The Heretic Queen

was thinking that perhaps . . . although, of course, you don’t have to . . . but I was hoping that you would look over the reports from Egypt’s spies.”

I hid my disappointment. Was this why he had come to me? “You don’t trust the viziers’ translations?” I asked quietly.

Ramesses shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Bribery is a strong temptation. How do I know what the viziers are giving me is accurate? Or that there isn’t more to these reports they are missing or concealing? My court is full of spies.”

“Among your viziers? They’d be jeopardizing their ka to lie to a Pharaoh,” I said sternly.

“You can’t see your ka. But you can see a chest full of Babylonian gold. I could work all day and still not finish reading what is sent to me. I must trust my viziers and their scribes. But the most important messages, from Hatti and Kadesh—I’d like you to read them.”

This was an opportunity—a chance to make myself more valuable than Iset. “Of course.” I smiled. “If you’d like, you can bring them every night.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

A HUNGRY PEOPLE

  THE ENTIRE COURT knew that it was Iset’s time with Pharaoh, so when Ramesses arrived in the Audience Chamber with me on his arm, there was a stiffening of backs among the viziers. Iset wore a look of deep disgust, but it wasn’t her sneer that caught my attention. It was the fact that there wasn’t a single petitioner in the chamber.

“Where is everyone?” Ramesses questioned. As we reached the viziers’ table, Paser rose.

“I have dismissed the petitioners for the day, Your Highness. There is something more important.”

Ramesses looked to Vizier Anemro, who rose as well and began to wring his hands. “As you know, Your Highness, the Nile hasn’t overflowed its banks in four years. The granaries in Aswan are already empty. And this morning . . .” He glanced uncertainly at Paser. “This morning, the scribes have told us that our Theban stores may only last until Pachons. Six months at the most.”

“So little?” Ramesses exclaimed. “That isn’t possible. My father said there was enough for another dry season!”

Paser shook his head. “That was before Your Highness’s victory feast, and your marriage, and the extra rations of grain that the Theban people received for every celebration.”

I saw the blood drain from Ramesses’s face. “The scribes gave out extra rations of grain every time?”

Anemro swallowed. “It is the custom, Your Highness.”

“And no one thought to stop this custom when the Nile has run low for four years?” he shouted. “Our season of overflow is nearly over. If the river doesn’t overflow by next month, crops will fail. Come summer there will be famine within this city. And no one can predict how long it might continue. Or what its consequences might be!”

The river’s load of black earth gave Egypt not just its name, but its very life as well. I squeezed Ramesses’s hand in mine and asked calmly, “So what can be done?”

Paser spread his palms. “I would like to suggest we use this time to address the situation.”

“Arrange several tables beneath the dais,” Ramesses instructed. “I want everyone in this chamber to offer their suggestions. Nefertari, Iset, you too.”

When the servants arranged the viziers’ tables beneath the dais, Rahotep spoke first. “I suggest that Your Highness visit each of the granaries, to be certain this is true.”

Ramesses turned to Anemro. “Have you verified that the granaries are nearly empty?”

Vizier Anemro nodded swiftly. “Yes, Your Highness. The scribes have not lied. Outside of Thebes, in the city of Nekheb, some of the granaries have lain empty since Thoth, and families are already experiencing famine. Soon, people will be taking to the streets. Murder and theft will increase,” he warned fearfully.

“We need a solution before Inundation is over and Harvest arrives,” Paser said.

“And what do you suggest we do?” Rahotep demanded.

There was silence in the chamber while everyone waited, then Paser said thoughtfully, “The people of Nekheb must be given food. Begin emptying the temple granaries,” he said. “And when those are finished, look to the army’s.”

“The temple’s granaries?” Rahotep exclaimed. “And starve the priests?”

Even Vizier Anemro was shocked. Behind him, courtiers began speaking nervously among themselves.

“In every city the temples have nearly six months of surplus grain,” Paser replied. “And here in Thebes, the army has at least three months.”

“That is a fool’s idea,” Rahotep pronounced. “What happens when the army has nothing to feed itself with?” he demanded. “What will be more dangerous?” he asked. “A hungry rabble, or a hungry army?”

Ramesses looked to Paser. “We need to be sure that when the granaries are emptied this summer, new grain is coming in. This court will need to discover a fail-safe way to be sure that the Nile overflows with enough time to plant and harvest. Or if it doesn’t overflow,” Ramesses said slowly, “that enough water can be taken from the river to irrigate the land.”

“So what will Your Highness have the people do?” Rahotep asked. “Carry water from the river back to their fields?”

“Even if a hundred people worked on every farm,” Anemro objected, “it would be impossible!”

“What if we built more canals going from the river to farmers’ lands?” Ramesses asked.

“There are already hundreds of them,” Rahotep dismissed. “But when the Nile doesn’t flood its banks, they don’t flow. No number of men with water jars will change that.”

“There has to be a way!” Ramesses said. There was a defeated silence in the Audience Chamber, and he looked to me. “Speak. What would you do?”

“Until a method is discovered of bringing water up from the river into the canals, I would do as Paser suggests.”

“And if none is ever discovered?” Rahotep raged. I wondered how Henuttawy could bear to look into his deformed eye at night. “How many Pharaohs have endured such years of drought?”

“And how many have brought the greatest minds in Egypt together in order to search for an answer?” Ramesses gripped his father’s crook in his hand.

“I am sure the farmers have searched for an answer,” Anemro replied feebly. “And with all respect, Your Highness, how do we know that one will be found in two months? Because that’s all that’s left before it’s too late to plant.”

Ramesses looked to Paser. “A solution must be found by Mechyr. Summon General Anhuri and Asha. We will release grain from the temples of Nekheb today.”

“Your Highness!” Rahotep rose in desperation. “Is this wise? If you are doing this because you are afraid that the people will blame the princess Nefertari—”

There was a gasp across the Audience Chamber. Ramesses shouted, “I am not afraid of anything!” The viziers beneath the dais grew still. “We have no other choice but to feed the people. Would you have them starve when there’s perfectly good grain?”

“Why don’t we ask the princess Iset?” Rahotep suggested. “You have asked for the princess Nefertari’s opinion; what does the princess Iset have to say?”

Iset shifted uncomfortably on her throne. Ramesses asked her, “Is there anything you would like to add?”

She glanced at Rahotep. “In three thousand years,” she repeated his argument, “no way has ever been found to bring water up from a low river.”

“That is certainly true.” Ramesses nodded. “But now my viziers and I have two months to find one.”

“And if we don’t?” Anemro asked.

“Then we will all starve!” Ramesses said angrily. “Not just the people, but the priests and generals with them!” At this, the doors of the Audience Chamber swung open, and Asha approached the dais with his father.