The Heretic Queen

ONE MORNING in the beginning of Aythyr, Paser asked, “Have you been practicing your Akkadian at all?”

“How can I practice,” I asked him, “when Ramesses might be killed in this Nubian rebellion?”

Paser took a long look at me from across Woserit’s table. “If you are worried about Ramesses in Nubia,” he said, “then you will be spending the rest of your life without sleep. To be a Pharaoh is to fight against the enemies who would like to make your kingdom theirs. And when a Pharaoh isn’t fighting invaders, he is settling rebellions. Even the Heretic King held on to the territory of Nubia, with its gold mines and electrum. I wouldn’t expect Pharaoh Ramesses to return until the uprising is crushed completely. There is nothing for you to do—”

“But there is,” I interrupted. “I can go with him.”

Paser looked at me as if an ibis had suddenly perched on my head. “And what do you think you would do?” he demanded. “Pharaoh Ramesses has trained for war since he was a child. There would be bloodshed, and death, and men crying in the night—”

“Women go to tend the sick,” I argued.

“Have you ever seen a man’s arm taken off by an enemy’s blade?”

I forced myself not to blanch. “No.”

“How about the sight of a soldier’s intestines gouged by an arrow?”

“No. But I have seen the chariot races in the Arena, where soldiers have been crushed by wheels and by horses.”

“Battle is not a game, and it is certainly not a sport!” Paser sighed with a great deal of exasperation. “What do you think would happen to you if Pharaoh was killed in battle? You would be taken by the enemy and abused,” he answered himself. “And the rest of Egypt would be thrown into chaos. Who would become coregent? Who would succeed Pharaoh Seti on the throne? There would be civil war, and every wise person with gold would flee.”

“But you said there was no danger in Nubia. You said he would return—”

“Perhaps not in Nubia, but what about Hatti, or Assyria, or Kadesh? War is no place for a princess. If you want to help Pharaoh, then pray to Sekhmet that he will be safe, and that the goddess of war will bring him home. Now study your Akkadian.”

But I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even eat. Merit ordered tempting bowls from the kitchens, roasted goose in garlic and honeyed nut cakes, but my appetite was gone. “You cannot continue like this!” she exclaimed. “You will shrink away to nothing. Already, look at you.” She held up my arm. “You will disappear!”

Finally, when the army had been gone for almost three months, Woserit came in to my chamber and said, “Merit tells me you are not eating. Do you want to look like a mangy cat next to Iset when Ramesses returns from Nubia?”

I stared at her in horror from the edge of my bed. “Of course not!”

“Then I will send to the cooks for several bowls,” she said sternly. “And you will eat from all of them.” She turned to leave, then hesitated at the door. “Messengers arrived this morning. Pharaoh’s army has crushed the rebellion.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

FIRST VICTORY

  WHEN A PHARAOH comes home victorious from battle it means the gods are not only watching us, but have extended their hands to our kingdom in aid. Throughout the city of Thebes, crowds celebrated in the streets, eating the honeyed cakes being sold by vendors and washing them down with pomegranate wine. The men wore long kilts to protect them from the cold, and I was shielded against the wind by the soft fur of Woserit’s cloak. I stood with the court on the Avenue of Sphinxes by the Amun temple, and Woserit whispered nervously, “Remember what I taught you.”

“That Ramesses must come to me first,” I repeated.

“You must not run to him like a fish-starved cat. But if he wants a private audience with you, then you may give him one.”

I looked up in surprise, since Woserit had never said this before.

“Men are like iwiw,” she explained, making me think of Queen Tuya’s pampered dog. “Give them a good meal and they’ll come around wanting it again. But you will make sure he understands that meals don’t come free,” she said sternly, and I wondered why she sounded more nervous than I was. “Make him understand that you will return to the temple if he doesn’t decide.” Woserit’s gaze flicked across my golden diadem and the lined cloak that was opened to reveal my diaphanous sheath. “I’d be very surprised . . .”

But her words were cut off by the sound of trumpets and the cheers of the crowd heralding the approaching army.

Above us, on the temple’s steps, Pharaoh Seti and Queen Tuya waited proudly for their son’s return, surrounded by the most important men at court. But of everyone who stood above us, dressed in gold bangles and heavy wigs, Iset appeared the most triumphant. Her five-month belly curved beautifully beneath her cloak, and across her chest a servant had powdered the skin with crushed mother-of-pearl.

By stepping forward and craning my neck with the crowd, I could see the war chariots with their polished wheels and gilded sides. The scent of horses intermingled with incense and roses. As the army approached, the cheers of the crowds reached a feverish pitch, and I felt a pair of hands push me forward. I looked back and saw Aloli’s brazen smile from among the priestesses of Hathor.

“You want him to notice, don’t you?” she demanded.

Merit tugged at my shoulder. “She also wants to avoid being crushed by the chariots.”

At the end of the Avenue I recognized Ramesses’s khepresh crown of war. He was sharing a chariot with Asha, and both of them absorbed the adoration of the people. As Asha reined in a pair of sleek black horses, Ramesses searched the crowd, and when he found me, I felt a strange heat under my cloak despite the chill in the wind. Then Pharaoh Seti spread his arms in a gesture of welcome, and Ramesses tore his gaze away from my face. He dismounted at the steps of the temple to bow before his parents, then he slowly withdrew his sword from its sheath. Around us, the cheering grew even more frenzied as Ramesses prepared to give his sword of victory to Iset. To be presented with this is the greatest honor any person can receive. I arranged a smile on my face; then I noticed that Asha was staring in our direction.

“Who is that?” Aloli whispered.

“Asha? He’s the commander of Ramesses’s charioteers.”

“So why is he staring at us?”

“Probably because he’s never seen anyone like you before.” Aloli was the only priestess of Hathor whose hair outshone Ramesses’s. She wore a heavy turquoise cloak that brought out the vivid blue of her eyes, and the sheath beneath it was spun from a linen so fine it was nearly transparent. When Iset accepted the sword and the ceremony was finished, Aloli stepped forward to make sure that Asha didn’t miss her.

“Don’t bother,” I said as the army made its way to the palace. “Pharaoh Seti calls him Asha the Cautious.”

“Then perhaps what he needs is a woman with spirit.”

I laughed, but Aloli’s voice was earnest. “This will be my first celebration in the palace, and I don’t plan to sleep at all,” she admitted.

Because it was Choiak, it was growing too cool to feast in the courtyard of Malkata. The victory celebration would be held in the warmth of the Great Hall, where cinnamon would burn all night on the braziers and the doors would be shut against the wind. That afternoon, when I entered the chamber, it wasn’t the number of soldiers that surprised me, or that Ramesses’s horses had been brought into the hall and decorated with flowers. It was the long, polished table on the dais, with four thrones in the middle and two dozen chairs around them.

Woserit saw the direction of my gaze, and nodded. “You haven’t been inside the Great Hall since Ramesses changed court tradition. The most important members of the court no longer eat below the dais.”

“They eat on top? In front of everyone? Why?”

“You can’t guess?” she asked. “Iset’s conversation isn’t as interesting as he had hoped. What could he possibly have to talk about with her and his parents, night after night?”

Now he had his viziers and emissaries from foreign kingdoms on the dais. So while the rest of the court ate