The Egyptian Royals Collection (94 page)

Moments later, the heavy wooden doors opened again, and this time it was a midwife. The entire hall went silent, and I found myself holding my breath. I tried to read the woman’s face, but she was keeping her own counsel to heighten the suspense. Finally, someone shouted, “What is it?” and the midwife let herself grin. “A healthy son!” she cried jubilantly. “Prince Ramessu!”

My heart fell like a stone in my chest. Woserit squeezed my hand and said quickly, “He’s still younger, and she hasn’t given him two.”

Ramesses emerged from the birthing pavilion, and his eyes sought mine in the cheering crowds. He motioned to me and Woserit, and when we joined him on the steps of the pavilion, he took my arm. “Go back in to see her. Please don’t take offense at what she said. She was in pain—”

“Was my sister in pain, too?” Woserit asked sharply. “She accused your wife of praying for your own child’s death.”

“She is punishing Nefertari for being your friend, and I have spoken to her about this.”

“And what did she say?” I demanded.

Ramesses appeared tired, as if the conversation had taken a great deal out of him. “I’m sure you can imagine. But she’s my father’s sister.”

We went into the pavilion, and in the milk nurse’s private chamber, a crowd of midwives were gathered around Prince Ramessu. As the women parted, I felt a selfish thrill that his hair was as dark as his mother’s. This child was bigger than the last, and he was feeding greedily from his milk nurse’s breast. She carried him to a chair nearest the windows, so he could rest in the healthy light of the sun, and Ramesses stroked the downy curve of his head. Noblewomen fussed over the color of Ramessu’s skin, his eyes, his little mouth, while across the pavilion, Iset sat in her bed, waiting for the traditional line of well-wishers. When I approached, she shrank into the pillows.

“Congratulations on a healthy son,” I said.

“What are you doing back here?” she hissed.

“Enough of your peasant’s superstitions,” Woserit snapped, appearing at my side. “Even my nephew is tired of them.”

“There are amulets all over this chamber,” Iset warned us. “The milk nurse used to be a priestess of Isis.”

“You are a fool if you think I can perform magic,” I told her.

“Then who killed my son?” she whispered harshly. Her eyes brimmed with tears as Woserit stepped forward. “You are a young and foolish girl. Nefertari cannot conjure magic any more than you can. Learn to accept that the gods asked Akori to return from this world. If you’re looking to blame someone, then blame Henuttawy.”

“And why should I do that?”

Woserit looked at me, and I understood what she wanted me to say.

“Because if Henuttawy hadn’t threatened Ashai to stay away, he might have been Ramessu’s father instead,” I replied.

Iset started. “Who told you this?” When I glanced away, her whisper became bitter. “You don’t know what you’re saying! Ashai left me to care for his father in Memphis.”

“Is that what Henuttawy told you?” Woserit raised her brows. “No, Ashai is an artist in Thebes. He works on the Ramesseum, and he married a pretty Habiru girl. Of course, now that you have a son, perhaps you don’t care about any of this.”

But even as Woserit said the words, we both saw it wasn’t true.

Iset’s face had fallen like a heavy sail deprived of wind.

“We will light a cone of incense at the temple,” Woserit said, “and thank Amun for a safe delivery.”

Once we were outside the birthing pavilion, I turned to Woserit. “We shouldn’t have told her that right after she gave birth,” I worried.

“It was the right time for the truth. While Ramesses is gone, Iset will confront Henuttawy. My sister knew that Iset was a poor match for Ramesses, yet she still pushed her toward the dais. She has condemned her to a life of loneliness. But don’t feel sorry for her,” Woserit warned. “She chose this path. Just as you are choosing yours tomorrow.”

THAT EVENING,
I sat at the mirror while Merit painted my eyes. She placed a turquoise pectoral around my neck, and when she fitted a golden diadem on my brow, I stood so that I could admire the way the cobra reared up, its garnet eyes like twin flames against the blackness of my hair.

“You are in a good mood,” Merit remarked, “given what’s happened.”

“I am about to set sail for the greatest adventure of my life, Merit.” My heart ached at the thought of leaving Amunher and Prehir, but I knew that this journey would be recorded on the monuments of Thebes. The gods would see my dedication to Egypt, and the people would recognize my importance to their Pharaoh. “We are going to crush the Sherden pirates and remind the north that Egypt will
never
bow to thievery!”

