The Egyptian Royals Collection (86 page)

The door to my chamber opened, and Merit came in, followed by Woserit.

“I heard,” I said solemnly, and stood. “A cook in the Great Hall told me.”

Woserit sniffed the air and regarded me with a strange expression. “And you were praying for the princess’s son?” Woserit shook her head. “Then you can save your incense,” she said plainly. “The prince has already died.”

“And the woman you were praying for just now,” Merit added, “has accused you of stealing her child’s
ka
and killing him!”

“
What?
Who did she say this to?” I cried. “When?”

“To everyone in the birthing pavilion,” Woserit replied.

I thought I might faint. Merit rushed to bring me a stool, while Woserit said something about everyone in Thebes hearing Iset’s accusation by nightfall.

“And Ramesses?” I breathed deeply. “What did Ramesses say?”

“I’m sure he didn’t believe her,” Merit vowed. “Who
would
believe her?”

“Other grieving mothers! Egyptians who already think the Heretic’s niece has powers of persuasion and magic like her aunt.” I looked at Woserit. “I never even saw the prince! She can’t believe I stole her child’s
ka.
”

“She’s the superstitious granddaughter of a peasant who was plucked from the river by Horemheb. Of course she believes it.”

“How will I convince the people that I haven’t done this?” I whispered.

“You won’t.” Woserit shook her head. “The people will believe what they want to believe. But it won’t matter what they say if you have a prince in your womb. Keep by Ramesses’s side.”

I wept into my hand. “Oh, Ramesses—he’s lost his first child!”

“Which will pave the way for one of your own,” Woserit said roundly.

I stared at her in horror.

I KNEW
that Ramesses wouldn’t come to me that night. It would have been wrong to creep away and visit my chamber with Iset still lying in the birthing pavilion, childless. When news spread across Malkata that the prince had died, festivities were quickly abandoned to pay tribute at the Temple of Amun. This time, I didn’t light a cone of incense. Instead, I stood on my balcony, inhaling the bitter air and letting the wind snap at my cloak. Not even Merit dared to call me inside.
Why?
I thought.
What have I done to anger you, Amun? It was my
akhu
who turned from you! Not me!
The wind grew more violent, and all at once, like stars appearing in the night’s sky, a stream of lights began twinkling on the road to the palace gates. At first, they were pinpricks in the distance, but as they grew closer I could recognize an unmistakable chant and understood what the blazing river signified.

“Merit!” I shouted.

She rushed onto the balcony, and I pointed fearfully into the darkness.

Thousands of torchlights wavered in front of the palace gates, and the chanting of “Heretic” grew so loud that it drowned out the wind. A pair of soldiers burst into my chamber, and Ramesses was behind them. His face was as pale as the summer’s moon. One of the guards stepped forward.

“My lady, we must take you to a place of safety at once. There are crowds of people chanting at the gates.” The soldier stole an uneasy glance at Ramesses. “Some believe that Princess Nefertari has had something to do—”

“With the prince’s death?” I asked with dread.

Ramesses regarded me with uncertainty. “I’m sure you didn’t, Nefer. You never saw the prince.”

“Even if I had seen him,” I cried, “do you really believe—”

“But he was such a healthy child!” There were tears in Ramesses’s eyes.

Slowly, I backed away from him. “You don’t really think I could …”

“N-no.” Ramesses stumbled over his words. “No. Of course not!”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because there are thousands of people at the gates, and there are only a hundred guards on duty tonight. I have sent Asha to call up the army.”

I turned to his two soldiers; gray-heads, who had probably seen battle from Assyria to Kadesh, yet there was fear in their eyes. The people of Thebes had been angry enough to cross the river in their boats by night.

“If they break through the gates,” the tallest soldier explained, “we cannot assure your safety, Highness. We can take you to the treasury. There is no stronger building in the palace.”

I looked out over the balcony. The chant of “Heretic” was as loud as before. I could hear the bronze gates being drummed by angry fists, and the palace guards warning the people to stand back. “No,” I said firmly. “I will confront them. There is no way to stop them from believing the unbelievable except to face them myself.”

“They will kill you, Highness!” one of the soldiers exclaimed.

But Ramesses looked at me with rash admiration. “I will come with you.”

Merit pleaded, “My lady, no! Don’t do this!” But we rushed through the halls while Merit simpered behind us. I turned and told her to wait in my chamber. Her eyes were wide with fear, and I knew that what we were doing was unwise. It was the kind of foolish thing that Pharaoh Seti had warned me against.

We hurried along the corridors, while on either side courtiers were locking themselves in their chambers for fear of what was to come. Unless the army was roused quickly, thousands of commoners could break the gates and loot the palace. When we reached the courtyard, the two soldiers who accompanied us stood back in fear, their eyes focused warily on the gates, which shook with the pounding fists of the mob. At the top of the ramparts, archers watched the angry crowd with their bows at the ready. Ramesses held on to my hand as tightly as he could without crushing it, and the sound of my heartbeat was even louder in my ears than the chanting or the wind. We approached the steps leading up the palace walls, and Ramesses’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Stand back!” he shouted to his own men, who crowded the stairs leading to the ramparts. “Stand back!” As the guards recognized his
nemes
crown, they moved away.

