The Egyptian Royals Collection (34 page)

“Mutnodjmet?”

I blinked against the morning light and frowned. “Nakhtmin?”

“No, Mutnodjmet.”

It was my father. I pushed myself up on my elbows and looked around. Reed mats were rolled up above the windows, letting in the morning sun, and the tiled floors gleamed red and blue. Everything was large. The cross-legged stools of animal hide, the jeweled caskets and wig boxes, the onyx lamps with turquoise embedded into their columns. But I was confused. “Where is Nakhtmin?”

My mother hesitated. She sat down on the corner of my bed, exchanging looks with my father. “You’ve been very sick,” she said at last. “You don’t remember the feast, my love?”

And then it came back to me. Nakhtmin’s death sentence, Nefertiti’s selfishness, my sickness outside the palace. My breath came faster. “What happened? Why am I sick?”

My father took a seat next to me and placed his large hand over mine.

My mother whispered, “Mutnodjmet, you’ve lost the child.”

I was too horrified to speak. I had lost Nakhtmin’s baby. I had lost the only thing that bound me to him, the piece of him I was to keep with me forever.

My mother pushed my hair away from my face. “Many women lose their first child,” she comforted me. “You are young. There will be others. We must be thankful the gods spared you.” Her eyes welled. “We thought you were gone. We thought you were—”

I shook my head. “No, this isn’t happening,” I said, pushing away the covers. “Where is Nefertiti?” I demanded.

My father replied solemnly, “Praying for you.”

“In
Aten’s
temple?” I cried.

“Mutnodjmet, she is your sister,” he said.

“She is a jealous, selfish queen,
not a sister!
”

My mother recoiled and my father sat back.

“She sent the general away!” I cried.

“That was Akhenaten’s choice.”

But I wouldn’t let my father defend her. Not this time. “And she allowed it,” I accused. “One word from Nefertiti and Akhenaten would have overlooked anything we’d done. We could have shamed Amun in the streets, and if Nefertiti had wanted it, he would have let it happen. She’s the only one he listens to. She’s the only one who can control him. Your sister saw it, you saw it. And she allowed Nakhtmin to be sent away. She allowed it!” I shouted. My mother put a placating hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off. “Is he dead?” I demanded.

My father stood up.

“Is he dead?” I said again.

“He is a strong soldier, Mutnodjmet. The guards will have brought him north to the Hittite lines and left him there. He will know what to do.”

I closed my eyes, imagining Nakhtmin thrown to the Hittites like meat to wild dogs. I felt the tears, warm and bitter, coursing down my cheeks, and my father’s placating arm around my shoulder. “You have suffered great loss,” he said softly.

“He will never return. And Nefertiti did
nothing
.” My grief overcame me and the tightness in my stomach came back again.
“Nothing!”
I shrieked.

My mother held me, rocking me back and forth in her arms. “Shh, there was nothing she could do,” she swore.

But that was a lie.

My father went to my bed table and held up a most exquisite chest, inlaid in lapis and pearl. “She’s been here every day. She wanted you to have this for your herbs.”

I studied the chest. It looked like something Nefertiti would have chosen. Elaborate and costly. “She thinks she will buy me off with a box?”

There was the sound of shuffled feet outside my chamber, then a servant swung open the door. “The queen is coming!”

But I would never forgive her.

She swept into my bedchamber, and the only thing I could see was the round belly beneath her linen. When she saw that I was awake, she stopped, then blinked quickly. “Mutny?” She had come with a turquoise ankh, probably blessed in the Temple of Aten. “Mutny?” She ran to me, embracing me in her tiny arms, and I could feel her tears on my cheeks. My sister, who never cried.

I didn’t move, and she leaned back to see my face.

“Mutny, say something!” she pleaded.

“I curse the day the gods decided to make me your sister.”

Her hands began to tremble. “Take it back.”

I watched her and said nothing.

“Take it back!” she cried, but I turned away from her.

My parents looked at one another. Then my father said softly, “Go, Nefertiti. Give her some time.”

My sister’s jaw dropped. She turned to my mother, and when no defense came, she spun away and shut the door in her wake.