“A battle is not an adventure!” Merit scolded. “You have no idea what might happen.”

“Whatever happens, I will be with Ramesses. And Iset is not going to be made Chief Wife.”

Merit put down a perfume jar to study me. “Did Pharaoh say something?” she asked eagerly. “Has he told you this?”

“No. He will attend the Birth Feast tonight, and he will pay Iset every respect. But we are
leaving,
Merit. He’s going into battle a day after she’s given birth.”

Merit realized what this meant. “He spent every one of your fourteen nights in the birthing pavilion with you.”

Merit followed me into her chamber and we stood, watching my sons sleeping. Amulets hung from their cradles to keep away Anubis, and protective spells had been written on small scraps of papyrus and placed around their necks in silver pendants. When I journeyed north with Ramesses, I would feel safe knowing that both Merit and the gods were watching my sons.

The two milk nurses watched me from their chairs, feeding their own daughters while Amunher and Prehir slept. I had told the women to move their daughters’ cradles next to Merit’s chamber. Merit had snapped that the children of milk nurses should not be allowed to sleep beside princes. But Ramesses didn’t mind, and I could imagine my own heartache if my job was to feed other children all day, while someone else watched over my own. After the first year, they would stop feeding them milk from their breasts and begin to use the clay bottles that potters make in the markets. I suspected that Merit’s complaint had less to do with lowly birth than with having four children crying in the next chamber.

BY THE
time we reached the Great Hall, the singing and feasting had begun. Dancers, naked except for silver belts around their slender waists, moved their hips to the high trills of flutes, invoking the presence of the dwarf god Bes, who would look over Malkata and protect Prince Ramessu. Normally, Ramesses would watch these girls with rapt attention, and later in the night he would take me in his arms and his love would be even more passionate than usual. But that night, all we could think about was the Sherden. What if they had added more ships to their fleet? Or if they didn’t fall for our ruse? The Birth Feast was to go on until morning, and when Ramesses and I both stood to leave, Iset reached for him from her throne.

“We must rest before we sail north tomorrow,” he said. He kissed her hand, but Iset withdrew it in a fury.

“We?”
Iset turned an accusatory look at me. “Nefertari is going with you?”

“She speaks the language of the Sherden.”

“And doesn’t Paser?”

“Yes, but if he comes, who will be watching my kingdom?”

Iset stood shakily from her throne, and her face was desperate. “But when will I see you? How will you know how Prince Ramessu is doing? What if something happens to your ship?”

I could see Ramesses softening under Iset’s need. “Nothing will happen to my ship,” he promised. “And Ramessu has the best nurses in Egypt.”

“On your way to the Northern Sea, you will be sailing past Avaris,” Henuttawy pointed out. “Will you stop to see your father?”

“Yes. On our return.”

“Then why not have us meet you there? We can greet your triumphant return together, with my brother.”

I wondered what Henuttawy was playing at, but Ramesses warmed to the idea at once.

“Yes,” he said eagerly, “come to Avaris.” Iset hesitated, but Ramesses took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Sail for Avaris as soon as you can. Henuttawy will go with you.”

He waited until the tears cleared from her eyes and she assented. Then we descended the dais, and the court stood from their chairs as we walked the length of the Great Hall together. Courtiers bowed at the neck, sweeping their arms before them in obeisance. A pair of guards opened the heavy wooden doors into the hall, and I thought,
they know that I am the future of Egypt now.

In Merit’s chamber, Ramesses stood with me over our sons’ cradles. I felt my eyes burn, and Ramesses put his arm across my shoulders.

“I will care for them like my own sons,” Merit swore, and I knew that she would. She would guard them with her life. But I also knew that all the spells in Egypt couldn’t protect my princes from Anubis if the jackal-headed god of death set his sights on them. When sons live to see five years of age, it is a cause for rejoicing, and their heads are shaved but for a single forelock that is tightly braided and curled at the end. We have a saying in Thebes that a son is his father’s staff in old age. Amunher and Prehir would be more than that; they would be the heirs to their father’s throne if I were made queen. They would be the jewels in his crown.

Merit said solemnly, “You don’t have to worry about them, Your Majesty. I raised Nefertari—”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Ramesses laughed.

