in two days’ time, the army begins collecting taxes from the temples of Amun.”

“The priests will not gladly hand over what has been theirs for centuries,” my father said vehemently.

“Then Pharaoh will kill them,” Maya replied.

“He has ordered this?”

The greatest architect in Egypt nodded solemnly.

My father stood up, pushing his chair from the table. “The Elder must be warned.” He swept from the Audience Chamber with my mother on his heels, and for the first time the royal couple on the dais noticed something outside of themselves. Nefertiti beckoned me toward the thrones with her finger.

“Where has Father gone?” she demanded.

“He has heard that you intend on building soon,” I said carefully. “He has gone to make preparations to clear the way.”

Amunhotep settled back into his throne. “I have chosen correctly in your father,” he said to Nefertiti. “Once every seven days,” he decided, “we will hold court in the Audience Chamber. The rest of the time we shall let Ay deal with foreign emissaries and petitioners.”

My sister glanced approvingly at me.

Chapter Ten

MEMPHIS

twenty-fifth of Pachons

ON MY FIRST
morning in Memphis, my father and Nefertiti slipped into my room and shut the door. Ipu, who slept across the hall as both my servant and my guard, remained sleeping soundly.

I scrambled from beneath my covers. “What’s happening?”

“From now on, this is where we meet,” my father said. Nefertiti took a seat on my bed and I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

“Why here?”

“Because Panahesi is in the same courtyard as Father, and if I make a habit of visiting, he will make a habit of sending spies.”

I looked around the room. “Where’s Mother?”

My father sat himself down. “At the baths.”

Apparently, she wasn’t to be included in our meetings. Just as well. She would only spend nights sitting up worrying.

“Tomorrow, Amunhotep begins collecting taxes from the temples,” my father said, “and we will need a plan if it all goes wrong.”

I sat forward. “If what goes wrong?”

“If Horemheb turns on Pharaoh and the priests revolt,” my sister said shortly.

I felt fear rising in my throat. “But why would that happen?”

Nefertiti ignored me.

“If it goes wrong tomorrow,” my father decided, “everyone in this family will meet behind the Temple of Amun. Take chariots from the north of the palace, where the gates are unguarded, and ride them to the docks. If the army turns, they will storm the palace from the south. At the water steps, a ship will be ready to set sail. If Pharaoh has been killed, we will return to Thebes.”

Nefertiti’s gaze flew to the door, to be sure no one was listening. “And if he hasn’t?” she asked, her voice dropping.

“Then we all go by ship.”

“And what if he won’t come?”

“Then you must leave without him.” My father’s voice was stern. “Because he will be marked and will not live to see the night.”

I shivered, and even Nefertiti seemed disturbed. “
If
it goes wrong,” she repeated. “There is no indication that it will.”

“We still prepare. Let Amunhotep make his rash decisions, but he will not take this family with him.” My father stood, but Nefertiti didn’t move. “You both understand what to do?” He looked at us and we nodded. “I’ll be in the Per Medjat.” He opened the door and disappeared into the Hall of Books.

Nefertiti looked at me in the glow of the rising sun. “Amunhotep’s reign will be decided tomorrow,” she said. “He has promised Horemheb all manner of things. War with the Hittites. New chariots, greater shields.”

“Will he give them to him?”

Nefertiti shrugged. “Once he has collected the taxes, what does it matter?”

“I would not want to make an enemy of Horemheb.”

“Yes.” Nefertiti nodded slowly. “And I’m not foolish enough to think we are invincible. But Tuthmosis would never have had the courage to challenge the priests. Had I married Tuthmosis, we would still be in Thebes, waiting for the Elder to die. Amunhotep sees a new Egypt, a greater Egypt.”

“What is wrong with the Egypt of now?”

“Look around! If the Hittites threatened our kingdom, who would have the money to send us to war?”

“The priests. But if a Pharaoh has all the power,” I countered, “who will tell him which wars should be waged? What if he wants to fight a useless war? There will be no priests to stop him.”

“What war has ever been useless?” my sister asked. “All were for the greatness of Egypt.”

We met in the Audience Chamber the following day at noon. Kiya was there, her round belly showing beneath her sheath. A servant helped her into a chair opposite mine on the first step below the throne, and I could see she had less than five months to wait before the child’s birth. Her wig was new and she had hennaed her hands and heavy breasts. I noticed Amunhotep staring at them and narrowed my eyes, thinking he should only be looking at my sister.

Panahesi and my father seated themselves on the second tier, while minor officials sat in a small circle around the Audience Chamber. Maya, the architect, was at the center of court. I hadn’t spoken with him, but I’d heard that he was clever. There was nothing he couldn’t do, my father once said. When the Elder had wanted a lake in the middle of the desert, he’d done it. When he’d wanted statues of himself larger than any that had been carved, Maya had found a way. Now he would build a Temple to Aten, a god no one had heard of, a protector of Egypt only Amunhotep understood.

“Are you ready?” Amunhotep demanded from his throne.

