The Heretic Queen

Heretic abolished the priestship of Amun? He was willing to risk the wrath of the gods to destroy such rivals to his power.”

“Why doesn’t Ramesses see what Henuttawy is after?”

“Why should he? My sister is his beloved aunt. The one who taught him how to balance the khepresh crown on his head and to write his name in hieroglyphics as a child. Would he believe me if I told him what she really wants?”

With that, she left the Audience Chamber, her long blue robes swishing across the tiled floor. The turquoise jewels of the goddess Hathor encircled her arms, and I wished I looked so tall and splendid. Like Henuttawy and Iset, she commanded the chamber, but as the heavy doors swung shut in her wake, I noticed that the room was nearly empty. “Where is everyone?” I exclaimed.

Rahotep turned in his chair. “Who is everyone?”

My neck grew hot beneath my wig. “Where is Iset? Where is the rest of the court?”

“Preparing for the Feast of Wag,” he said dismissively.

“Doesn’t she plan to hear the petitioners?” I demanded.

Rahotep raised his brow. “I suppose she will come when she is ready.”

The musicians kept playing. They would play until the herald announced the petitioners. I sat on my throne and felt the heat creep from my neck into my cheeks. The entire court was attending Iset; the only courtiers who had remained with me were the old men playing Senet in the back of the chamber. Gone was the pretty laughter of noblemen’s daughters. Even the girls from the edduba, who had never liked Iset, were missing. They all believe she is the future of Egypt.

I struck Ramesses’s golden crook on the dais. “Bring forth the petitioners,” I announced.

Three men approached the viziers’ table, but only two held out written petitions. The third gripped a wooden staff in his hands. His long beard was the milky color of moringa blossoms. I tried to guess what his language might be, as only foreigners wear hair on their faces.

“Where is your petition?” Paser demanded.

The bearded man shook his head. “It is for the princess Nefertari alone.”

“And while the princess may eventually read your petition, it will go through me first.” Paser held out his hand, but the old man was firm.

“It is for the princess Nefertari alone,” he repeated.

Paser exhaled impatiently. “Send this man away!”

But when several guards stepped forward, the old man shouted, “Wait! Wait! My name is Ahmoses.”

“That means nothing to me,” Paser remarked sharply.

“Ahmoses of the kingdom of Chaldea.”

Paser held up his hand, and the guards backed away. “There is no such kingdom,” he challenged. “It was conquered by the Babylonian King Hammurabi, and then the Hittites.”

The bearded man nodded. “When the Hittites came, my people fled to Canaan. And when Egypt conquered Canaan, my mother was taken as a prisoner to Thebes.”

Even across the chamber, I could hear Paser’s breath catch. “Then you are a Habiru?”

Rahotep trained his red eye on the old man, and the courtiers at their Senet tables stopped what they were doing. The Habiru were heretics, dangerous men who dwelled in desert tents, not cities. But Ahmoses of Chaldea nodded. “Yes. I am a Habiru,” he replied, “and my petition is for the princess Nefertari.”

He needs help with some runaway daughter, I thought, and he is too embarrassed to tell the truth. “Bring him to me,” I called across the chamber.

“My lady, this man is a Habiru,” Paser warned.

“And if he has a petition, I will see him,” I announced. I knew the fact that I was willing to listen to a heretic’s plea would scandalize the few members of court who were present. But I was the one who was pregnant with Ramesses’s eldest child now. I was the one he’d wanted to bring to Nubia. And what if someone had denied my mother in her time of need because they’d thought she was a heretic?

Ahmoses reached a mottled hand into his robes, and produced a scroll. The guards retreated to their positions near the doors, but watched the old man with deep suspicion. As the Habiru moved slowly across the chamber, I saw that the carved staff he held close was not just a means of protection, but an aid to help him walk. Rahotep turned fully in his chair to stare across the chamber at me, and I wondered if I had made a grave mistake.

The old man stopped before the dais, but unlike every other petitioner, he did not extend his arms in obeisance. My back straightened against my throne. “Tell me,” I demanded. “Why am I the only one who can read your petition?”

“Because it was your grandfather who brought my people into Egypt,” he replied in Canaanite, “and forced them to become soldiers in his army.”

I glanced at the viziers to see if any of them had understood. “How did you know I speak the language of Canaan?”

“All of Thebes knows of your skill at languages, my lady.” We watched each other in silence for a moment, then he held out his petition. “For the princess Nefertari, daughter of Queen Mutnodjmet and General Nakhtmin.” The harpists strummed softly while the old men in the back of the chamber returned to their games, laughing when somebody threw the knucklebones to their advantage. I unrolled the Habiru’s scroll and felt the blood drain slowly from my face. I glanced up to see if Rahotep was watching and saw his red eye focused on me still.

“You want what?” I whispered under the babble of petitioners.

“I want Pharaoh to release the Habiru from his service,” he replied, “so that my people may return to the land of Canaan.”

“And in what way are they yours and not Pharaoh’s?” I demanded.

“Because I am their leader. Among the Habiru of Thebes, I am the one who brings them closer to their god.”

“So you are heretics.”

“If that means we do not worship as the Egyptians do.”

“It means you do not worship Amun,” I said harshly, and I looked over the top of the scroll at the rest of the court. But new petitioners were distracting Rahotep and Paser.

“We worship a single god,” he explained, “and we wish to return to the land of Canaan.”

“Canaan is Egyptian land,” I said, raising my voice only loud enough to show the old man my displeasure. “Why would the Habiru want to leave Thebes for an unsettled land that Egypt’s already conquered?”

Ahmoses regarded me with piercing eyes. I wondered if Paser had found them as unsettling as I did. “Because you know what it is to be treated like a heretic and threatened in the streets. This is why only you can grant this petition. In Canaan there are no Egyptian temples, and we may worship as we wish.”

I realized in that instant that I would never escape my akhu. I looked down at the scroll and felt a sudden rage at the old man. “Did Henuttawy send you to remind me that my akhu were heretics?” I demanded.

“Your akhu were not heretics,” Ahmoses replied. “They were shown a vision of the truth and they corrupted it by greed.”

“What vision of the truth?” I challenged.

“The truth of one god. Pharaoh Akhenaten called him Aten—”

“And you believe in Aten?”

“The Habiru worship by a different name. It was only Pharaoh who called him Aten, and covetousness led to his ruin.”

“Heresy led to his ruin,” I said scathingly. But Ahmoses would not be dissuaded by my anger. His eyes were like the still waters of a lake on a windless afternoon, and there was nothing I said that disturbed them. “You said he was shown a vision of the truth,” I said. There was no reason for me to be entertaining his petition further, but his certainty disturbed me. “So who showed him that vision?”

Ahmoses bowed his head. “I did,” he said quietly. “I was Pharaoh Akhenaten’s tutor when he was a young