I looked up at my parents. “I want to be alone.”

My mother hesitated. “But you’ve been so sick,” she protested.

“Ipu’s here. She will take care of me. For now, I want to be alone.”

My mother glanced at my father and they left. I turned to face Ipu, who hovered over me, unsure what to do. “Will you bring me my box for herbs?” I asked her. “The
old
one,” I said. “I want my chamomile.”

She found the box for me and I lifted the heavy lid. I froze. “Ipu, has anyone been in this box?” I asked quickly.

She frowned. “No, my lady.”

“Are you sure?” I sifted through the packages again, but the acacia was gone. The linen-wrapped seeds of acacia were gone! “Ipu.” I struggled to stand up. “Ipu, who could have been in here?”

“What do you mean?”

“The acacia!”

Ipu glanced at the box, then covered her mouth. Her eyes wandered to my midriff, understanding. I grabbed the box and threw open the double doors to my chamber. My long hair swayed wild and loose behind me, my linen tunic was unbelted. “Where is Nefertiti?” I cried. Some of the servants backed away. Others whispered, “In the Great Hall, my lady, dining with the viziers.”

I clenched the box tighter, in a rage so dark that I couldn’t even see the people in the hall when I threw open its doors, startling the guards.

“Nefertiti!” I shouted. The chatter in the room went silent. The musicians below the dais stopped playing and Thutmose’s mouth fell slightly open. Nefertiti’s ladies gasped.

I held up the box so that everyone in the hall could see. “Who stole my acacia?” I advanced on the dais, looking at my sister. Panahesi made a noise in his throat and my father stood up. “Someone stole the acacia seeds and poisoned me with them to rid me of my child. Was it you?”

Nefertiti had gone white as alabaster. She looked at Akhenaten, her eyes wide, and I turned my attention to Pharaoh. “You?” I shrieked. “Did you do this to me?”

Akhenaten shifted uncomfortably.

My father took me by the arm.
“Mutnodjmet.”

“I want to know who did this to me!” My voice echoed in the hall, and even Kiya and her ladies went silent. If it could happen to me, it could happen to any of them. Who were their enemies? Who were mine?

“Let’s go,” my father said.

I let myself be led out, but at the doors to the Great Hall I turned. “I will never forgive this,” I swore, and Nefertiti knew it was meant for her. “I will never forgive this so long as the sun still sets on Amarna!” I screamed.

My sister sat back in her chair, looking as though someone had robbed her of her kingdom.

Chapter Seventeen

AMARNA

twenty-eighth of Payni

“I’M AFRAID SHE
will stay here tending her herb garden for the rest of her life. Without a husband, without children …”

I could hear my body servant’s words from the garden. Three months ago, on the day I’d discovered that someone had poisoned me to kill Nakhtmin’s child, I had found this villa myself, newly built and sitting empty in the golden terraces overlooking the city. No family had purchased it yet from the palace, so I moved into its rooms and claimed the villa as my own. No one would dare to suggest I be removed.

It had taken three months of seeding and planting, but now I reached down to feel the leaves of a young sycamore, warm and soft. My body servant’s voice grew closer to the garden. “She’s outside, where she always is,” she said, sounding worried. “Tending to her herbs so she can sell them to the women.”

I felt her presence behind me like a pillar of stone. I didn’t need to hear her voice to know who it was. Besides, I could smell her scent of lily and cardamom.

“Mutnodjmet?”

I turned and shaded my eyes. I never wore a wig since leaving the palace. My hair grew long and wild. In the sun, Ipu said my eyes were like emeralds; hard and unyielding. “Your Majesty.” I made a very deep bow.

Queen Tiye blinked in surprise. “You have changed.”

I waited for her to tell me how.

“You seem taller, darker, I think.”

“Yes. I spend more time in the sun where I belong.” I put down my spade and she studied the gardens while we walked.

“It’s very impressive here.” She noticed the date palms and blooming wisteria.

I smiled. “Thank you.”

