The Egyptian Royals Collection (81 page)

I put my hand on Ramesses’s arm. “It’s true.” Everyone turned in shock, and Woserit watched me with a strange expression. But I thought of the hatred I had seen in the streets. Even if Henuttawy had paid the women to chant, they had been angry enough to risk their lives by raising their voices against a Pharaoh. “Remember what happened under Akhenaten,” I said.

“Wait to choose a queen,” Rahotep suggested. “There is no harm in waiting.”

“For how long?” Ramesses demanded.

Asha’s father, General Anhuri, had been listening, and now he stepped forward. “If Pharaoh doesn’t choose a Chief Wife, how will the thrones be arranged on the dais? Who will the petitioners see?”

“There can be two thrones flanking Pharaoh,” Rahotep said. The other viziers immediately raised their voices in displeasure.

“
Two
thrones on each side of Pharaoh?” Woserit exclaimed. “And they will both wear the diadem of a princess? Neither will be queen?”

“The people were outraged to see me at Ramesses’s side,” I said, feeling pained. I couldn’t meet Woserit’s gaze.

“Give your decision time,” Henuttawy suggested, taking the advantage. “Place three thrones on the dais. In the Audience Chamber, let the petitioners be divided between the two princesses.”

“Then who will be Pharaoh’s heirs?” Woserit asked. “The children of Iset or Nefertari?”

“Nefertari, of course.” Ramesses’s voice was adamant.

“
If
the people accept her,” Henuttawy said.

Ramesses looked to me. I made no motion to protest, and he said quietly, “We will wait. But this court knows who will make the better queen for Egypt.”

“YOU DID
what was right,” Merit said quietly.

I watched while the servants filled my bath with hot water. When the women left, I crouched in the tub, putting my arms around my knees. “You should have seen their faces,” I whispered.

“I did, my lady. It was not so terrible as you think.”

“But from the front of the procession,” I told her, and my eyes welled with tears, “their faces were so full of hate.”

There was a brief knock on the door. It was the quiet tap of a servant, and I answered carelessly, “Come in.” Neither of us turned. “You know as well as I do that the only reason I am in Paser’s favor is because of Woserit.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

Merit and I both spun, and Woserit emerged from the darkness of the doorway. “Even if Paser wasn’t in love with me, I don’t believe he’d want to see a fool like Iset in the Audience Chamber.” Woserit laughed at the shock apparent on Merit’s face. “It was never a secret.”

I stood from my bath, wrapping myself in a long linen robe before joining Woserit at the brazier.

“Nefertari asked why I was willing to help her become Chief Wife.” Woserit seated herself on the largest chair. “I told her that I was doing it for myself as much as for her. Not only do I fear a city where Henuttawy is as wealthy as she wishes to be, I am also afraid of what my sister might do out of jealousy.”

“But what can she have to be jealous of?” Merit asked.

“That I was the first to be asked for in marriage.”

I took a seat and named the man to whom she was referring. “Vizier Paser?”

Woserit nodded. “Paser asked my father if we could marry. We were seventeen and had studied together in the edduba. He was being groomed for the job of vizier. But when Henuttawy heard he wanted to marry me, she flew into a rage. There were a hundred men at her door, but she couldn’t stand the thought that there was one at mine. She went to our father and begged him not to shame her by letting me marry before she did. He asked Henuttawy if there was someone she wanted to marry. She said there was. Paser.”

“She could have asked for anyone!” I cried. “Even the prince of a foreign nation.”

“Egypt never gives away her princesses,” Merit corrected me.

“Then another vizier’s son,” I said. “Or a wealthy merchant. Or a prince willing to live in Egypt.”

“It’s true. My sister’s beauty was as tempting then as it is now. When Henuttawy said she wanted Paser, my father summoned him to the Audience Chamber to see which sister he would choose.”

“And Paser chose you.”

“Yes. And when he told Pharaoh this, Henuttawy vowed that she would never take a husband.”

“So that you could never marry.”

Merit clucked her tongue. “How cruel.”

“If Iset becomes Chief Wife with Henuttawy whispering in her ear, then there is little hope for Paser and me. But now you are here, and the risk is worth taking …”

I flinched at the callousness of her statement. I was a Senet piece that she had polished and moved across the board for her own benefit.

