The Heretic Queen

Ramesses stood from his throne to address General Anhuri. “We are opening the temple granaries in Nekheb,” he announced. “You and Asha will inform the other generals of this, and notices will be posted on every temple door so the people know what to expect.” He turned, then looked between me and Iset. “The largest granary in Nekheb belongs to the Temple of Amun and will require the greatest supervision. Would either of you like to oversee its grain distribution?” His eyes lingered on mine, and I realized what he was doing.

“Yes,” I said at once.

“Out there in the dirt?” Iset recoiled. “With all of those people?”

“You are right. Stay here where it is calm,” Ramesses said. “I would not want you to risk the child. Asha, take Princess Nefertari to the Temple of Amun. Paser, summon my father’s architect, Penre, and every other architect in Thebes. We will not see petitioners until we find a way of flooding the canals.”

IN THE city of Nekheb, I stood between Asha and his father while a swelling crowd filled the temple courtyard, shouting for food. Behind us, three dozen soldiers with spears and shields at the ready guarded unopened bags of grain.

“Don’t bring the heretic to the Temple of Amun!” one of the women shrieked. Another cried, “She’ll anger the gods and bring us more hunger!”

Asha glanced at me, but I understood what needed to be done, and I observed the crowd’s growing rage without flinching.

“You are brave,” Asha whispered.

“I have no other choice. And until Ramesses finds a solution, I will stand here every day.”

But the crowds looked at me with loathing. I was the reason for their suffering, the reason their crops had failed in the dry earth and the waters of the River Nile had not flooded their fields.

General Anhuri held up a proclamation. “Under the orders of Pharaoh Ramesses and Princess Nefertari, the granaries of Amun are to be opened to you. Every morning, when the sun begins to rise, a cup of grain will be given to every family that lives between here and the Temple of Isis. Children may not receive cups themselves unless they are orphans. Anyone found to have joined the line twice will forfeit their grain for seven days.” There was a rush of questions and exclamations, and over the rising din General Anhuri shouted, “Silence! You will form a line!”

I stood with the soldiers who were passing out grain and, like a common scribe, tallied the number of cups being given. But as the morning wore on, the faces in line grew less and less hostile. By the afternoon, a woman muttered, “Amun bless you, Princess.”

Asha smiled at me.

“She is only one woman,” I reminded him.

“How else does it start? And that’s what Ramesses wants, isn’t it? To change their opinion?” Asha seated himself on a bag of grain. “I wonder how he and Penre are doing.”

I had been thinking the same thing since I had left the palace, but in the Great Hall that evening, Ramesses was not at the table on the dais, and the architect was missing as well.

“So I hear you are counting grain now,” Henuttawy said, as she and Woserit took their places. “From princess to peasant. I must admit, you are capable of the most astonishing transformations, Nefertari.”

“I should think that your nephew knows exactly what he’s doing,” Rahotep remarked, “sending her to the temple to pass out grain. Associating her with food and plenty. I’m sure that’s obvious to everyone here.”

“Really?” Woserit asked. “It seems to me Nefertari has agreed to help in order to be kind.”

Henuttawy looked across the table at Iset. “Then perhaps Iset should be displaying her kindness.”

“I’m not mingling with those dirty crowds at Nekheb!”

Vizier Anemro frowned. “There are plenty of soldiers present to protect you.”

“I don’t care if there’s an entire battalion,” Iset snapped. “Let Nefertari go, and when the people riot, they can tear her to pieces.”

Vizier Anemro stiffened at the rebuke, and Henuttawy lost her smile. “The people like to see kindness in their leaders,” she warned.

“And I am almost six months pregnant!” Iset shot back, heatedly. “What if some hungry peasant attacks me and hurts the child?”

There was a dark gleam in Henuttawy’s eyes. “Ramesses would never forgive himself.”

Iset grew enraged. “You would happily see me dead as long as I convinced Ramesses to rebuild your temple first! It’s not enough that I have to sit in the Audience Chamber day after day so that Ramesses will pick me instead of that dwarf. It’s not enough that I lost Ashai. Now you would have me lose my life as well!”

I glanced at Woserit; Ashai wasn’t an Egyptian name. Perhaps it was Habiru?

“Be quiet,” Henuttawy hissed. She lunged forward, and for a moment I thought she might strike Iset. Then she remembered her place. Next to her, Vizier Anemro’s eyes had grown wide. “I think you should remember where you are,” Henuttawy suggested.

Iset realized what she had done, and I could see her mind race to catch up with her tongue. “Princess Nefertari wouldn’t dare to speak a word against me,” she blurted. “If she did, I would make sure that Ramesses knew she was trying to ruin my good name just to pave her own way to the dais.”

“Vizier Anemro here isn’t deaf,” I said sharply.

“No, just impotent.” Iset smiled. “He knows he’s the least important vizier. If he were to utter the name Ashai, he would disappear from court the moment I give Egypt a son.”

“You have great confidence it will be a son. What if it’s a girl?” Woserit asked.

“Then I will have a son next! What does it matter? Ramesses will never choose Nefertari for Chief Wife. If he was going to, he would already have done it!”

“Then why is he sending her to pass out grain?” Woserit asked archly.

“He asked me as well, but I wasn’t enough of a fool to say yes!” Iset turned her wrath on me. “Do you think the viziers don’t know the real reason that Ramesses goes running off to your chamber? He wants someone who will inspect their work, and busy little Nefertari with her skill at languages is willing to spy over their shoulders.”

“You are supposed to be supporting Ramesses as well,” I hissed.

“I do,” Iset said, placing her hand over her belly.

“And if you truly loved Ramesses, you would never ask him to make you his queen,” Henuttawy added. “You are placing his crown in jeopardy.”

Woserit put her arm through mine. It was unlikely that Ramesses would come that night, and we both stood up. “Vizier Anemro, Paser, I wish you a pleasant evening,” she said, and we descended the stairs. At the bottom of the dais, she whispered, “So he returned to your chamber after lying with Iset. Was it truly to translate messages for him?”

“Yes,” I told her as we crossed the hall. “From the kingdoms of Hatti and Assyria.”

“And he also has you overseeing the grain.” Woserit gave me a look as we reached the doors. “If all Ramesses wanted were your skills at translation he could hire you as a scribe,” she said wryly. “There is only one reason he’s sending a princess to do a soldier’s work at Nakheb.”

It was as though someone had tugged on the ends of a string and loosened the knot in my stomach. “So who is Ashai?”

We passed through the doors, and before Woserit could reply, Ramesses saw us emerge from the Great Hall. “Nefertari!” he called. “Where are you going?”

“She wanted to find you,” Woserit answered, “to tell you about the temple.”

Ramesses searched my face. “It wasn’t chaos, I hope?”

“No. Asha and his father would never have allowed that.”

“But the people?” he asked worriedly.

“They were happy to receive the grain. In fact, some of them even thanked me.”

Ramesses exhaled, and I could see the immense relief in his eyes. “Good.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Good,” he repeated, and in the light of the oil lamps, the flaps of his nemes crown framed his face like a lion’s golden mane.

“It was a wise idea to send Nefertari to Nekheb,” Woserit complimented him. “But tell us what happened in the Audience Chamber while she was gone.”