The Heretic Queen (13 page)

"Egypt
curses
the name of my aunt."

"Not when she was alive. She knew how to control the viziers, when to speak, which friendships to cultivate. But are you willing to learn those things?"

I slumped deeper into the chair. "And become like the Heretic Queen?"

"And become a viable player in this game of Senet." He indicated a polished wooden table. The top had been divided into three rows of ten squares, and he opened a wooden drawer to take out a carved faience piece. "Do you know what this is?"

Of course I did. "It's a pawn."

"There are five for each player. In some games there are seven, or even ten. In a way, like the court." He glanced at me. "Some days, it will feel as if you are playing a game with more pawns than you believe you can control. Other days, there will be fewer pawns to play. But at court, every day ends the same: the first player with all of her pawns on her own squares wins. You will have to learn which courtiers to control, which viziers to move closer, which ambassadors to placate. And whichever wife can lure them all to her squares will someday become queen. It's not an easy game, and there are many rules, but if you are willing to learn . . ."

I thought of Ramesses across the river, waking up in Iset's bed and watching her prepare for her morning in the Audience Chamber. What did she know about petitions? How could she help him in any way? I could be closer to Ramesses with every move Paser showed me how to make. "Yes." The word sounded with an intensity that caught me by surprise.

The beginnings of a smile formed on his lips. "Then tomorrow, you will bring a reed pen and papyrus. We will be adding an eighth language to our studies: Akkadian, the language of the Assyrians. For tonight, you may translate this."

He took a scroll from his belt and handed it to me.

Outside the door, Aloli was waiting.

"What's the matter?" she asked cheerfully. "What are you studying?"

I followed the jangle of her anklets down the hall. Priestesses were awake, and soon the morning ritual would begin. "Languages," I said. I was about to add "Shasu," but Aloli held up her hand. "Hush! We're approaching the inner sanctum."

The inner sanctum was as dark and still as a tomb, and the air rang loud with silence. It lay at the heart of the temple, and the windowless walls and heavy columns protected it from the sun. An altar of ebony rose from the center of the chamber; the polished black stone reflected the light of the flickering torches.

"What do we do?" I whispered, but Aloli didn't respond. She walked to the front of the chamber, where she slowly knelt before the altar of Hathor and held out her hands. I followed silently and did the same. Around us, priestesses in flowing blue robes were taking their places, holding out their palms the way Aloli had done, as if waiting for raindrops. I searched the chamber for Woserit, but as the chanting began and sweet billows of incense filled the inner sanctum, I couldn't see anything but the altar in front of me.

Mother of Horus. Wife of Ra. Creator of Egypt.
Mother of Horus. Wife of Ra. Creator of Egypt.

The priestesses repeated this chant, and Aloli looked in my direction to see if I understood. I intoned the words with her. "Mother of Horus. Wife of Ra. Creator of Egypt." Then someone added, "We come to pay you obeisance," and as the women lowered their arms, Woserit emerged from the eastern passageway in a robe of astonishing material. It rippled as she moved, creating the impression of water in the dimly lit chamber. Her hair was swept back by Hathor's crown, and not for the first time I felt awed by her. She held an alabaster jar above the altar, then poured oil onto the polished surface.

"Mother of Horus, wife of Ra, creator of Egypt, I bring to you the oil of life."

The priestesses raised their palms again, and Woserit washed her hands in a bowl of water. Then she disappeared down the smoky hall.

"That's it?" I asked.

Aloli grinned at me. "In the morning, the altar is crowned with oil, and in the evening the High Priestess brings bread and wine."

"But all of that, just for some oil?"

Aloli's smile vanished. "These are the ways of Hathor," she said sternly. "Every morning and evening they must be performed to invoke her pleasure. Would you risk her wrath by not paying her obeisance?"

I shook my head. "No, of course not."

"Hathor's rites may be simple, but nothing is more important to Egypt's survival."

I was surprised by Aloli's sudden seriousness. We walked across much of the temple in silence. When we reached the entrance, I ventured, "So what do we do now?"

The jovial Aloli returned. "Didn't the High Priestess tell you? Now we clean!"

I felt the blood drain from my face. "You mean, with oil and brushes?"

"And linen and lemons." She stopped walking. "Haven't you ever cleaned?"

"My sandals," I said. "When there was mud on them after a hunt."

"But never a floor, or a table, or a mosaic?" She saw my face and realized. "You have never cleaned in your life, have you?"

I shook my head.

"It's not difficult," she promised brightly. "The priestesses do it every day before their afternoon meal." She took off her robe and bundled it under her arm. Beneath, she wore the same blue sheath that I'd been given. "We will clean the hall leading out into the groves. The men come through with mud on their sandals and dirt in their kilts. Every priestess has her own hall, and this one is mine!"