Merit crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. “I raised Nefertari, who was never sick and never in want of anything. She may have turned out wild”—her lower lip trembled—“but that is no doing of mine.”

“And you did very well,
mawat.
” I embraced Merit and her sharp gaze softened.

“I would like to think so, Your Highness.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

O
N THE
N
ORTHERN
S
EA

                  
IN THE GOLDEN
mist of early morning, ten ships lay at anchor, clustered around the stone steps of the quay that abutted the palace. The largest was
Amun’s Blessing,
and fifty soldiers who were dressed as merchants heaved and rolled barrels filled with sand up its gangplank. The ship looked like its sisters, except that from the masts, the blue and gold pennants of royalty moved quietly in the breeze. A young boy had been found to dress as a princess and walk the deck. He stood with Asha, examining a jeweled knife that he had been given. When the fighting began, he would be secured in the ship’s cabin.

Senior members of the court stood on the quay, waiting for the ships to finally set sail so that they could return to the warmth of the palace and eat their morning meal. As the last barrel was loaded, Iset flung herself at Ramesses once more.

“She’s wasting time,” I said reproachfully.

But Woserit smiled. “Let the viziers see her making a fool of herself while you stand here, ready for battle.”

Iset wept on Ramesses’s shoulder, and kohl streaked down her cheeks in thick black lines. For the first time in all of the years I had known her, she looked neither alluring nor beautiful, and the stiffness of her walk told me she was suffering from yesterday’s birth. “What if something happens to Ramessu?” she cried. “How will you know?”

“I will see you in Avaris,” Ramesses promised gently. He pried Iset from his shoulder and glanced uneasily at Asha.

“But what if something happens to you?” Her voice rose, and Ramesses was about to smile kindly until she made the error of asking, “What would Ramessu’s place be in the palace?” At once, she saw she had made a mistake. “I … I mean how would Ramessu know his place without a father to guide him?”

But it was too late. Iset had given herself away, and Ramesses’s voice was cold when he replied, “Then it’s a good thing the gods watch over kings, and our son will never have to be raised fatherless.”

I strode ahead, meeting Ramesses at the edge of the quay, and in front of the viziers he asked, “Is the Warrior Queen of Egypt ready?”

I lifted my head with its heavy diadem. “Ready to show the Sherden pirates that Egypt will never suffer thieves to steal her riches.”

Long clouds trailed across the sky, and ibis birds called to one another in the growing light. It was a good day for sailing. We boarded
Amun’s Blessing,
and from the deck of the ship I saw Henuttawy whisper something into Iset’s ear. But whatever plan Henuttawy was hatching, Woserit and Paser would be there to stop it. I waved to Woserit until the fleet slipped from the lagoon on its journey to the sea, and all I could see were her turquoise robes and dark head leaning against Paser.

Ramesses stood at my side while
Amun’s Blessing
moved swiftly down the River Nile, its blue and gold pennants unfurling behind her like a woman’s hair. “Woserit has been in love with Paser for as long as I can remember,” he remarked. “Do you ever wonder why they haven’t married?”

I wrapped a cloak tighter against the mist, choosing my words carefully. “Probably because she’s afraid of angering Henuttawy.”

“Henuttawy can have any man,” Ramesses said dismissively. “Surely she wouldn’t object if Woserit marries first.”

“She would if Woserit is marrying the man that Henuttawy wants.”

Ramesses stared at me.
“Paser?”

I nodded.

“How long have you known this?” he exclaimed.

“Woserit told me.” I walked with him into the ship’s royal cabin. A bed had been placed beneath painted images of Sekhmet slashing her enemies.

“What else did she tell you?”

I searched Ramesses’s face and determined to roll the knucklebones. “Woserit believes that Henuttawy wants Paser because he’s the one man who won’t have her.”

We took chairs that had been arranged around a Senet board. “I am wary of Henuttawy,” Ramesses confided. “She’s beautiful, but under that beauty is something dark. Don’t you think?”

I had to stop myself from telling him everything I knew about Henuttawy’s darkness, from reaching across the table and shaking him awake, imploring him to see what his aunt truly was. Instead I replied, “I would be very careful before trusting her advice.”