The men watched us with incredulous eyes as we climbed. For a moment, when we reached the top of the palace walls, I thought the mountains were on fire. Instead, a sea of thousands of torches burned below us in the crisp Pharmuthi night. When the people nearest the gates recognized the crown of a Pharaoh above them, the chanting suddenly grew hesitant and seemed muted by his presence.

I marveled at Ramesses’s bravery as he raised his arms and addressed the angry mob. “You have come here chanting for a heretic’s blood,” he cried above the storm. “But I have come here to tell you that no heretic exists!”

There were angry exclamations in the crowd, and voices rose in protest.

“I am the father of the prince who has died. No one wishes to have an heir more than me. Therefore, if I come to you saying that there was no magic involved in his death, should you not believe me?”

An unsettled murmur passed through the mob, and Ramesses continued. “This is the woman you are calling
heretic.
The princess Nefertari! Does she look to you like a woman who practices magic? Does she look like a heretic?”

“She looks like Nefertiti!” an old man shouted, and the people behind him raised their torches in approbation. There was a sudden push against the gates. Ramesses took my hand and stood firmly in his place. The chant of “Heretic” was taken up again, and Ramesses’s voice grew fiercer so he could be heard above the cry.

“And who here thinks their Pharaoh would take a heretic for his wife?” he challenged. “Who here believes that the son of the Reconquerer would risk the wrath of the gods?”

This was clever, for no one would accuse Pharaoh himself of purposefully angering Amun. The angry chant died away again, and Ramesses turned to me.

“It’s true!” I shouted. “I am the niece of a heretic. But if you are not responsible for your grandfather’s crimes, why should I be? Who in this crowd has chosen their
akhu?
If that were possible, wouldn’t we all be born into Pharaoh’s family?”

There was a surprised murmur in the crowd, and Ramesses’s grip on my hand relaxed.

“Weigh each heart on its own,” I shouted, “for how many of us would pass into the Afterlife if Osiris weighed our hearts with those of our
akhu?
”

Ramesses looked at me in shock. There was silence beyond the gates. It seemed as if nobody moved, as if no one was breathing. “Return to your homes!” he cried. “Let the palace of Malkata mourn in peace.” He stood motionless, watching as the human sea beneath his feet began to ebb.

Slowly, the crowd began to disperse. Some of the women still shouted “Heretic,” and a few made vows to return, but the immediate danger was over. After some minutes of silence, Ramesses turned to take my hand. Inside the palace, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” I told him. Yet secretly I knew better.
One day, she will convince him that I really am a heretic, and nothing I do will ever be able to change his mind.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

A
NOTHER
L
IFE IN
R
ETURN

                  
ALTHOUGH FOR TWO
nights Ramesses did not visit, new light still found its way into the darkness of my chamber. By the second of Pachons my body gave me confirmation of what Merit had suspected for a month. I whispered it to Woserit and Paser, and when Merit heard, she sent up such a whoop of joy that Tefer scampered fearfully from the bed.

“A
child
?” she exclaimed. “You must tell Pharaoh Ramesses! When he hears—”

“He will think of Prince Akori and wonder if Iset was right.”

Merit stepped away from me. “You must
never
repeat that.”

“Iset accused me of stealing her child’s
ka,
and now I’m pregnant with my own.”

“Pharaoh could
never
think such a thing! The princess is a superstitious fool. You must tell him.”

“
If
he comes.”

“He will, my lady. Give him time.”

But several days passed, and on the fifth night, when it was clear he wasn’t coming, I wept into my pillow, emptying all of my sorrows into the linen as Merit stroked my hair. It wasn’t just loneliness. It was the sadness that hung over the palace like a shroud. I saw Ramesses every morning in the Audience Chamber, but he never laughed, and even when the viziers brought news that the farmers were finding success with his invention, his face was still grim. In the Great Hall, courtiers watched me with suspicion, and even Woserit had very little to say. I begged her to let me tell Ramesses that I was pregnant, but she made me swear not to reveal anything to him until he visited me on his own.

So I waited, and on the seventh of Pachons, Ramesses arrived as the sun rose. He came to the very edge of my bed, and when I sat up to embrace him, tears stained his cheeks. It was as if all of his joy and rash optimism in life had been drained away.

“The priests tell me it was the will of the gods,” he whispered, “but how could it be their will that a child of Pharaoh, his first son, should be stolen by Anubis?”

He held his
nemes
crown in his lap, and I caressed his hair. “I can’t pretend to understand,” I told him. “But perhaps when the gods saw your terrible loss, they gave you another life in return.” I took his hand and placed it on my stomach, and his breath caught in his throat. “A
child
?”

I smiled cautiously. “Yes.”

Ramesses stood and crushed my hands in his. “Amun has not abandoned us!” he cried. “A child, Nefer!” and he kept repeating it. “Another child!” He pulled me up with him, then searched my face. “You know that night on the balcony—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said quickly.

“But I never really believed—”

I placed my finger on his lips. “I know you didn’t,” I lied. “Those are peasants’ superstitions.”