She strode ahead and I followed. I didn't understand why she was so merry until she opened the doors leading onto the groves. As she bent over to clean, the barrel-chested grove workers watched as her sheath moved slowly up her thighs. She made no effort to move herself from their view. I squatted over the tiles at the other end of the hall and arranged my sheath over my knees. I dabbed a piece of linen into a bowl of water, then leaned over and wiped it gently across the floor.

"It will go easier if you are on your knees." Aloli laughed. "Don't worry, no one will be watching you. They're all watching me."

WHEN THE piercing sound of trumpets sent the workers heading to their homes beyond the temple, Aloli handed me my robe. An eternity of scrubbing, over at last.

We entered the Great Hall with its towering mosaics of Hathor, the scent of roasted duck in steaming bowls of pomegranate sauce filled the lively chamber. Row upon row of polished cedar tables were taken up by priestesses who had already taken their seats.

"Where do we sit?"

"Next to the High Priestess."

I could see Woserit's crown above the heads of even the tallest women, and when she saw us, she gave a small nod. I sat on Woserit's right, and Aloli sat to her left. As I reached for my bowl, Woserit said sharply, "I hope you don't snatch your food like that in the palace."

I looked around me, in fear that everyone had heard her rebuke, but the other priestesses were deep in conversation.

"You don't grab for your bowl like a monkey," Woserit said. "You start by rolling up your sleeve." She illustrated, taking her left hand and delicately holding up the sleeve of her right while reaching for the soup. Then she let her sleeve fall into place as she brought the bowl to her mouth. When she had taken a sip, she didn't let her lips linger on the bowl as I might have. She replaced her bowl the same way she had taken it. I imitated what she had done, and she nodded. "Better. Now let me see you take the duck."

The other women had rolled up their sleeves and were taking the meat in both hands and eagerly picking it apart. When I began to do the same, Woserit's look grew dark.

"That is fine for a common priestess, but you are a
princess.
" She lifted her sleeve as she had done before, then held the meat between her forefinger and thumb and nibbled on it slowly, using a linen she kept in her left hand to wipe her mouth should the pomegranate paste dribble. "I'm shocked you've never learned this before, sitting at the table beneath the dais for seven years. But then I suppose that you and Ramesses never paid attention to anything besides yourselves."

I hid my shame by lowering my head, then took the leg of the duck in my right hand, just as she had done. She passed me her linen, and when I used it to keep sauce from falling on my robe, her gaze softened. "The next time you come into the Great Hall," she said, "I expect you to bring a table linen with you. Have Merit make it from an old sheath."

I nodded. "And sit straight. And raise your head. None of this is your own personal failing, Nefertari. You are here to learn and that's what you're doing."

WHEN THE meal was over. I followed Aloli through the halls to the eastern sanctuary. "I think I will like it here," I lied.

Aloli marched ahead, and her long robes swished back and forth. "The cleaning and the rituals, you'll get used to them," she promised. "And while we're practicing harp," she gloated, "the other priestesses will be out greeting pilgrims."

I stopped walking. "I'm the
only
one practicing harp?"

"The entire temple can't play, can it?" Aloli turned around. "Only a few priestesses have the talent. I'm one of them."

We entered the eastern sanctuary. Tiles of highly polished blue and gold covered the walls, tracing images of the goddess Hathor teaching mortals how to play and sing.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Aloli asked, as she walked to a small platform where two harps had been positioned next to a pair of stools. "Why don't you begin?"

I shook my head firmly at I sat. "No. Please. I'd like to hear you first."

Aloli arranged herself on the wooden stool, then tilted the harp so that it was resting on her shoulder. She sat straight as a reed, the way I had been taught, with her elbows bent out like an ibis about to take flight. Then she positioned her fingers on the strings and an astonishing melody filled the chamber. She closed her eyes and in the echoing strains of her music she was the most beautiful, elegant woman in Egypt. The song resounded in the empty room, first slow, then swift and passionate. Not even Iset or Henuttawy could play the harp with her skill. When her fingers came to rest, I remembered to breathe. "I will never play like that," I said, with awe.

"Remember, you are fourteen and I am seventeen. It will come with practice."

"But I practiced every day at the edduba," I protested.

"In a group, or alone?"

I thought of my music lessons with Asha and Ramesses and flushed at how little we'd ever accomplished. "In a group."

"Here, there'll be no one to distract you," she promised. "You may not be playing in Pharaoh's military procession tomorrow, but--"

I stood from my stool so swiftly that it fell. "What do you mean? What procession?"

"Egypt is going to war. There's to be a procession when the army marches through Thebes. News arrived last night." Aloli frowned. "Why, my lady?"

"Paser never told me! I have to bid Ramesses farewell! I have to tell Asha!"

"But you're in the temple now. Priestesses in training don't leave for a year."

"I'm not a priestess in training!"

Aloli stood up her harp. "I thought you were here to take the High Priestess's place?"

"No. I am here to stay away from Ramesses. Woserit thinks I can learn how to behave like a queen, and that Ramesses will take me as Chief Wife."