The Heretic Queen (6 page)

"What would have happened if my mother had lived?" I asked Merit.

My nurse sat on the corner of the bed. "I don't know, my lady. But remember the many hardships that she endured. In the fire your mother lost everyone she loved."

The chambers in Malkata to which the fire had spread had never been rebuilt. The blackened stones and charred remains of wooden tables still stood beyond the royal courtyard, reclaimed by vines and untended weeds. When I was seven, I had insisted that Merit take me there, and when we arrived I'd stood frozen to the spot, trying to imagine where my father had been when the flames broke out. Merit said it was an oil lamp that had fallen, but I had heard the viziers speak of something darker, of a plot to kill my grandfather, the Pharaoh Ay. Behind those walls, my entire family had vanished in the flames: my brother, my father, my grandfather and his queen. Only my mother survived because she had been in the gardens. And when General Horemheb heard that Ay was dead, he came to the palace with the army behind him and forced my mother into marriage. For she had been the last royal link to the throne. I wondered if Horemheb felt any guilt at all when she too embraced Osiris, still crying out my father's name. Sometimes, I thought of her last weeks on earth. Just as my
ka
was being formed by Khnum on his potter's wheel, hers had been flying away.

I looked over my shoulder at Merit, watching me with unhappy eyes. She didn't like when I asked questions about my mother, but she never refused to answer them. "And when she died," I asked, even though I already knew the answer, "who did she cry out for?"

Merit's face grew solemn. "Your father. And--"

I turned, forgetting about the cone of incense.
"And?"

"And her sister," she admitted.

My eyes widened. "You've never said that before!"

"Because it's nothing you needed to know," Merit said quickly.

"But was she truly a heretic, as they say?"

"My lady--"

I saw that Merit was going to put off my question, and I shook my head firmly. "I was named for Nefertiti. My mother couldn't have believed that her sister was a heretic."

No one spoke the name of Nefertiti in the palace, and Merit pressed her lips together to keep from reprimanding me. She unfolded her hands and her gaze grew distant. "It was not so much the Pharaoh-Queen herself, as her husband."

"Akhenaten?"

Merit shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. He banished the gods. He destroyed the temples of Amun and replaced the statues of Ra with ones of himself."

"And my aunt?"

"She filled the streets with her image."

"In place of the gods?"

"Yes."

"But then where have they gone? I have never even seen a likeness of them."

"Of course not!" Merit stood. "Everything that belonged to your aunt was destroyed."

"Even my mother's name," I said and looked back at the shrine. Incense drifted across the face of the feline goddess. When she died, Horemheb had taken everything. "It's as though I've been born with no
akhu,
" I said. "No ancestors at all. Did you know that in the edduba," I confided, "students don't learn about Nefertiti's reign, or the reign of Pharaoh Ay, or Tutankhamun?"

Merit nodded. "Yes. Horemheb erased their names from the scrolls."

"He took their lives. He ruled for four years, but they teach us that he ruled for dozens and dozens.
I
know better.
Ramesses
knows better. But what will my children be taught? For them, my family will never have existed."

Each year, on the Feast of Wag, Egyptians visit the mortuary temples of their ancestors. But there was nowhere for me to honor my own mother's
ka
or the
ka
of my father with incense or a bowl of oil. Even their tombs had been hidden in the hills of Thebes, safe from the Aten priests and Horemheb's vengeance. "Who will remember them, Merit?
Who?
"

Merit placed her palm on my shoulder. "You."

"And when I'm gone?"

"Make sure you are never gone from the people's memory. And those who know of your fame will search out your past and find Pharaoh Ay and Queen Mutnodjmet."

"Otherwise they will be erased."

"And Horemheb will have succeeded."

CHAPTER THREE

THE WAY A CAT LISTENS

THE HIGH PRIESTS divined that Ramesses should marry on the twelfth of Thoth. They had chosen it as the most auspicious day in the season of Akhet, and when I walked from the palace to the Temple of Amun, the lake was already crowded with vessels bringing food and gifts for the celebration.

Inside the temple I kept to myself, and not even Tutor Oba could find fault with me when the priests were finished. "What's the matter, Princess? No one to entertain now that Pharaoh Ramesses and Asha are gone?"

I looked up into Tutor Oba's wrinkled face. His skin was like papyrus; every part of it was lined. Even around his nose there were creases. I suppose he was only fifty, but he seemed to me to be as old as the cracking paint in my chamber.

"Yes, everybody has left me," I said.

Tutor Oba laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound.

"Everybody has left you!" he repeated.
"Everybody."
He looked around him at the two hundred students who were following him to the edduba. "Tutor Paser tells me you are a very good student, and now I wonder if he means in acting or in languages. Perhaps in a few years, we'll be seeing you in one of Pharaoh's performances!"