Woserit saw the betrayal on my face. “If I did not like you, I would never suggest you to Ramesses as Chief Wife, whatever the reward for myself. There are things more important than whether or not I marry. Stability in the kingdom and a wise queen for the throne. You are getting what you want, and perhaps someday I will get what I want. And if we can help each other to that end—”

“But your father is gone,” I protested. “Can’t you marry now?”

“And leave the Temple of Hathor?” Woserit asked. “For what? If Iset becomes queen and I marry Paser, what will happen to him once my brother is gone?”

“Henuttawy and Iset will drive him from court, and he’ll lose everything.”

Woserit nodded.

“But why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“Because there are enough burdens resting on your shoulders,” she said. “You don’t need the weight of my destiny on you as well. Your first responsibility is to Ramesses, and then the people.”

I glanced at Merit, who knew what I was going to ask. “Do you think those people will rebel because of me?”

Woserit was honest. “Anything might happen,” she replied. “Especially when the Nile runs low. What does Ramesses say?”

“He is horrified,” I whispered.

“Good. And you will never mention becoming Chief Wife. He has made his decision to wait. Let Iset complain and drive him away. You will be silent and long-suffering and he will love you even more.”

“And his decision?” Merit asked.

“It all depends on how soon Nefertari can change the people’s minds—by being wise and judicious in the Audience Chamber. Tomorrow, Pharaoh Seti will be gone, and there will only be Pharaoh Ramesses to rule in Thebes. She must build her reputation as the clever princess.”

“I am a danger to Ramesses’s crown,” I said. “Did I do what was right in the Audience Chamber today?”

Woserit hesitated. “You stopped him when his rashness might have made you queen tonight. You placed the kingdom of Egypt and Ramesses’s welfare before your own.” She smiled sadly. “You love him.”

I nodded. I did, and in the end, I knew such love might prove costly.

LATER THAT
night, when Ramesses came into my chamber, Merit disappeared into her own room. There was nothing that Ramesses needed to say. He embraced me, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again and again. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

“It’s fine,” I told him, but we both knew it wasn’t. On a day that Egypt should have been celebrating, the people couldn’t have been angrier. They had risen up against Pharaoh’s guards, something that had not happened since the reign of Akhenaten.

“Tomorrow,” Ramesses promised, “things will be different. You don’t belong in the streets of Thebes. You belong with me, in the Audience Chamber.” He guided me to the edge of my bed and drew a cloth-wrapped object from inside his cloak. “For you,” he said softly.

The linen wrapping had been painted with images of Seshat, the goddess of learning. When I unveiled the gift within, I thought my heart would stop in my chest. I held the heavy scroll up to the oil lamps, slowly unrolling the papyrus, as light illuminated the painted text. “Ramesses, where did you find this?” I asked. It was a history of every major kingdom in the world, from Hatti to Cyprus, written first in hieroglyphics and then in the language of each country. Not even Paser owned such a book.

“The scribes have been compiling it for you for more than a year.”

“A
year?
But I was in the Temple of Hathor—”

I stopped, realizing what he meant. Every misery of the afternoon disappeared. It didn’t matter that the people hated me. We fell onto the bed and thought only of each other that night.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

T
HE
A
UDIENCE
C
HAMBER

                  
WHAT SHOULD HAVE
been Pharaoh’s triumphant departure from Thebes became instead a quiet lakeside farewell. I wondered if the court members were as angry with Seti as they were with me. He had allowed my marriage to Ramesses to proceed, and he knew that if there was plague, or further drought in Thebes, the blame would likely fall on me. Tuya held back tears while she embraced her only son, and Ramesses’s face was solemn. No one knew what might happen once Seti’s ships left, and over the crying of the gulls I heard him remind Ramesses, “Half of my army stays with you. If there is any talk of rebellion—”

“There
won’t
be rebellion.”

But Seti wasn’t placated. “Have your men watch over the city. Four viziers are staying behind. Send one of them to walk the streets and listen to what the people are saying. This is your capital now.” Behind him, the white palace of Malkata gleamed like a pearl against the darkening sky. “Its glory will reflect your reign. You should begin rebuilding the Temple of Luxor, and let the people see that there is nothing more important to you than honoring the gods.”

Seti beckoned to me with a jeweled finger. “Little Nefertari.” I embraced him as tightly as I could. “I want you to be careful on the eastern bank,” he cautioned. “Be patient with the people.”

“I will,” I promised.

