The Egyptian Royals Collection (84 page)

“I’m not mingling with those dirty crowds at Nekheb!”

Vizier Anemro frowned. “There are plenty of soldiers present to protect you.”

“I don’t care if there’s an entire battalion,” Iset snapped. “Let Nefertari go, and when the people riot, they can tear
her
to pieces.”

Vizier Anemro stiffened at the rebuke, and Henuttawy lost her smile. “The people like to see kindness in their leaders,” she warned.

“And I am almost six months pregnant!” Iset shot back, heatedly. “What if some hungry peasant attacks me and hurts the child?”

There was a dark gleam in Henuttawy’s eyes. “Ramesses would never forgive himself.”

Iset grew enraged. “You would happily see me dead as long as I convinced Ramesses to rebuild your temple first! It’s not enough that I have to sit in the Audience Chamber day after day so that Ramesses will pick me instead of that dwarf. It’s not enough that I lost Ashai. Now you would have me lose my life as well!”

I glanced at Woserit; Ashai wasn’t an Egyptian name. Perhaps it was Habiru?

“Be
quiet,
” Henuttawy hissed. She lunged forward, and for a moment I thought she might strike Iset. Then she remembered her place. Next to her, Vizier Anemro’s eyes had grown wide. “I think you should remember where you are,” Henuttawy suggested.

Iset realized what she had done, and I could see her mind race to catch up with her tongue. “Princess Nefertari wouldn’t dare to speak a word against me,” she blurted. “If she did, I would make sure that Ramesses knew she was trying to ruin my good name just to pave her own way to the dais.”

“Vizier Anemro here isn’t deaf,” I said sharply.

“No, just impotent.” Iset smiled. “He knows he’s the least important vizier. If he were to utter the name
Ashai,
he would disappear from court the moment I give Egypt a son.”

“You have great confidence it will be a son. What if it’s a girl?” Woserit asked.

“Then I will have a son next! What does it matter? Ramesses will never choose Nefertari for Chief Wife. If he was going to, he would already have done it!”

“Then why is he sending her to pass out grain?” Woserit asked archly.

“He asked me as well, but I wasn’t enough of a fool to say
yes!
” Iset turned her wrath on me. “Do you think the viziers don’t know the
real
reason that Ramesses goes running off to your chamber? He wants someone who will inspect their work, and busy little Nefertari with her skill at languages is willing to spy over their shoulders.”

“You are supposed to be supporting Ramesses as well,” I hissed.

“I do,” Iset said, placing her hand over her belly.

“And if
you
truly loved Ramesses, you would never ask him to make you his queen,” Henuttawy added. “You are placing his crown in jeopardy.”

Woserit put her arm through mine. It was unlikely that Ramesses would come that night, and we both stood up. “Vizier Anemro, Paser, I wish you a pleasant evening,” she said, and we descended the stairs. At the bottom of the dais, she whispered, “So he returned to your chamber after lying with Iset. Was it truly to translate messages for him?”

“Yes,” I told her as we crossed the hall. “From the kingdoms of Hatti and Assyria.”

“And he also has you overseeing the grain.” Woserit gave me a look as we reached the doors. “If all Ramesses wanted were your skills at translation he could hire you as a scribe,” she said wryly. “There is only one reason he’s sending a princess to do a soldier’s work at Nakheb.”

It was as though someone had tugged on the ends of a string and loosened the knot in my stomach. “So who is Ashai?”

We passed through the doors, and before Woserit could reply, Ramesses saw us emerge from the Great Hall. “Nefertari!” he called. “Where are you going?”

“She wanted to find you,” Woserit answered, “to tell you about the temple.”

Ramesses searched my face. “It wasn’t chaos, I hope?”

“No. Asha and his father would never have allowed that.”

“But the people?” he asked worriedly.

“They were happy to receive the grain. In fact, some of them even thanked me.”

Ramesses exhaled, and I could see the immense relief in his eyes. “Good.” He placed his hands on my shoulders.
“Good,”
he repeated, and in the light of the oil lamps, the flaps of his
nemes
crown framed his face like a lion’s golden mane.

“It was a wise idea to send Nefertari to Nekheb,” Woserit complimented him. “But tell us what happened in the Audience Chamber while she was gone.”

Ramesses glanced warily at the door to the Great Hall, then took my arm and led us away from the prying ears of the palace guards. In the shadow of an alcove, Woserit and I both leaned forward.

“My father’s architect, Penre, thinks he may be able to find a solution.”

Woserit frowned. “In one day?” she asked in disbelief. “After farmers have suffered for so many years—”

“But they haven’t suffered. Not in Assyria. Or Babylon. Or Amarna.”

This time, it was Woserit who glanced back at the guards. “What do you mean they didn’t suffer in Amarna?”

Amarna was the city that my aunt, Queen Nefertiti, had built with her husband. From the time of her murder it had been abandoned. When General Horemheb made himself Pharaoh, he used the building blocks of her city as rubble for his projects all across Thebes. I had heard people say there was nothing now left of what my aunt and the Heretic King Akhenaten had built.

Ramesses lowered his voice. “I mean that at least one farmer in Amarna knew how to take water from the River Nile, even when it didn’t overflow into their canals. Think of it,” he said quickly. “The Heretic King invited emissaries from every kingdom to Amarna. The Hittites may have brought the plague, but perhaps the Assyrians brought knowledge. Paser checked the records, and in the year of the Heretic’s greatest celebration there was drought. The next year, under Pharaoh Nefertiti, the silos belonging to the High Priest of Meryra were bursting with grain. Perhaps the Assyrians saw the dried-out fields and knew they could help.”

