“Have you heard?” Ramesses demanded.
“Sherden,” Anhuri replied. He was tall, like Asha, but with darker skin and harder eyes. I thought, as I often had, that he looked like he had spent many days in the desert without water or shade, and that neither had bothered him. “We have waited long enough to deal with these pirates,” Anhuri said. “Every day they’ll grow bolder until ships no longer come to Egypt from the Northern Sea.”
“We will wait until my wife has given birth,” Ramesses said. “But make ready a fleet.”
“Of how many ships?” General Kofu asked. “The Sherden use two ships to attack. Both ships work together.”
“Then ready ten. We’ll send one ship to lie in wait for them,” Ramesses plotted. “And we’ll stock it to look like a merchant ship. The soldiers will dress as sailors, and when the Sherden come to attack—”
“They’ll become prey themselves!” Asha finished. His eyes were bright with expectation. A baited merchant ship could dock at a bend in the river, while around the bend, nine of Pharaoh’s best ships could be waiting. When both of the pirate ships were lured in, Pharaoh’s ships would surround them. “But the Sherden are no fools,” he said cautiously. “They will be wary now of a ship moving slowly on the river.”
“Then we can dock and pretend to be unloading barrels,” Ramesses said.
“They have grown fat on their thievery,” General Anhuri warned.
“They will want something more than barrels of oil. Perhaps a ship they believe is carrying gold . . .”
“What if we sail the ship with Pharaoh’s pennant?” General Kofu suggested.
“No. They may not trust that,” Anhuri said.
“Then what if it’s a princess’s ship, sailing for Mycenae?” I asked.
“They may still be suspicious,” Anhuri warned.
“And what if the princess was on board, wearing gold that would reflect far enough for them to see? I could walk the decks and there would be no doubt of it being a royal barge.”
The generals looked at Ramesses.
“We’re not using you as bait,” he said. “It’s too great a risk.”
“But the idea is good,” Anhuri admitted. “And we could just as easily dress up a boy. It might lure in the Sherden.”
A messenger entered the chamber and bowed before the dais. Henuttawy demanded, “Has she given birth yet?”
I flinched at her callousness and wondered who was sitting with Iset while we clustered in the Audience Chamber.
“Not yet, my lady. But she will deliver His Majesty’s next heir at any moment.”
Ramesses stood from his throne. “Have the proper midwives been summoned?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The messenger bowed. “They are ready.”
We rushed through the palace, and I wondered what Ramesses was hoping for. I never dared to discuss it with him at night, but if it was a son, the will of the gods would be unclear. However, if it was a daughter . . .
We reached the birthing pavilion, and behind us the courtiers halted to wait at the chamber’s entrance. I hesitated in front of the doors. “I . . . I shouldn’t. She already thinks I stole the
Ramesses scowled. “Then she will have to get over such superstitious nonsense.”
I passed a look to Woserit, who followed us across the threshold of the pavilion. Inside the chamber, the wall hangings and reed mats had all been changed. Even the color of the linens was different. I heard the sharp intake of breath as Iset saw Ramesses cross the room, and I knew she was afraid that his presence might incur the wrath of Tawaret. From her bed, she cried out in pain, and the midwives lifted her up, a woman under each arm, until she was seated on the birthing chair. Her lap was covered by a wide strip of linen and her hair had been pulled back in elaborate braids. She was perfectly beautiful even in childbirth. I knew I had not looked so well kempt during my own time in the pavilion.
I went to the statue of Tawaret and lit one of the cones of incense. Most had been burned by the midwives, and a pile of ashes smoldered at the feet of the hippopotamus goddess. I closed my eyes and whispered obediently, “May you bless Iset with the strength of a lioness. May you give her an easy birth . . .”
Iset shrieked; Henuttawy pointed to me and cried, “Nefertari, take back that terrible prayer!”
I blanched. Even the midwives turned.
“I heard what she prayed for,” Woserit said. “She was praying for Iset’s health.”
“Get her out!” Iset cried, gripping the arms of her chair.
“Nefertari is my wife,” Ramesses said sharply. “She has prayed for your health—”
“She stole the
I turned from the shrine. When Ramesses reached out his hand to stop me, I shook my head firmly.
“No.” Woserit scowled. “But she ordered us from the pavilion. Henuttawy accused Nefertari of praying for Iset’s death.”
Moments later, the heavy wooden doors opened again, and this time it was a midwife. The entire hall went silent, and I found myself holding my breath. I tried to read the woman’s face, but she was keeping her own counsel to heighten the suspense. Finally, someone shouted, “What is it?” and the midwife let herself grin. “A healthy son!” she cried jubilantly. “Prince Ramessu!”
My heart fell like a stone in my chest. Woserit squeezed my hand and said quickly, “He’s still younger, and she hasn’t given him two.”
Ramesses emerged from the birthing pavilion, and his eyes sought mine in the cheering crowds. He motioned to me and Woserit, and when we joined him on the steps of the pavilion, he took my arm. “Go back in to see her. Please don’t take offense at what she said. She was in pain—”
“Was my sister in pain, too?” Woserit asked sharply. “She accused your wife of praying for your own child’s death.”
“She is punishing Nefertari for being your friend, and I have spoken to her about this.”
“And what did she say?” I demanded.
Ramesses appeared tired, as if the conversation had taken a great deal out of him. “I’m sure you can imagine. But she’s my father’s sister.”
We went into the pavilion, and in the milk nurse’s private chamber, a crowd of midwives were gathered around Prince Ramessu. As the women parted, I felt a selfish thrill that his hair was as dark as his mother’s. This child was bigger than the last, and he was feeding greedily from his milk nurse’s breast. She carried him to a chair nearest the windows, so he could rest in the healthy light of the sun, and Ramesses stroked the downy curve of his head. Noblewomen fussed over the color of Ramessu’s skin, his eyes, his little mouth, while across the pavilion, Iset sat in her bed, waiting for the traditional line of well-wishers. When I approached, she shrank into the pillows.
“Congratulations on a healthy son,” I said.
“What are you doing back here?” she hissed.
“Enough of your peasant’s superstitions,” Woserit snapped, appearing at my side. “Even my nephew is tired of them.”
“There are amulets all over this chamber,” Iset warned us. “The milk nurse used to be a priestess of Isis.”
“You are a fool if you think I can perform magic,” I told her.
“Then who killed my son?” she whispered harshly. Her eyes brimmed with tears as Woserit stepped forward. “You are a young and foolish girl. Nefertari cannot conjure magic any more than you can. Learn to accept that the gods asked Akori to return from this world. If you’re looking to blame someone, then blame Henuttawy.”
“And why should I do that?”
Woserit looked at me, and I understood what she wanted me to say.
“Because if Henuttawy hadn’t threatened Ashai to stay away, he might have been Ramessu’s father instead,” I replied.
Iset started. “Who told you this?” When I glanced away, her whisper became bitter. “You don’t know what you’re saying! Ashai left me to care for his father in Memphis.”
