The Heretic Queen

The leader of the Habiru.”

Ramesses sat up on the pillows, shocked. “His teacher?”

“And he didn’t come simply because he thought I would honor the vows of my akhu,” I admitted slowly. “He came with the idea that there was profit in it for me as well. That if I released the Habiru from the army, I could tell the people I was expelling the heretics from Thebes and win their approval.”

“So he is clever.”

“I would never have said yes. Not at the expense of Egypt.”

Ramesses took my hand, pulling me toward him. “Enough of this Habiru from Chaldea. Let Paser deal with him.”

“So there isn’t anything we can do?”

“For the Habiru?” Ramesses was genuinely surprised. “Not when they’re a sixth of my father’s army. Why? Do you think we should risk—”

“No,” I said quickly. “When he comes, you will have to refuse him as well.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

FOR WHOM DO YOU WAIT?

Thebes, 1281 BC

  WHEN THE NEW year arrived, so did Seti’s court from Avaris, and although it was supposed to be the solemn Feast of Wag, Iset had planned a merry celebration to welcome him back. All of Thebes came to see the royal flotilla of ships sail into Malkata’s lake. The masts were festooned with blue and gold pennants, and trumpets blared as Seti and Tuya stepped onto the quay. The courtyard in front of the palace was filled with drinking courtiers, and the doors were decorated with swaths of gold cloth and rich blue linen.

“The princess must think she’s planning a marriage, not the Feast of Wag,” Merit snapped from where we stood on the quayside. “What if there’s another war?” she demanded. “Where will the deben come from to pay the army if it’s all been spent on acrobats, wine, and musicians?” She turned to me. “What does Pharaoh say about this?”

I looked at Ramesses, who was greeting his father at the end of the quay. They both wore the blue and gold nemes crown, but no two men could have been more different. One was young and bronzed from his time in the south, the other was old, and thin, and weary. But neither of them seemed to mind that the somber Feast of Wag had been turned into a festival. “Ramesses indulges her,” I replied. “He wants to make her happy.”

“Little Nefertari!” Pharaoh Seti called out. He crossed the quay, and courtiers parted to make a path for him. The queen pointedly remained with Iset. But when Adjo caught sight of me, his lips curled back in a threatening growl. “Oh, be quiet,” Pharaoh Seti demanded, and when he reached me, he took me proudly in his arms. “Even with a child you’re as slight as a reed! So tell me, when does the little prince come?”

“Only two months left.”

He glanced behind him to where Iset and Henuttawy were watching us. “And the other one?” he whispered.

“Not too long after.”

“So this must be a son.”

“Yes. I’ve been praying to Bes every night, and Nurse Merit has prepared a special offering for my akhu.”

“And the people?”

“I am trying.”

“Because there is always danger in the north. If Ramesses ever takes the army to face Emperor Muwatallis, he cannot leave a foolish queen behind to sit on his throne. He needs a partner in the Audience Chamber whom he can trust. And that the people will accept . . .”

“Then Paser will have to watch the Audience Chamber. If Ramesses goes to war, I want to go with him. I want to be a partner to him wherever he is, even if that’s in battle.”

Pharaoh Seti stared at me, then a smile started at the edges of his lips. “Tonight, when you visit your akhu,” he said quietly, “thank them for bringing you to my son.”

That evening, I entered Horemheb’s mortuary temple in Djamet and knelt in front of my mother’s image. I lit a cone of kyphi that Merit had procured in the markets at great expense, and as the smoke made a shroud across my mother’s face, I traced the scar that Henuttawy had cut across her cheek.

“Mawat,” I said heavily, and already felt the burning in my eyes. “You don’t know how sick I’ve been this past month. Merit gives me mint but it never helps. She says it’s a sign that I’m carrying a son, but what if it’s not? What if I never stop feeling ill?” My hand lingered on her cheek, and I wondered what her real skin had felt like. Had it been soft, the way I imagined it to be? “If you were here, you would know what to do,” I whispered. Her image flickered in the lamplight. I heard a rustle of sandals and tensed.

“You miss her,” a voice said softly.

I nodded, and Woserit stood at my shoulder.

“When the gods return, she will be resurrected and you will walk hand in hand with her in Egypt.”

I glanced at Woserit and reminded myself of the further truth she was withholding. Without the status of Chief Wife, my mother would never return to Egypt. As Chief Wife, my lineage would be written on every temple from Memphis to Thebes, and the gods would remember my akhu until eternity. But without that title my ancestors would remain erased from history. It wasn’t just for me that I had to become queen. It was for my mother. And her mother. And now my child. I looked down at my belly. “But what if it’s not a son?”

“I have placed an offering to Hathor every evening in your name.”

And if Iset has a prince as well? Without the crown, my child would become a second prince, sent away to Memphis to become a priest the way Akhenaten had been spurned as a child. I stood and, looking up at my mother’s damaged face, felt a deep inner rage. “Egypt knows she never worshipped Aten. It was Akhenaten who was the Heretic King. It was Akhenaten who wanted to erase Egypt’s gods, not my mother. So why couldn’t they just destroy him?”

“Because people are easy to convince.” Woserit sighed. “And Horemheb convinced them that all of your family was corrupted.”

“But he married my mother!”

“Because he knew that she never worshipped Aten. No amount of royal blood would have convinced him to marry her if he’d thought otherwise. And although she may not have wanted that marriage, it saved her from the same fate as your aunt. The fate of being completely erased from Egypt, your name chipped from all the monuments of Thebes as if you had never lived. At least you can come to see her here.”

“In one painting?” I asked. “One?” I watched the cone of incense burn itself into ashes. “I miss her.” My eyes blurred with tears, and the embers became a smear of red in my vision.

“I know,” she said softly. “We all wait for someone to return.”

I heard the gravity in Woserit’s voice and looked up. Her eyes seemed nearly transparent in the lamplight, and her long blue robe hung almost black. “Who are you waiting for?”

“I lost a mother, too. And a father, who was very kind to me. I was blessed that they both saw me grow. They both knew that I was to become the High Priestess of Hathor.”

I blinked away my tears and felt my resolution harden. “I will make my mother proud. I will follow Ramesses into every battle. No one will ever say I’m like the Heretic Queen, only interested in my palace and my gold. And I will become Chief Wife, Woserit. Whether this is a daughter or a son, I will become Chief Wife.”

A MONTH after the Feast of Wag, Pharaoh Seti returned with Queen Tuya to Avaris. Although there was a lavish farewell in the Great Hall, I was too sick to attend. My stomach felt too large for my body, and even walking from my bed to the robing room felt dangerous.

On the eleventh of Choiak I awoke from my sleep in a sweat. Although it was only morning, my hair was wet