I walked the rest of the way to the edduba in silence. Behind me, I could still hear Tutor Oba's grating laugh, and inside the class I was too angry to care when Paser announced, "Today, we will begin a new language."

I don't remember what I learned that day, or how Paser began to teach us the language of Shasu. Instead of paying attention, I stared at the girl on the reed mat to my left. She was no more than eight or nine, but she was sitting at the front of the class where Asha should have been. When the time came for our afternoon meal, she ran away with another girl her age, and it occurred to me that I no longer had anyone to eat with.

"Who's in for dice?" Baki announced, between mouthfuls.

"I'll play," I said.

Baki looked behind him to a group of boys, and their faces were all set against me. "I . . . don't think we allow girls to play."

"You allow girls every other day," I said.

"But . . . but not today."

The other boys nodded, and shame brightened my cheeks. I stepped into the courtyard to find a seat by myself, then recognized Asha on the stone bench where we always ate.

"Asha! What are you doing here?" I exclaimed.

He leaned his yew bow against the bench. "Soldiers get mealtimes, too," he said. He searched my face. "What's the matter?"

I shrugged. "The boys won't allow me to play dice with them."

"Which boys?" he demanded.

"It doesn't matter."

"It
does
matter." His voice grew menacing. "Which ones?"

"Baki," I said, and when Asha rose threateningly from the bench, I pulled him back. "It's not just him, it's everyone, Asha. Iset was right. They were friendly to me because of you and Ramesses, and now that you're both gone, I'm just a leftover princess from a dynasty of heretics." I raised my chin and refused to be upset. "So what is it like to be a charioteer?"

Asha sat back and studied my face, but I didn't need his sympathy. "Wonderful," he admitted, and opened his sack. "No cuneiform, no hieroglyphics, no translating Muwatallis's endless threats." He looked to the sky and his smile was genuine. "I've always known I was meant to be in Pharaoh's army. I was never really good at all that." He indicated the edduba with his thumb.

"But your father wants you to be Master of the Charioteers. You have to be educated!"

"And thankfully that's over." He took out a honey cake and gave half to me. "So did you see the number of merchants that have arrived? The palace is filled with them. We couldn't take the horses to the lake because it's crowded with foreign vessels."

"Then let's go to the quay and see what's happening!"

Asha glanced around him, but the other students were rolling knucklebones and playing Senet. "Nefer, we don't have time for that."

"Why not? Paser is always late, and the soldiers don't return until the trumpets call them back. That's long after Paser begins. When will we ever see so many ships? And think of the animals they might be bringing. Horses," I said temptingly. "Maybe from Hatti."

I had said the right words. He stood with me, and when we reached the lake, we saw a dozen ships lying at anchor. Above us on the dock, pennants of every color snapped in the breeze, their rich cloth catching the light like brightly painted jewels. Heavy chests were being unloaded, and just as I had guessed, horses had arrived, gifts from the kingdom of Hatti.

"You were right!" Asha exclaimed. "How did you know?"

"Because every kingdom will send gifts. What else do the Hittites have that we'd want?"

The air filled with the shouts of merchants and the stamps of sea-weary horses skittering down the gang-planks. We picked our way toward them through the bales and bustle. Asha reached out to stroke an ink-black mare, but the man in charge chided him angrily in Hittite.

"You are speaking with Pharaoh's closest friend," I said sharply. "He has come to inspect the gifts."

"You speak Hittite?" the merchant demanded.

I nodded. "Yes," I replied in his language. "And this is Asha, future Master of Pharaoh's Charioteers."

The Hittite merchant narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if he believed me. Finally, he gave a judicious nod. "Good. You may instruct him to lead these horses to Pharaoh's stables."

I smiled widely at Asha.

"What? What is he saying?"

"He wants you to take the horses to Pharaoh Seti's stables."

"Me?" Asha exclaimed. "No! Tell him--"

I smiled at the merchant. "He will be more than happy to deliver Hatti's gifts."

Asha stared at me. "Did you tell him
no?
"

"Of course not! What's the matter with delivering a few horses?"

"Because how will I explain what I'm doing?" Asha cried.

I looked at him. "You were passing by on the way to the palace. You were asked to do this task because you are knowledgeable about horses." I turned back to the merchant. "Before we take these horses from Hatti, we would like to inspect the other gifts."

"What? What did you tell him now?"

"Trust me, Asha! There is such a thing as being
too
cautious."

The merchant frowned, Asha held his breath, and I gave the old man my most impatient look. He sighed heavily, but eventually he led us across the quay, past exquisitely carved chests made from ivory and holding a fortune in cinnamon and myrrh. The rich scents mingled with the muddy tang of the river. Asha pointed ahead to a long leather box. "Ask him what's in there!"