The Egyptian Royals Collection (26 page)

“Preparing for what?”

“To hasten the Elder’s trip into the Afterlife.”

I sucked in my breath. “Then why did you allow Nefertiti to tell him?”

My father didn’t stop walking. “Because someone else would have.”

“The queen is giving birth!”

A servant found me in the palace gardens and her words tumbled out breathlessly. At once I was up, pressing through the crowd around Nefertiti’s chamber. Messengers and court ladies stood seven thick outside the pavilion, covered by sunshades, gossiping about what should happen if Nefertiti produced a son. Would Nebnefer be sent to live in another palace? What if it was a girl? How soon might the queen become pregnant again? I entered the birthing chamber, shutting the door and the gossip behind me.

“Where were you?” Nefertiti cried.

“In the gardens. I didn’t know it had begun.”

My mother shot me a look, as if I should have known.

“Bring me juice,” Nefertiti moaned, and I rushed to the nearest servant and told her to find it. “Quickly!” I turned back to my sister. “Where are the midwives?”

She gritted her teeth. “Preparing the birthing chair.”

Two midwives appeared. “It is ready, Your Highness.”

Nefertiti’s chair had been painted with the three goddesses of childbirth. Hathor, Nekhbet, and Tawaret held out their arms across the ebony throne. My sister’s body was straining to release the heavy burden in her womb. Her breath was growing labored.

The women eased her onto the padded seat with its hole in the middle for the child to make its descent into the world. My mother placed a cushion behind her and Nefertiti reached out her hand for mine, screaming loud enough to wake Anubis. The chattering outside the pavilion stopped and all anyone could hear were Nefertiti’s cries. My mother turned to me instead of the midwives. “Isn’t there anything else we can give her?”

“No,” I said honestly, and the midwives nodded.

The eldest woman shook her graying curls. “We’ve already given her
kheper-wer
.” She had inserted the mixture of
kheper-wer
plant, honey, and milk into my sister to induce birth. Now the old woman spread her palms. “It’s all we can do.”

Nefertiti groaned. Her brows were drawn and sweat coursed from her neck, causing her hair to stick to her face. I ordered one of the women to pull it back. Ipu and Merit carried a dish of hot water to the birthing chair, placing it between my sister’s legs so that the steam would help ease the delivery. Then Nefertiti tilted her head back and gripped the chair.

“He’s coming!” my mother cried. “The Prince of Egypt!”

“Push harder,” the old midwife encouraged.

Merit pressed a cool cloth to Nefertiti’s head and the midwife was beneath the chair at once, her hands reaching for the crowning head of the baby. My sister arched back with a cry of agony, then her little body shuddered and the child came in a rush of water.

“A princess!” the midwife cried, searching for any deformities. “A healthy princess.”

Nefertiti stared up from her chair. “A girl?” she whispered, gripping the arms. “A
girl?
” Her voice grew shrill.

“Yes!” The midwife held up the little bundle, and my mother and I exchanged glances.

“Someone go tell Vizier Ay,” my mother rejoiced. “And send a message to the king.”

Ipu rushed out to announce to the palace that the queen had survived. The bells would toll twice for a Princess of Egypt. The midwives bundled Nefertiti back into her bed, and her womb was packed with linen to stop the bleeding. “A princess,” she repeated. She had been so sure it would be a prince. She had been so certain.

“But she’s healthy,” I replied. “And she’s yours. Your own little link to eternity.”

“But, Mutny …” Her eyes grew distant. “It’s a girl.”

The midwife came over and presented my sister with the First Princess of Egypt. Nefertiti shifted the child in her arms. My mother’s eyes grew moist. She was a grandmother now. “She looks like you,” she told Nefertiti. “The same lips and nose.”

“And so much hair,” I added.

My mother caressed the soft, downy head. The child gave out a piercing wail, and the gray-haired midwife came rushing over.

“She must be fed,” the midwife announced. “Where is the milk nurse?”

A tall plump woman was let into the birthing chamber. The midwife squinted into the young woman’s round face. She was not much older than Nefertiti. Seventeen or eighteen, and she was hearty looking and strong.

“Are you the one Vizier Ay chose?”

“Yes,” the girl replied, and it was clear from her swelling breasts that she, too, was a new mother.

“Then come sit by the queen,” the midwife instructed.

A seat was arranged and the new mother exposed one of her breasts. We all watched the little princess suck greedily, and Nefertiti studied the miniature reflection of herself in the milk nurse’s arms.

The midwife smiled. “As beautiful as you, Your Majesty. Pharaoh must be pleased.”

“But not a son.” Nefertiti looked down at the princess she had birthed: the princess who was supposed to have been a prince.

