Nefertiti

Kadesh?”

Nakhtmin smiled wryly. “News travels fast.”

Udjai stepped forward and there was the deepest respect in his voice. “You are all the people will talk about,” he said. “But you were imprisoned.”

I stiffened. “And my sister set him free.”

Understanding dawned on Udjai’s face: why we were there in the dark of night, why we’d come without baskets or linens or even a day’s worth of food. “Is it true, then,” he whispered, “that Pharaoh will execute the great general Horemheb?”

Nakhtmin stiffened. “Yes. It is only by Lady Mutnodjmet’s grace that I am free. Horemheb has no such luck.”

“Unless the gods are with him,” Udjai replied, glancing up at a mural of Amun. He saw my look and shifted. “The people don’t forget the god who gave them life and made Egypt great.” He cleared his throat tactfully, as if he’d said too much to the daughter of Ay. “Do you think to hide from Pharaoh, then?” Udjai asked.

“No one can hide from Pharaoh,” Nakhtmin said. “We’ve come to raise a family and make a new life far away from court. By tomorrow, they will know where we have gone. But Pharaoh will not send men after us. He is too afraid of rebellion.”

And Nefertiti, I thought.

Udjai produced a key from a golden box. “Payment due once a month, beginning on the first. Or you can pay me outright.”

“We will pay you outright,” Nakhtmin said at once.

Udjai bowed. “It is an honor to do business with a general who would have made the Elder proud.”

We walked up the stone path, and I shivered in the chill that had settled over the desert. But there was warmth in Nakhtmin’s hand and I didn’t let it go. Inside the empty house, he lit the brazier and shadows moved across the ceiling.

My eyes welled with tears. We had crossed the threshold of an empty house together, and in every family of Egypt this meant the same thing. I held back my tears. “We are married now,” I said. “Only a few days ago I thought you were dead to me, and suddenly in the darkness of night we are together as husband and wife.”

Nakhtmin pressed against me, smoothing my black hair. “The gods have protected us, Mutnodjmet. There is destiny in our being together. My prayers to Amun have been answered.” He kissed me, and I wondered if he had been with another woman; he would have had his choice of any woman in Kadesh. But I looked into his eyes, and his urgency told me otherwise. He lifted my gown and we made love near the warmth of our small fire, over and over again. Toward morning, Nakhtmin rolled on his side to look at me.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because I am happy.” I laughed, but there was sadness and bitterness in it, too.

“Did you think I wouldn’t return?” he asked seriously.

My linen gown lay at the foot of the brazier, so he wrapped me in a fold of his cloak. I pressed my cheek against its warmth and nodded.

“They told me to forget you,” I whispered. My throat tightened, thinking of the night when I’d lost our child. “And then the poison…”

My husband clenched his jaw, wanting to say something violent, but tenderness overcame him. “There will be other children,” he promised, putting a hand to my stomach. “And no force of Hittites, however strong or numerous, could keep me from you.”

“But how did you defeat them?”

He told me the story of the night that Akhenaten’s Nubian guards had ordered him onto a barge with seven other men bound for the front at Kadesh. “I don’t doubt Pharaoh thought it was suicide, but he overestimated the Hittite forces. They are scattered throughout the north, and there weren’t enough of them to break through a coordinated defense. They’d chosen the city because they’d gambled that Akhenaten wouldn’t send soldiers to defend it. But they were wrong.”

“Only because he thought those he was sending were going to their death.”

“But the Hittites didn’t know that. The mayor of Kadesh didn’t know that. We have saved Egypt from a Hittite invasion,” he said, “but they’ll try again.”

“And next time they’ll be no one to save Kadesh, and when it falls, their march to Mitanni and then to Egypt will be unstoppable.”

“We could fight them,” he said, sure of himself, remembering the fear Egypt’s army had instilled during the time of the Elder. “We could stop them now.”

“But Akhenaten will never do it.” I conjured an image of Akhenaten, the white leather of his sandals and his pristine cloak that would never see battle. “Akhenaten the Builder,” I said contemptuously. “While the Hittites march south, Egypt’s soldiers will be busy sanding stone for his eternal city to Aten.”

Nakhtmin paused, considering his next words. “When we rode into the city, the soldiers were shocked to see your sister on every temple,” he confided. “Her image is everywhere.”

“She is reminding the people who rules in Egypt,” I said defensively.

Nakhtmin watched me, and his look was guarded. “There are some who say that she has raised herself even above Amun.”

I was silent, and when he saw that I wasn’t going to speak against her he sighed.

“Either way, I am glad our children will know what it’s like to till the earth and fish the Nile and walk through the streets without being knelt to as if they were gods. They will be humble.”

“If I have a son”—I measured my words—“Nefertiti will never forgive me.”

Nakhtmin shook his head. “That’s over now.”

“It’s never over. So long as Nefertiti is alive and we are sisters, it will never be over.”

The next morning, the sun had risen well into the sky before we rolled off our pallet and looked around us. There was a commotion outside. “Soldiers?” I tensed.

Nakhtmin’s hearing was sharper. “Djedefhor. And from the sounds of it, Ipu.”

Now I, too, could hear my servant’s incessant chatter. We dressed in a hurry and I opened the door.

“Ipu!” I exclaimed.

“My lady!” She set down a basket. “What a place,” she cried. “It’s so large. Not as nice a garden, but look at the view.” The basket toppled over and an angry Bastet marched out with an injured air. When he saw me, he leapt into my arms.

“Oh, Bastet. Was the river ride so terrible?” I chucked him under the chin.

“I have no idea what he’s complaining about. Djedefhor caught two fish and gave them both to him.”

I turned to Djedefhor.

He bowed. “My lady.”

Nakhtmin embraced him warmly. “I never had to chance to thank you,” my husband said. I glanced at Nakhtmin. “I asked Djedefhor to watch over you while I was gone,” he explained.

I covered my mouth and Ipu stifled a giggle.

Djedefhor shrugged. “It wasn’t difficult. A few trips into the village.”

“A few? You came every day!” I looked again at Nakhtmin, and my heart filled with a sudden, overwhelming love. Even as he was being sent away by my own family, he had thought to find someone to watch over me. I went to Djedefhor and took his hands. “Thank you,” I said.

Djedefhor flushed. “You’re welcome, my lady.” He studied the house and said with admiration, “You’ve found a beautiful place up here.” He passed his hand over the smooth walls. “Real construction. Not mud brick and talatat,” he added.

“Yes. A real city of limestone and granite,” I said.

We unloaded the baskets that had come on the barge and spent the afternoon laying rugs and washing linens. Neighbors peered through our window, curious to see who had moved into the house that had been meant for the mayor’s daughter.