Nefertiti

My mother looked across the courtyard, but we were alone. “There is talk he sent Tuthmosis to an early burial. But that is just talk,” she added quickly. “Servants’ gossip.”

“Except that servants are usually right,” I whispered.

She lost some of her coloring. “Yes.”

That night we took our meal in the Great Hall, but much of the court was absent, attending a funeral for the emissary to Rhodes. Both Queen Tiye and my father had gone, while the Elder remained at the palace with his wine and women. That night the Elder was in a particularly vulgar mood, singing and belching with abandon. I saw him grab one of the servant’s breasts while she reached to replenish his wine, and when Nefertiti sat down to her husband’s left he suggested she might want to sit near him instead. She declined without a word, and I flushed on her behalf, so Pharaoh turned to me. “Then perhaps I might have the company tonight of the green-eyed sister.”

“Enough!” Amunhotep banged his fist on the table. The courtiers turned to us to see what was happening. “The Sister of the King’s Chief Wife is perfectly fine where she is.”

The Elder lowered his wine threateningly and stood, sending his chair clattering to the floor. “No weak- stomached son of mine will ever command me!” he shouted, reaching for his sword, but as he stepped forward his feet gave out beneath him. He crashed to the tiles, hazy with wine, and a dozen servants rushed to his aid. “No son of mine will teach me manners!” he raged.

Amunhotep jumped to his feet, commanding the servants, “Take him out of here! He is sick with wine.” The servants looked between the Elder and his son. “Take him now!” Amunhotep shouted.

The servants rushed to do as they were bid. They carried Pharaoh toward the door. But the Elder broke free and rushed the dais violently.

Amunhotep reached for his short sword and my heart raced in my chest. “Nefertiti!” I cried.

Guards rushed to restrain the king, and the Elder shouted, “No prince who writes poems instead of fighting on the battlefield will control my kingdom! Do you hear? Tuthmosis was the chosen Prince of Egypt!” The guards hustled him toward the doors and he shouted violently, “The chosen prince!” The doors swung shut and suddenly there was silence. The diners in the Great Hall looked to Amunhotep, who sheathed his sword and flung his cup against the tiles. When it shattered into pieces, he held out his hand for Nefertiti. “Come.”

Dinner in the Great Hall was over.

Inside the antechamber to our rooms, Amunhotep’s mood was dark. “He’s like a pig, stuffing himself with food and women. I will never be like him!” he shouted. “He was more interested in the serving girl than he was in me. If Tuthmosis was alive, he would have begged him to tell his stories. What did you shoot today?” he mimicked. “A boar? No! You wrestled a crocodile?” Amunhotep’s pacing grew more fervent. Between the two of them, they would wear the polish off these tiles. “Why is Tuthmosis the chosen one?” he thundered. “Because I don’t go off and shoot things like he did?”

“No one cares whether or not you hunt,” Nefertiti said. She caressed his cheek, moving her hand through his tumble of curls. “Leave it,” she suggested. “Tomorrow we begin preparing for our departure, and you will be a true Pharaoh and beholden to no one.”

Chapter Eight

twenty-seventh of Pharmuthi

THE FOLLOWING DAY brought frenzied preparations to the palace. My parents were arranging litters and donkeys, and Nefertiti hollered into my chamber only when she wanted something from me. Should she bring her wigs or get new ones made? What should she wear on her progression to Memphis, and would Ipu and Merit be coming with us? No one was standing still in the palace. Even the army was in disarray, with the Elder choosing which men would stay with him and which ones would go. The generals were to decide for themselves.

I went out to the palace gardens, where there wasn’t any commotion, and walked down the avenue of sycamore trees, their bright foliage shading the cobbled road. I wandered off the path, stopping to admire the flowering myrtles that clustered near the olive groves, their thick white blossoms used to treat coughs, bad breath, and colds. All around the palace grew plants with properties to cure or hurt. I wondered if the Royal Gardener knew that jasmine was good for exhaustion, and whether he’d planted the vines near the yellow and white chamomile flowers by accident, or if he’d known that chamomile was also used by the court physicians to ease tension.

I could sit in the gardens all day and no one would notice until Nefertiti wanted something. I picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water, and as the splash resounded I heard a high-pitched mewl. First one, then another kitten darted out of the brush, startled by the noise the pebble had made. One of the palace felines had just produced a litter and the kittens bounded after their sleek black mother, nipping at each other’s tails and tumbling in the grass. I called one of them over to me, a green-eyed bundle who looked like her sire, and she curled up in my lap, mewling for food.

“I’ll bet you like it here in these gardens,” I said wistfully, chucking the kitten beneath the chin. “No one to bother you or ask you what kilt they should wear.” The kitten ignored me and climbed up my shirt, nestling its tiny head in my neck. I laughed and pried it away. “Come here.” It held out its tiny arms and claws, searching for something stable. “There.” I tucked the kitten into the crook of my arm and she sat there, watching the dragonflies, fascinated by them.

“Mutny?” Nefertiti called from across the garden. As always, her voice was filled with urgency. “Mutny, where are you?” She appeared through the trees, walking the perimeter of the lotus pond to get to me. Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she wasn’t crying. She never cried.

“What happened?” I sprung up, abandoning the kitten. “What’s wrong?”

She hooked my arm in hers and steered me to a stone bench. “I bled,” she confided.

I observed her quizzically. “But you’ve only been his wife for—”

Her nails dug into my arm. “Kiya is nearly four months pregnant!” she cried. “Four! You must know something you can give me, Mutny. You studied herbs with Ranofer.”

I shook my head. “Nefertiti—”

“Please. Think of what he told you. You always listened to what he had to say.”

While it was Nefertiti that Ranofer had been in love with, I was the one who had listened patiently as he rattled off the names of medicinal herbs. I would have smiled, but there was fear in her eyes, and I realized how serious it would be if Kiya had a son and Nefertiti was not even pregnant with a child. I tried to think. “There is mandrake,” I said.

“Good.” She sat straighter, the color coming back to her cheeks. “What else?”

“Honey and oil.”

She nodded quickly. “I could get those things. Mandrake, of course, is more difficult.”

“Try the honey,” I prompted, and I knew it was useless to point out that it had taken Kiya nearly a year to conceive.

On the twenty-eighth of Pharmuthi, every courtyard in the palace was cluttered with litters. Heavily laden donkeys brayed loudly while bustling slaves bumped into each other and muttered sharp curses. Because this was nearly Shemu and the waters were low, our journey to Memphis would take many days. I asked Ipu to scour the markets for treatises on herbs that I could read while we sailed.

“On the ship? You want to read on the ship?” She stood in the doorway of my room and lowered the empty basket in her hands. By afternoon, it would be filled with my requests. This would be the last we’d see of Thebes,