The Heretic Queen

“So everyone knew?” Ramesses cried.

“Yes, but there was no way to prove it! After the coronation, once you knew that I had no reason to lie, I was going to tell you about Henuttawy and Rahotep. And they must have sensed that my queenship would spell their ruin. For so long they had worked together—until the time came to save themselves. But I couldn’t tell you— they would have done anything in their power to keep you from believing me! You have to understand—”

But I could see that he didn’t.

“I should have told you sooner,” I said. “I should never have kept anything from you, Ramesses. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t Iset tell me about her father?”

“Perhaps she was ashamed.”

“Of the High Priest of Amun?”

“Of a murderer and a man they call the jackal!” I cried, and though I knew I should have been trying to defend myself, I was tired of calculating every move and weighing every word before I said it. “This palace has been a web of secrets,” I told him. “Every night, I’ve gone to bed wondering what Henuttawy might do. Or Rahotep. It doesn’t pardon what I’ve done,” I said desperately, “but don’t be harsh with Woserit and Paser. Even Iset must have had her reasons.”

Ramesses buried his head in his hands. “But I trusted Henuttawy and Rahotep,” he said, “just like I trusted the Hittite spies in Kadesh. Why?” His voice rose with his anger. “Why?”

If there had ever been a time to tell him about Iset and Ashai, it would have been then. But I was a coward. I was afraid he would wonder how many other secrets I had hoarded in the chambers of my heart, and I hoped it could lie hidden in Ashai’s quiet village.

“Everything feels like darkness,” he whispered, and I caressed his cheek.

“You are Pharaoh of the greatest kingdom in the world. And you have princes. Three handsome princes.”

He looked through the open door of the milk nurses’ chamber, and when he smiled, I knew he was going to forgive me. But I didn’t deserve his kindness. I had kept from him things that a better woman would have revealed without worrying over her status. Still, I felt a sudden lightness in my heart, as if a long and terrible journey had finally come to an end.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

FOR THE KING IS PTAH-SOUTH-OF-HIS-WALL

  THE NEXT MORNING, the palace lay subdued. Men quietly offered their petitions in the Audience Chamber, unwilling to break the uneasy silence. But when Woserit appeared in her blue robes of Hathor, a ripple of whispers passed among the courtiers.

“Woserit.” Ramesses stood to embrace her, and the viziers rose to offer sympathy. I searched her face for any trace of sadness, but when she turned to me, I could only see immense relief in her eyes.

“Nefertari.” She embraced me, and when I encircled her in my arms, I heard her whisper, “It’s over.” There was an unsteadiness in her voice, as if she had never really believed that her sister was mortal. The courtiers of the chamber surrounded her, wanting to express their own sympathy and shock. That evening as I prepared for the Great Hall, I asked Merit quietly, “What do you think will happen to Henuttawy?”

“What does it matter?” She placed Amunher with his brother on the bed and returned to fasten a pectoral around my neck. “She will probably be buried in an unmarked grave, placed inside the earth without even an amulet for the gods to identify her with.”

I thought of Henuttawy’s final moments, and I shivered to imagine how she must have felt knowing that Rahotep’s blade was meant for her. I walked to the bed and kissed Amunher softly on his cheek. “There will never be a question anymore,” I whispered. “When you learn to walk, when you learn to speak, all of Pi-Ramesses will pay attention and know that you are the heir to your father’s throne.” He reached out and pulled at my earring, giggling as if he understood what I was telling him. But the rest of Pi-Ramesses was not so merry.

For ten days, we waited for news from the Hittites, and though only two thrones of polished ivory and gold now rested on the tiled dais of the Audience Chamber, it felt as though I had been robbed of my triumph. In the month of Thoth I would become Ramesses’s queen, but it wasn’t until a message arrived from Hattusili that I felt it was complete.

Ramesses took the scroll, and when he’d finished reading, he looked up with amazement.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Peace,” he said, triumphantly. “With the Empire of Hatti.”

Cheers erupted in the Audience Chamber, breaking the silence that had hung like a heavy pall over the palace of Pi-Ramesses. He handed the scroll to me and watched as I read. There was agreement that the Hittites would retain Kadesh, and in the case of war with Assyria, neither country would use the advantage to encroach on the other’s kingdom. For the second time, I read over Paser’s flawless Hittite and thought, It is a pact for the ages. In a thousand years this treaty will remain as a testament to our reign.

“Is there anything you would change?” Ramesses asked.

“No.” I smiled triumphantly. “I would seal this treaty and dispatch it before sunset.”

“Bring me the wax,” Ramesses commanded. A tablet with heated wax was brought, and when Ramesses was finished, I took my ring and pressed it deep enough to make an impression. Two sphinxes with the ankh of life appeared, the symbol that had belonged to my akhu since the scrolls of Egypt had first recorded history. My family would live on; even when the sands buried Amarna and my mother’s face disappeared from the mortuary temple in Thebes, the cartouche that belonged to our family would endure.

“Our kingdoms are now at peace!” Ramesses declared.

“And the blessing of the treaty?” Paser asked. “Shall we consider the replacement for High Priestess now?”

Asha spoke up from the table beneath the dais. “I would like to suggest Aloli of Thebes,” he offered.

Ramesses looked to me. “I think she would make a fine High Priestess. But the decision to release her must be Woserit’s.”

Woserit was summoned, and when she arrived, I again searched her face for any trace of sadness. Her sister was condemned to be forgotten by the gods for eternity. But she smiled at Paser as she approached the dais. When Ramesses asked her about Aloli, she looked to Asha.

“Aloli would make an excellent replacement,” she pronounced. “If she would like, she may start with morning prayers.”

Asha settled back in his chair, red-faced from his brow to his neck. “And the High Priest of Amun?” Ramesses asked his viziers. “By the first of next month, there must be another High Priest. I have waited two years to crown my queen, and I will wait no longer.”

I CAN remember very little of my coronation in that month of Thoth. For all the anticipation, when the moment came, I felt a strange calm settle over my chamber. Although Merit was rushing from chest to chest, and servants were tearing through boxes to find my best leather sandals and lotus perfume, I sat in front of the polished bronze mirror and thought of the events that had brought me to this day. My bitterest enemies in the palace were gone, and though they say that snakes can’t kill each other with their poison, I saw it happen.

When Rahotep was executed and the news was brought into the Great Hall, the court looked to Iset, but she didn’t cry. Perhaps the shock of her father’s death weighed equally against the murder of Henuttawy. But aside from these thoughts, I remember very little, and in my memory the day seems like an artist’s palette, with colors and scents running into each other.

I know that Merit dressed me in Pi-Ramesses’s finest linen, and that the Dowager Queen gifted me her collar of lapis beads and polished gold. I can recall Aloli coming into my chamber with Woserit, and that both of them had never looked so happy or talked so much. Aloli thanked me for what I had done for her in the Audience Chamber. I told her that it was Asha who had first spoken her name.

“I think he is very much in love,” I said. “Perhaps like someone else I know.”

We both looked to Woserit, who bowed her head like a young bride.