“Yes. She comes from superstitious people. And without Akori she’s become irrational. And inconsolable,” he admitted. “I promised to begin a mortuary temple in Thebes for the prince—for all of us—but it isn’t enough. Even the flowers at the gates mean nothing to her.”

“What … what flowers?”

Ramesses glanced away. But when I pushed back the long linen curtains of the balcony and saw the tribute that women had left for Iset, I brought my hand to my mouth. The heavy bronze bars were twined with flowers, and lilies, the symbol of rebirth, stretched as far as the eye could see beyond the gates. “They love her so much,” I whispered, hoping Ramesses wouldn’t see how much it hurt me.

“And they will love you,” Ramesses swore. “You are to be mother to Pharaoh’s eldest child now.” Ramesses strode to the door that led to Merit’s chamber, calling her out and instructing her to let the palace know that a second child was on its way.

There were to be no petitioners in the Audience Chamber that day. The viziers watched from a large table in front of the dais as Ramesses and I entered together, and only Paser looked happy to see me. Everyone now knew that I was with child. I saw Iset on her throne, and I thought,
Henuttawy has instructed her to be here today.
Her face appeared sunken and hollow; as we ascended the steps her eyes never moved from an invisible spot on the floor.

“Iset.” Ramesses gently took her hands. “Why are you here? Did you get enough rest?”

“How can I rest,” she asked tonelessly, “when someone has stolen the lifeblood of our prince? The midwives say that he was healthy and screaming when he came.”

Ramesses glanced at me. “There was every protection in the birthing pavilion. Tawaret and Bes—”

“And do Tawaret or Bes prevent the evil eye?” she cried, so that even the old men in the back of the Audience Chamber looked up from their Senet games. “Can they stop a charm from stealing a prince’s
ka?
There is only one woman who would want to take our child!”

Rahotep rushed forward from the viziers’ table. “The princess Iset is not well,” the High Priest said quickly. “Let me take her to her chamber.”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Iset shrieked. “I’m
fine!
” But the front of her gown where Akori should have been nursing was wet, and her eyes darted wildly across the chamber.

Ramesses placed a steady hand on her arm. “Iset, go and rest. Penre is coming with designs for a temple. As soon as we are finished, I will come to you.” But her chest rose and fell with her heavy breaths, and she didn’t move. “Even though it’s your time with Nefertari?” she challenged.

I heard the hesitation in Ramesses’s voice before he answered, “Yes.”

Iset shifted her gaze to mine, and I saw fear in her eyes.
She truly believes I stole her child’s
ka.
She thinks I’m a murderess.
She composed herself, moving gracefully across the chamber, and as she reached the doors I heard a courtier murmur, “It’s only her first child. There are sure to be others.”

When the doors swung shut, the viziers watched me, and courtiers whispered.

I tried to keep my voice from trembling. “Shall we summon Penre?”

We waited in silence while he was sent for, a silence unbroken until the herald announced grandly, “The architect Penre, son of Irsu and Keeper of the King’s Great Works.”

A triumphant Penre entered the chamber, beaming conspicuously. In a single month, his design, based on the painting in Meryra’s tomb, had spread up and down the Nile. By the end of Shemu, there would be the first real harvest in four years, and offerings of grain could be placed in the completed Temple of Luxor. Now, Penre would undertake the construction of the greatest mortuary temple in Egypt. Two scribes followed in his wake, carrying a heavy clay model on a large board between them. A linen cloth obscured the details of the model. Penre stretched his arms out in obeisance.

“Your Majesty,” he announced. “The Ramesseum.” He swept the linen cover away, and a row of viziers murmured their appreciation. “It will be the largest mortuary temple in Thebes,” Penre explained, “built next to the Temple of Seti the Reconquerer.” He pointed out the intricate details. “Two rows of pylons, towering as large and thick as the pylons at Luxor, will lead one after the other into a courtyard.” Chairs scraped on tiles as the court pressed forward to get a better look. “Beyond the second courtyard, a covered hall with forty-eight columns will enclose the inner sanctuary.” Another murmur of awe from the viziers’ table. “And inside …” Penre removed the ceiling, showing the court the blue sky with scattered gold stars that he had painted. “Inside, three rooms that will stand for a million years as a shrine to Ramesses the Great and his reign.”

There was a moment of shock in the Audience Chamber. No one dared to give Pharaoh a title; he always chose it for himself. The court looked to Ramesses, to see his reaction.

“Ramesses the Great,” he repeated, “and his million-year Ramesseum.”

Penre squared his shoulders with confidence. “And to the north of the hall with its forty-eight columns, a temple for the most beautiful princesses in Egypt.”

I saw statues of myself and Iset, both equal in height and width. I should have been flattered, but I was worried. The mortuary temple was an undertaking that would require years, and a great deal of the treasury’s gold. Before Ramesses went to Iset’s chamber that night, he came to mine and I asked him, “Where will the deben come from to build all of this?”

“My father accepts tribute from more than a dozen nations. I’ve seen the accounts from the treasury. There’s enough to build three Ramesseums,” he said. “It is what our descendants will remember of us.” He looked at my stomach and drew me close to him. “Our little kings,” he added lovingly.