We entered the loggia and my aunt took a seat. I had changed, but she was still the same: small and shrewd, her mouth pinched, her blue eyes cunning. I sat across from her on a small feather pillow. She had arrived in Amarna with my father, leaving behind the city of Thebes at his request, working with him in the Per Medjat until all hours of the morning, studying scrolls, writing letters, negotiating alliances.

Ipu placed hot tea between us and the queen took it in her hands. “I have not come to try to bring you back,” she said.

“I know. You are too judicious for that. You understand that I am done with the palace. With Nefertiti and her statues and her endless scheming.”

Queen Tiye smiled thinly. “I always thought I chose the wrong sister.”

I blinked in surprise that anyone would want me over Nefertiti. Then I shook my head firmly. “No. I would never have wanted to be queen.”

“Which is why you would have made such a fine one.” She put down her cup. “But tell me, Mutnodjmet, what would you suggest for an old woman whose joints are aching her?”

I glanced at her questioningly. “You have come for my herbs?”

“As you said, I’ve not come to convince you to come back. I am far too judicious. Besides, why would you leave this villa?” She looked around her, at the wandering vines and high painted columns. “It’s a peaceful sanctuary, away from the city and from my son’s foolish politics.” She tilted her head so that the jewels around her neck, heavy lapis and gold, clinked musically. Then she leaned forward intimately. “So tell me, Mutnodjmet, what do I use?”

“But your court physicians—”

“Are not as well versed in herbal knowledge as you.” She looked out the open doors to my cultivated garden, row upon row of senna and chrysanthemums, their leaves flashing green and yellow in the sun. There was juniper for headaches, wormwood for cough. For women who wanted it desperately, I still ground acacia. Even knowing that my herbs had killed my own child, I wouldn’t deny them. “The women say you’ve become quite a healer. They call you Sekem-Miw,” she said, meaning powerful cat, and at once I thought of Nakhtmin and my eyes became clouded. My aunt studied me with a critical expression, then reached out and patted my hand. “Come. Show me the herbs.”

Outside, the warm sun dappled the garden. The dew on the plants would dry as the day grew warmer, and I inhaled the heady scent of the earth. I bent down and plucked a green unripe berry from the juniper plant.

“The juniper would be good.” I handed her the berry. “I can make you a tea, but you would have to have it twice a day.”

She crushed the berry between her forefinger and thumb, then brought her fingers to her nose. “It smells of letters from Mitanni,” she mused aloud.

I looked at her in the light, forty years old and still making alliances with foreign nations, conspiring with my father on how best to run a kingdom.

“Why do you still do it?” I asked, and she knew at once what I meant.

“Because it’s Egypt.” The sun reflected in her bright auburn eyes and the gold around her wrists. “I was the spiritual and physical leader of this land once. And what has changed? So I have a foolish son who is sitting on the throne. They are still my gods, my people. Of course, had Tuthmosis been Pharaoh …”

She sighed and I asked quietly, “What was he like?”

My aunt looked down at her rings. “Intelligent. Patient. A fierce hunter.” She shook her head at a regret that only she knew. “Tuthmosis was a soldier and a priest of Amun.”

“Both things that Akhenaten can’t abide.”

“When your sister married him, I wondered if she was too fragile.” My aunt laughed sharply. “Who knew that Nefertiti, little Nefertiti, would be so …” She searched for the word, her gaze falling across the city below us, a white pearl against the sand.

“Passionate,” I responded.

My aunt nodded ruefully. “It wasn’t what I planned.”

“Nor I.” My lip trembled and when my aunt saw the tears she took my hand. “Ipu thinks you are lonely.”

“I have my herbs. And my mother comes in the mornings with bread. Sesame bread and good
shedeh
from the palace.”

The queen nodded slowly. “And your father?”

“He comes, too, and we talk about news.”

She arched her brows. “And what has he told you recently?”

“That Qatna has sent pleas for help to defend themselves against the Hittites,” I said.

Tiye’s face grew stern. “Qatna has been our vassal for a hundred years. To lose her now would tell the Hittite kingdom we are not willing to fight. It is the second of our vassal states to ask for help. I write letters of peace, and behind my back my son sends requests for more colored glass. They want soldiers”—her voice rose—“and he asks for glass! When our allies have fallen and there is no buffer between us and the Hittites, what then?”

