When Nefertiti returned, bathed and dressed in white, my mother nodded. “Much better,” she said, but Nefertiti was in no mood for flattery.
“Bring in Amunhotep.”
Merit opened the door to the birthing chamber and called for Pharaoh. He came at once, and Nefertiti assailed him as soon as he appeared.
“I want the bells to ring three times,” she commanded.
He rushed to her bedside, putting a hand on her cheek. “Are you well? Are you—”
“The bells must ring three times today!”
“But the birth…” He looked down at the sleeping Meritaten. “Look how beautiful—”
“I’m talking about the bells!” Nefertiti cried, waking the princess, and Amunhotep hesitated.
“But the bells only ring—”
“Is our princess any less important than a prince?”
Amunhotep looked down into the face of his daughter, real tears coming down his cheeks. She had inherited his dark eyes and curling hair. Then he looked at Nefertiti, her face set with conviction, and turned to Merit. “Instruct the men to ring the bells three times. The princess…” He glanced at Nefertiti.
“Meritaten has been born,” Nefertiti said, and Amunhotep seated himself at her side.
“Meritaten,” he repeated, looking into his daughter’s face. “Beloved of Aten.”
Nefertiti raised her chin proudly. “Yes. After the great god of Egypt.”
“A princess.” Amunhotep picked up the wailing infant from the milk nurse’s arms and held her to his chest.
My father came in and looked poignantly at my mother. “A girl,” he said quietly.
“But still an heir,” my mother whispered.
My father stayed long enough to hold his granddaughter, the First royal Princess of Egypt, then left to address a message to the kings of foreign nations.
I studied Nefertiti in her bed. She looked drawn and pale, putting on a cheerful show for Amunhotep when she should have been sleeping. “Do you think she looks well?” I asked my mother.
“Of course not. She’s just given birth.”
Then Merit appeared at Nefertiti’s side, armed with her great ivory box of cosmetics. Dutifully, my sister sat up, though if I had been her I would have ordered everyone out of my chamber. I looked down at Princess Meritaten, pressed firmly against my sister’s breast, and I felt a pain in my heart that was probably envy. Nefertiti had a husband, a kingdom, a family. I was fifteen, and what did I have?
The Birth Feast was held at the end of Pachons. Beautifully crafted vessels of precious metals were sent from foreign kingdoms and arranged on a table that spread from one end of the Great Hall to the other. There were statues of sculpted gold and ebony chests. The king of Mitanni sent a pack of hounds, while silver and ivory bracelets arrived from noble families in Thebes.
In Amunhotep’s chamber, Nefertiti asked me which gown she should wear to the feast. “The open front, or something that cuts off at the neck?”
I studied her hennaed breasts, which were large and flattering. Her stomach was so small that it was impossible to think she had given birth only fourteen days ago. “The open front,” I said.
I watched her body as it filled out her tiny gown and was fascinated with the way she looped two golden earrings through her double piercings. I thought,
In the Great Hall, no man could take his eyes off her. “She is stunning,” Ipu said as my sister swept between the columns and up the painted dais. Birth had filled out the hollowness of her cheeks and brought color to her face. Hundreds of candles wavered in her path, and there was a momentary hush as she took her throne.
It seemed that every member of the Egyptian royal court had come to celebrate Meritaten’s birth. I walked outside to where my father was standing with my mother, enjoying a moment’s peace before the food was served and we would all have to sit. I looked again at the people crowding the courtyard, floating in and out of the Great Hall with cups of wine, dressed in the finest linen and gold. Only Panahesi was absent.
“How come there are so many people?” I asked. Even the nobility from Thebes had come to celebrate, beginning the journey on the Nile a month earlier when news of Meritaten’s impending birth had arrived.
“They have come to pay homage to the new Pharaoh,” my father said. I didn’t understand, so my father explained, “The Elder is dying.”
I stared at him. “But he was supposed to live another season! You told me—” I stopped myself and realized what my father must be saying. I leaned forward and my voice dropped to a whisper. “He wasn’t poisoned?”
My father said nothing.
“It wasn’t poison?” I pressed, but my father’s face was a mask. I reeled back. “Is that where Panahesi has been?”
My parents exchanged looks and my father stood up. “Whatever has happened in Thebes, the Elder won’t last the month.”
A bell rang from inside the Great Hall, summoning the guests to dinner. My father took my mother’s arm and disappeared into the crowd while I stood, still gaping at his words.
“By the look on your face, we’re either going to be invaded or you’ve just tasted something particularly sour.”
I turned, and General Nakhtmin held out a bowl of wine.
“Thank you, General. It’s nice to see you, too.”
He laughed and indicated the Great Hall with his hand. “Shall we?”
We walked together through the arched doors of the Great Hall with its magnificent columns and hundreds of guests. He would sit at the table for the military elite, I with the royal family. But before we reached the dais, I stopped him. “Tell me, General. Have you heard anything about the Elder in Thebes?”
Nakhtmin regarded me thoughtfully, then drew me away from the tables to an alcove where we could speak with more privacy. “Why do you ask?”
I hesitated. “I…I just thought you might know.”
Nakhtmin regarded me suspiciously. “He will probably pass into the arms of Osiris very soon.”
“But he’s only forty! He could live another ten years.” I whispered, “It wasn’t poison?” and searched his face for honesty.
He nodded gravely. “There’s been talk. And if there’s talk in the king’s own family—”
“There isn’t,” I said quickly.
He studied me.
“But if…if the Pharaoh dies…”
“Yes?”
“Well, what then?”
“Then your sister becomes Queen of Egypt and the Dowager Queen will bow down before her daughter-in- law. And who knows,” Nakhtmin added conspiratorially, “she may even be Pharaoh before it’s over.”
“Is that so surprising?”
“No, that’s foolish. Only a handful of women have ever ruled Egypt.”
“And why not her?”
We both looked through the forest of columns at my sister, a thick golden signet pulling her glossy hair away from her face, enlarging her eyes. She commanded a view of the entire hall from her throne, but it was Amunhotep she watched.
“He trusts her with everything,” Nakhtmin added. “They even share chambers.”
“Who told you that?”
“I’m a general. It’s my business to know. Even if I were a servant in a minor palace, I should know something so trivial.”
“But she would have to become a widow before she would become Pharaoh.” I glanced at him and he didn’t
