The Heretic Queen

and clung to my neck. As soon as Ramesses saw my face, he sprang from the bed in search of Merit.

Merit rushed into the room and tore back the covers. The bed beneath me was wet. “It’s happening, my lady! You’re having the child!”

I looked at Ramesses. Merit hurried into the hall and the entire palace was awakened by her loud instructions. Messengers were sent north to Avaris to tell Pharaoh Seti that his grandchild was coming, and half a dozen servants rushed to take me to the birthing pavilion.

“Is there anything you need?” Ramesses pressed. “How are you feeling?”

“Well,” I told him from my litter, but I was lying. The fear in my mouth tasted like an iron blade. By tomorrow, I could be dead in childbirth like my mother. I might never live to hear my baby cry or see the expression on Ramesses’s face when he held our first child. And I was afraid of what might follow if I lived, and it wasn’t a son.

The bearers rushed me through the halls, and Merit held open the door of the birthing pavilion. I glimpsed its blue tiled floor before a dozen hands eased me onto the bed. The dwarf god Bes grimaced down at me from the wall, and from the wooden post hung silver amulets that would help to bring an easy birth. A statue of Hathor stared benevolently from the ledge of a window, but when the midwives brought in the birthing chair, I felt a rising terror. I stared at the high leather back, then at the hole in the middle of the seat where the child would drop into the arms of a waiting nurse. The carved wooden sides had been painted with scenes of every protective goddess, but I had never thought to ask whether I would be using the same chair that had failed to protect my mother. I looked across the room and saw that Ramesses was gone.

“Where’s Ramesses?” I asked fearfully. “Where did he go?”

“Shh.” Merit wiped the hair from my face. “He is waiting outside—he’s not allowed into the pavilion until you’ve given birth. These women will watch over you, my lady.”

I looked up at the midwives. Their breasts were hennaed and their hands had been washed in sacred oil. But how much did they really know about birthing? My mother had attended dozens of births too, yet she had died giving life to me.

“Calm yourself,” Merit said soothingly. “The baby will come easier if you’re calm.”

My pains lasted throughout the day, and in the afternoon armed guards allowed Woserit into the birthing pavilion. Immediately, she ordered the reed mats to be lowered and more fan bearers to be brought. “This is a princess of Egypt!” she barked. “Someone bring a wet linen for her forehead and find her some shedeh.”

The midwife’s apprentice scurried out, and when the door opened, I glimpsed Ramesses’s face in the hall. He looked sick with worry. I felt a tightness in my belly and cried out. I saw him rush to the door before Merit blocked his entry.

“Your Highness, this is a birthing pavilion!” she exclaimed.

Ramesses pushed past her, and the midwives gasped at this breach of tradition. But Woserit nodded solemnly, and Ramesses pulled up a stool to sit at my side. He took my hand and didn’t flinch at my complexion.

“Nefer, you’re going to do well today. The gods are watching over us.”

I felt a strain in my back and my breath came in gasps. “It hurts,” I told him.

He squeezed my hand. “What have they given you?”

“Kheper-wer, water of carob, and honey.”

“To speed the delivery,” Woserit explained.

“But what for the pain?”

I smiled grimly. “They’ve put saffron and beer on my stomach.”

The paste glistened in the low light of the room. All I was wearing was a simple kilt, without paint or even a necklace, but Ramesses didn’t look away. Instead, he held my hand tighter.

“If the pain is too much, just look at me.” He made me promise. “Squeeze my arm.”

A sharp pain wracked my body and I arched my back. The midwives rushed to the bed and one of them cried, “It’s coming!” They eased me onto the birthing chair, and my terror grew so strong I could barely contain it. The child would drop through the hole into Merit’s waiting arms. If it was a son, the priestesses would do for me what they had done for Iset. They would ring their bells three times throughout Thebes to tell the people that I had given Ramesses an heir. If it was a girl, they would only ring the bells twice.

A bowl of steaming water was placed under the chair to ease the delivery, and while Merit crouched, Woserit and Ramesses stood at my side. I held Ramesses’s hand, and it was in this moment that I loved his rashness most. It didn’t matter that a Pharaoh had never before witnessed a royal birth. If something should happen to me, he wanted his face to be the last one I saw, and he knew that this is what I would want as well. We looked into each other’s eyes as the midwives chanted, “Push, my lady! Push!”

I strained against the chair and felt the hard wood press into my back. Then my body shuddered and one of the women cried, “It’s coming!” Merit opened her arms and I felt my body relieve itself of its burden. In a rush of blood the child appeared. Merit held it in the air to inspect its hands and feet, and I heard Ramesses cry, “A son! A prince of Egypt!”

But I was in too much pain to celebrate my triumph. I gripped the arms of the chair and felt a tremendous pressure between my legs. Then Woserit pointed beneath me and cried sharply. She took my son from Merit’s arms, and my nurse held out her hands as another head appeared, then a body. There was an intake of breath in the birthing chamber, then the sharp piercing cry of another living child.

“Twin sons!” Merit cried, and the entire chamber rejoiced. I am sure that the courtiers who pressed outside the doors could hear the cries of the midwives as they thanked Hathor and Bes for twin princes. “Sons!” they repeated. “Two sons!”

The message was passed through the windows of the pavilion, and I heard a woman shout, “The princess Nefertari is beloved by the gods.”

I looked at my sons in the arms of their nurses. Even with blood still covering their heads they were incredibly beautiful. My knees felt weak, and there was a pulsing ache between my thighs, but I was alive. I had survived the birth of not one, but two sons, and now I was a mother. I wanted to hold my princes in my arms, and stroke their heads, and learn the color of their eyes and the soft contours of their bodies. I wanted to press them to my chest and never let them go where harm might come to them. These children carried the blood of all of my akhu and Ramesses’s akhu with them.

I was helped through the back door to the baths. While Merit washed and perfumed me with jasmine, she hummed an elated hymn to Hathor. Then she guided me to a long stone bench where she packed my womb with linen. I shut my eyes tightly against the pain, and Merit said softly, “These next few days are vital, my lady. You will need to be kept completely dry and rested.” Many women survived childbirth only to succumb to disease a few days later. And my sons would have to be kept tightly wrapped, so that not even their little arms could move, in case they should accidentally reach out and beckon the shadow of Anubis.

I sat while Merit brushed my hair, and a servant brought me tea. Then I returned to the birthing pavilion. I could hear the priestesses in the courtyard ringing their bells six times each, and I imagined the people’s confusion. Thrice for a son, twice for a daughter. When they learned what six meant . . .

Ramesses sat on a leather stool at my side and held my hand again. “How do you feel?”

I smiled, and for the first time I looked with a mother’s eyes at the images of children painted across the wide walls of the pavilion. It was a large chamber, with long windows that faced the rising sun and soft linen curtains that blew gently with every breeze. It had been built to make a new mother feel at ease, for in every scene a woman sat smiling while her children were at play, at work, or asleep. I took Ramesses’s hand and squeezed it tenderly. “I am feeling well.”

His eyes filled with tears, and he moved from the stool to my bed. “I was frightened for you, Nefer. When I saw all the blood, I was scared of what I had done to you.”

“Ramesses,” I said softly, “you gave me a son. Two sons.” I looked at my children suckling at their milk nurses’ breasts. They had been bathed in lavender water and their small heads had been rubbed with oil. Without the oil, I was sure that their hair would be as red-gold as their father’s, and I felt the overwhelming need to hold them and look into their eyes.

“And just as Ahmoses predicted,” Ramesses whispered.

I looked up in astonishment. “What do you mean?”