“Even if they helped,” Woserit said shrewdly, “there’s nothing left of Amarna. The city is buried beneath the sands, and what hasn’t been buried has been looted or destroyed.”

“Not the tombs.” Ramesses smiled widely. “When Penre was a boy, he helped his father with the tomb of Meryra in the northern cliffs of Amarna. He swears he can remember his father painting an image of a basket attached to a pole, lifting water out of the Nile. It was unlike anything he’d seen before, and his father told him that this was the device that had made Meryra the wealthiest priest in Egypt.”

“Ramesses,” Woserit said in a tone I had heard Merit use with me many times. “There are only two months left before it’s too late to plant. To place all of your hopes in a painting this architect may or may not remember correctly—”

“Of course we will keep searching for a solution. But this is better than what we had, which was nothing!”

“And what does he plan to do?” I asked. “Return to Meryra’s tomb in Amarna?”

“Yes,” Ramesses said. “I have given my permission.”

I covered my mouth, and Woserit stepped back.

“The tomb was never finished!” Ramesses exclaimed. “We’re not disturbing his rest or offending his
akhu.
The tomb was abandoned when the Heretic Queen returned to Thebes. And if Penre can find this image—”

“If,”
Woserit whispered, and Ramesses turned up his palms.

“You’re right. It’s not certain. But there is a chance, and it’s the best we have. Amarna is closer than any city in Assyria.”

“And what about traders? Or Assyrian emissaries?”

“How long before they would arrive in Thebes? Two months? Three? We don’t have that kind of time.” Ramesses turned to me. “No one shall know but us. If Penre returns with an image, we’ll say it’s something that he created. We won’t reveal that it’s from Amarna.”

The heavy double doors of the Great Hall swung open, and Henuttawy appeared.

“He can’t go alone,” I said quickly. “What if something happens in those hills? You need someone else you can trust.”

Ramesses nodded. “You’re right. I’ll send Asha with him.”

NIGHT AFTER
night Ramesses came into my chamber, regardless of whether it was his time with Iset, but instead of translating foreign petitions with me, he sat at the brazier and studied strange sketches made on papyrus. Knowing that he still wanted to come to me, even when there was nothing I could translate for him, filled my heart with such intense love I thought it would burst.
Iset is wrong,
I thought fervently.
He’s not waiting for her to have a son. He’s waiting for the people to accept me as his wife before declaring a queen.

But even though I was happy, I grew afraid for Ramesses’s health. In the middle of the night he would crawl from my bed, searching through sketches his architects had submitted, hoping to find something that looked promising. He’d hunch over the low flames of the brazier and wouldn’t move until the sun rose in the sky and his eyes looked as red as the High Priest of Amun’s.

When Penre had been gone for a month, I wrapped my arms around Ramesses’s shoulders and whispered, “Let yourself rest. Without sleep, how can your thoughts be clear?”

“There’s only a month before it will be too late to plant. Why didn’t my father search for a solution? Or his father? Or Pharaoh Horemheb?”

I ran a soothing hand through Ramesses’s hair. “Because the Nile never ran so low.”

“But my father knew!”

“How could he have predicted that the Nile wouldn’t overflow for
four
years? He was busy planning war in Nubia and Kadesh.”

Ramesses shook his head in frustration. “If there was more time we could have sent emissaries to Assyria. We could have asked the farmers—”

I took his hand. “Come to bed. Stop for tonight.”

Ramesses let himself be led away, but in bed, I knew he wasn’t sleeping. He tossed beneath the linens, and I closed my eyes, willing him to be still. Then I heard three soft knocks outside our chamber. Ramesses looked across at me, and in the warm glow of the brazier, I saw his eyes widen. He rushed to the door, and Penre, the architect who had traveled to Amarna to find and unseal the tomb of Meryra, was standing with sheaves of papyrus in his hand. Behind him, Asha was dressed in a traveling cloak, his long braid arranged in a neat loop at the back of his neck. I scrambled from the bed and put on a robe to cover the thin linen sheath I was wearing.

“Asha! Penre!” Ramesses cried.

Asha stepped inside to embrace Ramesses like a brother. Penre bowed deeply at the waist. I took Asha’s arm and led him to the brazier. “It’s good to have you home,” I said truthfully. “Ramesses hasn’t slept for weeks.”

Asha laughed. “Neither have we,” and I noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

“Your Highness, our ship arrived in Gebtu this evening. We took a chariot the rest of the way, knowing that what we found couldn’t wait.”

“Everything. Tell me everything!” Ramesses exclaimed. Without his
nemes
crown, his hair fell over his shoulders like brilliant sheets of copper. He guided Penre and Asha to carved wooden chairs, then leaned forward to hear what his father’s architect would say.

“It was just as I remembered,” Penre revealed. “The very spot.”

Ramesses glanced at Asha. “And only you went with him?”

“Of course,” Asha replied. “No one else knows.”

I looked into Penre’s hard gray eyes and knew he would be as trustworthy as Asha. Whether the design he brought back failed or succeeded, no one would ever learn that it came from the Heretic’s city and had once been used by a High Priest of Aten. I wondered what my aunt’s capital looked like now. Though her name had been chiseled from the walls of Amarna when Horemheb became Pharaoh, perhaps images of her had remained beneath the earth.

“The tomb was in the northern hills,” Penre began. “We placed an offering of incense at the door, and inside, this is what we found.” He held out an image drawn on a papyrus. The drawing looked like the wooden toy that children play on, with a post in the middle and seats at each end. But instead of seats, the long end had a clay bucket, and the other a heavy stone.