Then Seti took my arm and led me aside. I felt certain that he was going to say something about what had happened in the streets the day before. But instead, he said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I also want you to take care of my son. Ramesses is rash, and he needs a head with reason—”

I flushed. “I think you should be talking to Asha …”

“Asha will keep my son from trouble on the battlefield. It’s trouble at court I’m worried about. Not everyone lives their life according to the rules of Ma’at, and I suspect that behind those pretty green eyes you have a good understanding of this.”

Seti stepped back, and as I reached forward to embrace Tuya farewell, Adjo strained at his leash and snapped angrily at the air.

“That’s enough!” Tuya reprimanded. She gave me a long look from beneath her wide Nubian wig. “He never barks at anyone else.”

The trumpets blared, and the clanging of sistrums filled the air. Seti and Tuya went on board and soon waved from the prow of their ship. As Ramesses and I waved back, Iset appeared beside us and asked, “What does it feel like to be the Pharaoh of all of Thebes?”

Ramesses looked at her as if to ask how she could wonder such a thing. “Lonely,” he replied.

An hour remained until the Audience Chamber, so as the court returned to the palace, Ramesses took my hand and it became clear to everyone where he intended to be. After all, we had only been married for a day.

By the time Merit knocked on our door and told us that the petitioners had arrived, Ramesses was not feeling so lonely. I took his arm, and we walked together into the Audience Chamber where the herald grandly announced our presence. Inside, the entire court had gathered. Courtiers rolled knucklebones next to the warmth of the braziers, and musicians huddled around the dais, performing on their double flutes and lyres. Women laughed at the back of the room, and a few old noblemen in warm furs were playing Senet. It looked more like a feast in the Great Hall than a place for the affairs of state. I was shocked. “Is it always so merry?”

Ramesses laughed at my surprise. “Until the business begins.”

“And then where do all of these people go?”

“Oh, most of them will remain. But the musicians will leave, and the courtiers will keep quiet.”

In the middle of the Audience Chamber, the viziers were already seated at their tables. They stood as we passed, and I nodded briefly to Paser. “Your Majesty,” they murmured. “Princess Nefertari.” I caught the bloodied eye of Rahotep and thought,
He will send me all of the difficult petitioners. He will try to embarrass me.

On the dais, Iset was already seated at her throne. She was dressed in a wide collar I had never seen on her before, and she had left the front of her heavy cloak open to remind the court of her swelling belly.
Five months, with only four to go,
I thought.
If she births a son, and a Chief Wife has not been announced, her child will be the heir to Egypt’s throne until Ramesses declares otherwise.
I knew that everyone was watching me, and I was careful as I ascended the steps. The thrones had been set close enough together so that if Ramesses wanted, he could stretch his arms from the center of the dais and touch both of his wives. In the history of Egypt, there had never been two thrones for dueling princesses.

“Are you ready?” Ramesses asked both of us, and I nodded. He struck his crook on the dais and declared, “Bring forth the petitioners!”

Courtiers sprang into action. The wide doors leading to the courtyard of Malkata were thrown open, and the first petitioners were led inside. Three men approached the viziers’ table, and all of them bore scrolls that they handed to the viziers. I watched while Paser, Rahotep, and Anemro read the petitions, then took out their reed pens and signed a name on the bottom of each scroll. Then all three men approached the dais, and the oldest one held his petition out to me with a bow.

“For the princess Nefertari,” he said. My family’s seal had been drawn on the scroll, but it wasn’t in Paser’s hand. The old man watched me with plain distrust. “I asked to see the princess Iset, but the High Priest sent me to you. I specifically requested—”

“Whatever you specifically requested,” I snapped, “I will be the one who reads your petition.” Woserit had warned that if I allowed a single petitioner to treat me as though I was less important than Iset, he would leave the palace and tell of my timidity to the others still waiting in line. I looked at the open scroll. The man had come to request entry into the Temple of Amun at Karnak. Commoners were not allowed inside, yet he was requesting a special dispensation to see the High Priest. “What is this for?” I asked him quietly.

“My daughter is sick, and the offerings I’ve placed at our shrines have not been enough.” The old man narrowed his eyes. He watched me pick up the reed pen from the small table at my side, then write across the bottom of his scroll. “You may enter the temple,” I said.

The old man stepped back as if to see me better. “I was alive during the time of Amarna,” he said. “I saw the Heretic break the statues of Amun and murder the god’s priests.”

I tightened my fist around his petition. “And what does that have to do with me?”

The man squinted up into my face. “You look like your aunt.”