“Then Egypt will be invaded.”

Tiye closed her eyes. “At least we have our army in Kadesh.”

I was horrified. “Of one hundred men!”

“Yes, but the Hittites don’t know that. I would not underestimate the power of Horemheb or Nakhtmin.”

I refused to think that Nakhtmin could return. I sat in the garden under the sunshade and thought,
If he returns, they will have been victorious in Kadesh, and that will never happen
. I dropped a chamomile leaf into my morning tea. Even after so many months, I never slept well, and when I thought of Nakhtmin, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“My lady!” Ipu appeared on the terrace. “A gift has arrived from the palace.”

“Then send it back like the others,” I said. I would not be bought off. We weren’t little girls anymore; she couldn’t break my favorite toy and give me one of hers later. She still thought that this was nothing, that Nakhtmin was just one man and that there would be others. But I wasn’t like her. I couldn’t kiss Ranofer one day and leave him the next.

But Ipu was still watching me. “This may be something you’d like to keep.”

I scowled, but I put down my tea and went into the house. There was a basket on the table. “Great Osiris, what’s in it?” I exclaimed. “It’s moving.”

Ipu grinned. “Look.”

At Ipu’s prompting, I lifted the lid. Crouching inside, tiny and scared, was a small spotted kitten, a breed only the wealthiest nobles in Egypt could afford. “A
miw?
” The little creature looked up at me, crying for its mother, and against my better judgment I took her out. She was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, and when I brought her to my chest she began to purr.

“You see?” Ipu said, proud of herself.

I put the kitten down. “We’re not keeping her.”

“It’s a
him
. And why not?”

“Because it’s a gift from my sister, and she thinks that a kitten can replace a child.”

Ipu lifted her palms. “But you’re lonely.”

“I’m not lonely. Every day I have clients. And my parents.” I put the kitten back into the basket, placing the lid carefully on top. Its little voice echoed through the weaving and Ipu stared at me coldly.

“Don’t look at me that way. I’m not killing it. Only sending it back.”

She was silent. The only sound was the kitten’s pitiful mew.

I rolled my eyes. “All right. But
you
can take care of it.”

When my father arrived with my mother in tow, their serving lady had a basket filled with luxuries from the palace I didn’t need. He frowned at the sight of Ipu crouched by the divan, dangling a string and calling softly to something underneath.

“What is she doing?” he asked.

The serving woman put the basket on the table, and the three of us turned to look. There was the flash of a gray paw, then a startled scream as the string disappeared. “The naughty creature won’t come out!” Ipu cried.

“What is it?” My mother peered closer.

“Nefertiti sent me a kitten,” I said flatly. My father studied my expression. “I only took it because Ipu wanted it,” I said. The kitten scampered down the hall.

My mother grinned. “Have you named her?”

“Him. His name is Bastet.”

“The patron of felines,” my mother said approvingly.

My father looked at me in surprise.

“It was Ipu’s idea.”

My mother began unpacking various linens from the basket, and my father and I strolled out into the garden.

“I heard my sister came to visit you yesterday.”

“She thinks there is a chance of success in Kadesh,” I told him, waiting for his response.

He put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s possible, Mutnodjmet. But it’s nothing I would wait for. He is gone. We have all lost loved ones to Osiris.”

I fought back tears. “But not like this!”

“Nefertiti didn’t know,” my father explained. “She is beside herself. The child is due at the end of Thoth, and the physicians say if she doesn’t get rest and begin to eat she will lose it.”

Good. Let her lose it
, I thought.
Let her know what it’s like to wake up robbed of everything she holds dear
. Immediately, however, guilt overwhelmed me. “I hope she finds peace.” I bowed my head. “But even if she didn’t know about the herbs, she allowed Nakhtmin to be taken.”

My father said nothing for a while. Then he warned, “She will want you at the birth.”

I bit my tongue. My father knew the irony of what he was asking. “When the time comes,” I whispered.