Maya shifted the papyrus and reed pen in his hand. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“You will take down everything,” Amunhotep said, and the architect nodded. “I want the entrance to the temple flanked by a row of ram-headed sphinxes.”

The architect nodded and wrote it down.

“There should be an open-air court flanked by lotus columns.”

“And ponds stocked with fish,” Nefertiti added. My father scowled, but Nefertiti ignored him. “And a garden. With a lake. Like the one you made for Queen Tiye.”

“Only greater,” Amunhotep pressed, and the builder hesitated.

“If this temple is going to be near the current Temple of Amun,” Maya paused, “there may be no room for a lake.”

“Then we will tear down the Temple of Amun to create space!” Amunhotep vowed.

The court burst into a frenzy of whispering. I looked at my mother, whose face was ashen, and she stole a glance at Nefertiti, who avoided her gaze. How could he tear down the Temple of Amun? Where would the god rest? Where would the people worship?

Maya cleared his throat. “To tear down the temple could take years,” he warned.

“Then the lake can come last. But there will be towering stone pylons and heavy columns. And murals at every entrance.”

“Depicting our lives in Memphis,” Nefertiti envisioned. “The fan bearers and bodyguards, the viziers and scribes, the sandal bearers, the parasol bearers, the servants who walk the halls, and us.”

“On every column, the Pharaoh and Queen of Egypt.” Amunhotep reached out for Nefertiti’s hand, forgetting his pregnant wife beneath him, and the two of them were carried away by a vision that only they could see.

Maya put down the reed pen and looked up at the dais. “Is that all, Your Highness?”

“For now.” Amunhotep struck his scepter of reign on the floor. “Bring in the general.”

The doors swept open and General Horemheb was shown into the Audience Chamber. As the architect left and the general entered, I detected a stiffening of backs among Egypt’s viziers.
What do they fear from him?
I wondered.

“Has everything been prepared?” Amunhotep demanded.

“The soldiers are ready,” Horemheb replied. “They wait on your orders.”
And expect to be repaid in kind
. I could see this addendum on Horemheb’s face, that the soldiers expected war with the Hittites to stop them from encroaching on our foreign territories.

“Then give them my orders and go.” Horemheb moved toward the doors, but Amunhotep sat forward on his throne, stopping him before he reached the entrance. “You will
not
disappoint me, General.”

The entire court craned their necks and Horemheb turned.

“I never disappoint, Your Highness. I am a man of my word. As I know you shall be.”

When the heavy metal doors swung shut, Amunhotep stormed from his throne, startling the viziers. “This meeting is over!” The officials in the Audience Chamber hesitated. “Out!” he shouted, and the men scrambled to their feet. “Ay and Panahesi will stay behind.”

I stood up to go, too, but Nefertiti held her hand in the air for me to stay. The Audience Chamber cleared and I resumed my seat. Kiya, too, remained where she was. Below us, Amunhotep paced.

“This general cannot be trusted,” he determined. “He isn’t loyal to me.”

“You haven’t tested him yet,” my father said swiftly.

“He is loyal only to his men in the army!”

Panahesi nodded. “I agree, Your Highness,” and with this concurrence Amunhotep made up his mind.

“I will not send him to war. I will not send him north to fight the Hittites so he can come back with chariots full of weapons and gold that he can use to start a rebellion!”

“A wise decision,” Panahesi said at once.

“Panahesi, I am sending you to supervise the temples,” Amunhotep said. “You will go with Horemheb to see that
nothing
is stolen.
Everything
the army collects comes back to me. For the glory of Aten.” He turned to my father. “Ay, you shall deal with the foreign ambassadors. Whatever matters come before the throne of Horus will be handled by you. I trust you above all other men.” His black eyes held my father in their grip, and my father bowed respectfully.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

On our third night in Memphis, the dinner in the Great Hall was muted. Pharaoh was ill-tempered and suspicious of everyone. No one dared mention General Horemheb’s name, and the viziers whispered quietly among themselves.

“Have you seen the gardens yet?” my mother asked, reaching down and feeding a morsel of duck to one of the palace cats, making the servants envious. She was the only one who was merry at our table. She had been exploring the markets while Amunhotep was vowing to turn his back on the general as soon as Horemheb had raided the temples of Amun.

I shook my head. “No. I’ve been unpacking.” I sighed.

“Then we shall go after dinner,” she said cheerfully.

When the Great Hall cleared, we passed through the crowded courtyards and wandered into the quiet of the evening. From the topmost steps of the palace leading down into the gardens, I could see the windblown dunes of Memphis. The sand shifted in the waning light and dust billowed up in a shimmering haze. The sun was setting, but it was still warm, and that night the sky above was clear. I reached up and plucked a leaf from a tree. “Myrrh.” I tore the leaf apart and rubbed its juices on my fingers, then held them up for my mother to smell. She craned her neck back.

“Awful.”

“Not when you’re in pain.”

She looked at me in the fading light. “Perhaps you and I should have stayed in Akhmim,” she said suddenly. “You miss your gardens. You were always so talented with herbs.”