“What will you name her?” I asked.

“Meritaten,” Nefertiti said at once.

My mother started. “Beloved of Aten?”

“Yes.” Nefertiti straightened and her face grew determined. “It will remind Amunhotep of what is important.” My mother frowned, and Nefertiti replied heatedly, “Loyalty.” Bells were tolling in the distance, twice so that Memphis would know a princess had been born. Nefertiti gripped the edge of her linens. “What is that?”

“They are the bells,” my mother began, but Nefertiti cut her off.

“Why are they only ringing twice?”

“Because the bells toll three times for a prince,” I said, and Nefertiti flew into a rage.

“Why?
Because a daughter is less important than a prince? The bells tolled three times for Nebnefer and the bells will toll three times for Princess Meritaten!”

My mother and I looked at each other, and Princess Meritaten began to wail.

Merit broke the silence. “Shall we take you to the baths, Your Highness?”

“No!
Someone must stop the bells,” Nefertiti ordered. “Bring Amunhotep!”

“First have your bath, then you can see Pharaoh and tell him,” my mother encouraged.

“Nefertiti, you can’t see anyone like this,” I pleaded. Her sheath was stained, and though her legs had been wiped clean and her hair brushed back, she was not a Queen of Egypt. She was a woman who had just given birth, reeking with the stench of blood. “Bathe quickly, then we’ll call Pharaoh and tell him.”

She did as I suggested, and there was silence in the birthing chamber as she was wrapped in fresh linen and taken away.

“She birthed a beautiful child,” my mother said finally. The milk nurse continued to feed the princess while the midwife went about removing the birthing chair. It would be another year before there might be a prince. Perhaps longer.

“Do you think he will listen to her?” I asked.

My mother pressed her lips together. “It’s never been done.”

“Neither has a queen living in a Pharaoh’s chamber.”

When Nefertiti returned, bathed and dressed in white, my mother nodded. “Much better,” she said, but Nefertiti was in no mood for flattery.

“Bring in Amunhotep.”

Merit opened the door to the birthing chamber and called for Pharaoh. He came at once, and Nefertiti assailed him as soon as he appeared.

“I want the bells to ring three times,” she commanded.

He rushed to her bedside, putting a hand on her cheek. “Are you well? Are you—”

“The bells must ring three times today!”

“But the birth …” He looked down at the sleeping Meritaten. “Look how beautiful—”

“I’m talking about the bells!” Nefertiti cried, waking the princess, and Amunhotep hesitated.

“But the bells only ring—”

“Is our princess any less important than a prince?”

Amunhotep looked down into the face of his daughter, real tears coming down his cheeks. She had inherited his dark eyes and curling hair. Then he looked at Nefertiti, her face set with conviction, and turned to Merit. “Instruct the men to ring the bells three times. The princess …” He glanced at Nefertiti.

“Meritaten has been born,” Nefertiti said, and Amunhotep seated himself at her side.

“Meritaten,” he repeated, looking into his daughter’s face. “Beloved of Aten.”

Nefertiti raised her chin proudly. “Yes. After the great god of Egypt.”

“A princess.” Amunhotep picked up the wailing infant from the milk nurse’s arms and held her to his chest.

My father came in and looked poignantly at my mother. “A girl,” he said quietly.

“But still an heir,” my mother whispered.

My father stayed long enough to hold his granddaughter, the First royal Princess of Egypt, then left to address a message to the kings of foreign nations.

I studied Nefertiti in her bed. She looked drawn and pale, putting on a cheerful show for Amunhotep when she should have been sleeping. “Do you think she looks well?” I asked my mother.

“Of course not. She’s just given birth.”

Then Merit appeared at Nefertiti’s side, armed with her great ivory box of cosmetics. Dutifully, my sister sat up, though if I had been her I would have ordered everyone out of my chamber. I looked down at Princess Meritaten, pressed firmly against my sister’s breast, and I felt a pain in my heart that was probably envy. Nefertiti had a husband, a kingdom, a family. I was fifteen, and what did I have?

The Birth Feast was held at the end of Pachons. Beautifully crafted vessels of precious metals were sent from foreign kingdoms and arranged on a table that spread from one end of the Great Hall to the other. There were statues of sculpted gold and ebony chests. The king of Mitanni sent a pack of hounds, while silver and ivory bracelets arrived from noble families in Thebes.

In Amunhotep’s chamber, Nefertiti asked me which gown she should wear to the feast. “The open front, or something that cuts off at the neck?”

I studied her hennaed breasts, which were large and flattering. Her stomach was so small that it was impossible to think she had given birth only fourteen days ago. “The open front,” I said.