I suppressed the strong desire to ask him how. Was it my nose, my lips, my high cheekbones, my build? But I knew what he was trying to imply, and instead, I shoved the scroll at him and said darkly, “Go. Go before I change my mind!”

Ramesses glanced at me instead of paying attention to his own petitioner, and his look was one of pity, not admiration. I felt the fire in my stomach spread.

“Next!”
Whatever happens, keep smiling,
Woserit had warned. A farmer came forward and I smiled beautifully. “Your petition?” He held out his scroll. I read it, then looked down at the man. His kilt had been neatly pressed for the occasion, and he was wearing leather sandals instead of papyrus. “You come from Thebes and wish to claim access to your neighbor’s well? And why should your neighbor grant you this access?”

“Because I have given his cows grazing in my fields! I have no water on my land and I want something in return.”

“So if he will not give you water, stop giving his cows feed.”

“My son would let the beasts starve! And he would do it to spite me!”

I sat back on my throne. “Your neighbor is your son?”

“I gave him a piece of my land when he married, and now he won’t give me access to my well because of his wife!”

“What’s wrong with his wife?”

“She is against me!” he cried. “When I told my son I didn’t want a harlot like her for a daughter, he married her anyway. And now the girl wants to ruin me,” he raged.

The viziers stopped to watch us, but I resisted the temptation to see which had sent the farmer to me. “And what has your daughter-in-law done to make you think that she is unfaithful?”

“She has slept with half of Thebes. She knows it as well as Ma’at! My son’s heirs might be any man’s children, and now she won’t even give me access to my land!”

“Did you deed your son the land?” I asked him.

“I gave him my word.”

“But not the deed?” The man clearly didn’t understand. “It is not enough to give your word,” I explained. “It must be set down in writing.”

The farmer smiled widely. “I have not given anything in writing.”

“Then it is your well to use,” I said firmly, “and she will have to live with it until you’ve signed away your deed or your son finds his own land.”

The old man’s face was a picture of shock. I took up my reed pen and wrote the verdict on the bottom of his papyrus. When I handed him the scroll, he watched me with a guarded look. “You … you are not like they say.”

Every day will be like this,
I thought
. Every morning for the rest of my life I will be treated as the Heretic’s niece. If I don’t change their opinion of me, I will never escape it.
My back stiffened as a third petitioner made his way to me. He held out a scroll and I read the contents quickly.

“Give me the whole story,” I said, but the young man shook his head.

“I ask to see Pharaoh, who speak my language, but Vizier Paser send me you,” he stumbled in a heavy accent.

“And is there something wrong with me?” I demanded in Hurrian.

The foreigner stepped back. “You speak Hurrian,” he whispered.

“Well, what have you come for?” I demanded.

For every petitioner who watched me with mistrust, there was another from Babylon, Assyria, or Nubia whose language I could speak. Before the day was finished I could see the interested glances that courtiers made in my direction. I sat straighter on my throne. Even without the signature at the bottom of each scroll, I could guess where each petition had come from. Foreigners from kingdoms whose languages I could speak were sent by Paser. The angriest and most contentious men were from Rahotep.

When a trumpet sounded in the distance, there was a sudden shifting in the room. A table was brought and placed at the base of the dais, and servants began positioning chairs with large arms and padded cushions.

I turned to Ramesses. “What are they preparing for?”

“Obviously, we’re done with petitions,” Iset replied.

Ramesses ignored her and said quietly, “At noon we finish and move on to private business.”

The remaining petitioners were led away, and from a small door on the side of the room a group of women entered the chamber. Although Henuttawy and Woserit were among them, they never looked at each other.
Like a pair of horses wearing blinders,
I thought. As they seated themselves around the table, Ramesses struck his crook against the dais.

“We are ready to begin the business of the court,” he declared. “Bring in the architect Penre.”

The doors of the Audience Chamber were thrown open and Penre appeared. He was a strapping man, with a lean jaw and a straight nose that would have been too large on any other man’s face. His long kilt was banded with yellow, and his golden pectoral had been a gift from Pharaoh Seti. He looked more like a warrior than an architect to me. “Your Majesties.” He bowed efficiently, then wasted no time unfurling his scroll. “You have requested an undertaking that no other architect has ever accomplished. A courtyard in the Temple of Luxor, with obelisks so tall that the gods themselves can touch them. So I have drawn for Your Highness one vision of what might be built.” He offered up a scroll and produced another two from the bag that hung at his side. These, he gave to myself and Iset.