The Heretic Queen

“Yes. He was with another priest. I thought she had summoned them. She was always feeling sorry for the priests . . .”

“Nefertiti?”

Merit nodded sadly. “She was not always cruel. I know this is what they taught you in the edduba, but there were many times when she was kind.”

“Were you there when they killed her?”

“I wasn’t far away,” Merit admitted. “I heard her screams and saw the priests walking calmly through the hall. Rahotep looked at me, and his hand was covering one eye.”

“Because she fought back!”

“Yes, but I didn’t know it then.”

“So you didn’t say anything?”

“Of course I did! I told your father! He searched for both of them, but they had disappeared. There are many places to hide in Egypt. When your mother died, Rahotep returned to court searching for a new position.”

“Giving up his belief in Aten?” I was shocked.

“He is a believer in gold.” Merit snorted. “And, of course, I recognized him. I would have turned him over to the army for murder, but when the viziers wanted to send you from this court, I warned Rahotep that if he spoke against you as well, all of Egypt would know how he came by that eye. So when Pharaoh Horemheb asked for his advice, he swore that you were of no harm to anyone. This bargain is why you remained here.”

I studied Merit’s face and marveled that she had kept such a heavy secret to herself for so long. For more than twenty years she had kept the memory inside. “Why did you never tell me this?” I asked quietly.

“What would be the purpose?”

“I would know my enemies!”

“I know your enemies, my lady, and that is enough. There’s no reason to let the corruption of the court make you as old as I am.”

I realized she was not talking about the wrinkles on her face. She meant a different kind of old, the kind that had made Iset bitter because she had lost Ashai and learned that love is not easy. She was speaking about an aging of the soul, when a person’s ka is a thousand years older than her body. “Does Woserit know all of this?” I asked softly.

“Yes. Otherwise, if something happened to me,” she explained, “these secrets would be buried in the tombs. And in a tomb, there’s nothing I could do to protect you, my lady.”

“Then if Woserit knows, Paser must know as well.”

“You are safe from Rahotep,” she promised. “He will not speak openly against you in the temple, and I will not tell Egypt that he is the murderer of a Pharaoh.”

“And probably two!” I cried, but Merit sat back in her chair.

“We don’t know that.”

“If he could murder Nefertiti,” I said heatedly, “then he could have started the fire that killed my family. Why shouldn’t I tell Ramesses what he’s done? What power does he have?”

Merit laughed, sharp and full of warning. “The kind of power you have not yet seen because he’s never used it against you. Thanks to his friend Horemheb, he is the mouth of Amun. The people trust him the way they trust Pharaoh.”

“Not if he is a murderer.”

“And would the people believe that? Or would they believe him when he says that the niece of heretics is spreading lies?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither does he. So we are silent, and he is silent, and the arrangement holds.”

“No, it doesn’t! He is still turning the people of Thebes against me.”

“And you are winning them back with every petitioner and foreign emissary.”

I remained standing, looking down at Merit, and something occurred to me. “When Henuttawy lets him into her bed at night, she thinks she is convincing him to stand against me. But he already is!”

“Snakes can deceive snakes. But they also slither into unexpected places,” she warned.

IN THE Great Hall that evening, Iset arranged Nubian dancers for the court’s entertainment. Beneath papyrus bud columns twined with blossoms, perfumed women fluttered between tables, laughing behind their heavy golden cups as the generals told stories of their adventures abroad. Sermet beer flowed from open barrels, and bowls were filled with roasted goose in rich pomegranate paste and wine.

“While Ramesses is marching toward rebellion,” I seethed under my breath to Woserit, “they are drinking and dancing!”

On the dais, Henuttawy raised a cup of wine. “To Iset,” she announced cheerfully. “And to her second child who will one day rule Thebes!” The table raised their cups to Iset, and the few women who hadn’t heard the pregnancy rumors now squealed in delight. When I refused to raise my cup, Henuttawy asked, “What’s the matter, Nefertari? Not enjoying the feast?”

The viziers looked at me, studying my carefully hennaed breasts and the wide silver belt around my waist. Merit had taken extra care with my kohl, extending the line out to my temples and shading my eyelids with malachite. But all of the paint in Egypt could not cover my disgust.

“Does she look as if she’s enjoying the feast?” Rahotep asked. “Everyone at court abandoned her today to be with Iset.”

Henuttawy gave an exaggerated gasp. “Everyone?” she repeated. “I’m sure it wasn’t everyone.”

“You’re right,” Rahotep corrected himself. “There were a few courtiers who wished to play Senet.” The emissaries around the table laughed. “But the princess wasn’t idle,” he revealed. “While Iset was preparing for the Feast of Wag, Nefertiti was listening to a petition from the greatest heretic in Thebes. He asked for her by name.”

There was a shocked murmur around the table, and Woserit darted a questioning look at me. But Henuttawy clapped her hands with delight. “Well, you know what they say. Ravens will flock with ravens.”

“And scorpions will nest with scorpions,” I replied, looking between her and the High Priest of Amun. I stood from my throne, and Woserit stood with me.

“Leaving so early?” Henuttawy called, but Woserit and I ignored her taunt.

Outside the Great Hall, Woserit turned to me. “What happened in the Audience Chamber?” she demanded. But the doors of the Great Hall swung open, and Paser joined us in the courtyard. Woserit hissed at him, “You allowed a heretic to see Nefertari?”

I rested my hand on the swell of my stomach and tried to fight back a sudden nausea. “He wouldn’t give his petition to anyone else,” I explained. “His name was Ahmoses; he was a Habiru.”

“But tell her what he wanted.” Paser’s look was riotous.

I realized he had heard more than I’d thought in the Audience Chamber. “For me to free the Habiru from the military.”

“Every Habiru?” Woserit exclaimed.

“Yes. He calls himself the leader of his people. He wishes to take the Habiru back to Canaan where they may worship as they please.”

“Canaan is still Egyptian land,” Woserit said angrily.

Paser shook his head. “Only in name. There are no temples to Amun or shrines to Isis. He clearly thinks that the Habiru would be free to worship whom they wish in the land of Sargon.”

I recalled the ancient myth Paser had taught us in the edduba, about the high priestess in the east who secretly gave birth to a son despite her vow of chastity. She had placed her newborn infant in a basket made tight with reeds and set it adrift in the River Euphrates where the child was found by Aqqi, the water bearer. The boy was given the name of Sargon, and he grew up to be a powerful king, conquering the lands of Gutium and Canaan. And now, Ahmoses wished to return to the land that Sargon had made fruitful.

Woserit exchanged a look with Paser. “Why did he request to see Nefertari, and not Iset?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because Princess Nefertari has a reason to grant his request,” Paser guessed. “He knows that she could win