WE SAILED
along the river for three days, stopping at night to cook on the shore and drink barrels of
shedeh
from Malkata’s winery. I was the only woman in the fleet, and if not for the boy who would play the role of princess when we reached the Northern Sea, I would have been the youngest as well. We sang and ate roasted duck in bowls from the palace, and the fat from the meat dripped off the soldiers’ fingers as they sat around the fires.

On the fourth night, Ramesses announced, “We have asked the locals and there is word that the Sherden were here a few nights ago. They have raided a ship bound for my father’s palace in Avaris.”

The men around the fires began to grumble their indignation.

“Tomorrow, we will send a scout,” Asha said. In the silvery light of the moon, he looked older than his nineteen years. When we were students in the edduba, he had broken the hearts of all the girls; I wondered now if he had met anyone yet, and whether he would marry. “The scout will go by land,” he went on, “and when the Sherden have been spotted, we will send out
Amun’s Blessing
and follow close behind. The fleet will wait at the bend in the river, and the scout will go out a second time. When he signals that the Sherden have approached our merchant ship, we will sail and attack!” Asha sprang to his feet for emphasis, and the cheers of the men rang out along the deserted stretch of riverbank.

Late that night, Ramesses stood behind me in our cabin and caressed my shoulders. We breathed together in the darkness, naked except for my long kilt. He removed the linen slowly, letting it fall in a pool at my feet. I shivered from his touch and he took me in his arms, carrying me to the ebony bed. He pressed his body against mine, inhaling the oil of jasmine from my skin. Over the sound of the ship groaning against its moorings, there was no one who could hear us, and when we finally fell asleep, it was in each other’s arms.

A
SHRIEK
pierced the morning’s stillness. Ramesses and I sat up in our bed, shaken from deepest sleep. I couldn’t tell what it was. A child, an animal?

When it sounded again, we rushed to find our sheaths, and on the shore we saw the boy, who was dressed in a woman’s wig and heavy bangles, weeping into his hands. A large soldier was shaking him by the shoulders.

“Leave him!” I cried, and the boy gaped up at me as if I had saved him from a tutor’s merciless beating. When I reached the shore, he ran and clung to my leg, refusing to let go.

“He won’t do it, Your Majesty!” the soldier shouted. “He is too afraid. We promised his father, the Stable Master, seven gold deben for his son to walk the decks, and he swore to us that his child was no coward!”

The boy began to cry loudly again, pathetic wails, and I pressed my hand softly to his cheek. “Shh, nothing terrible will happen to you.”

“But what of
us,
Your Majesty!” the soldier protested. “What will we do with the Sherden so close? A young girl may not have any breasts, but if we use a man, how will we explain …”

“Maybe a soldier can wear the disguise,” I suggested, “and he can stand with his back to the ship’s railing?”

The man snorted. “And if the spies glimpse the muscles in his shoulders? We need someone who can pass for a woman. We need a princess’s dowry ship that will lure them out!” He turned in supplication to Ramesses. “Please, tell me. What shall we do, Your Highness?”

I wondered if fatherhood had changed Ramesses, for instead of growing impatient with the child, he was watching him with pity. When the boy began to whimper again, I pried him from my kilt and said firmly, “I should go.”

Ramesses looked at me, and concern was etched upon his face. “You understand this is dangerous, Nefer. You would need to carry a weapon.”

“I can strap a knife to my thigh.”

The soldier fumbled for his words. “But … but you’re a
woman!
” he exclaimed. “You’re a
princess.
Your life would be at risk—”

“And what is our alternative?” I demanded. “To waste days and let these Sherden slip away?”

His cheeks flared like a cobra’s. “For this child to put on a wig and do as he’s told! You realize, boy, that your father will be expecting his gold deben?” The little boy looked up with wide, frightened eyes and began to tremble. “He will be angry when you return without it!”

“Then I will give him the deben,” I said. “And walk the decks instead. Then, when the Sherden arrive, I will lock myself in the cabin just as he was going to.”

The soldier looked at Ramesses. “Your Highness, this is your wife!”

“And that’s why I trust her to act responsibly. We shall keep her close.”

The soldier stared at us, shocked beyond words, as we returned to the ship. Then the scout who had left in the night appeared with news. The Sherden had been spotted only a short distance away, in the channels and passages leading to the Northern Sea. Immediately,
Amun’s Blessing
weighed anchor, and I sat in the cabin watching the soldiers in their merchants’ clothes, laughing at one another and relishing their new roles.