The Egyptian Royals Collection (70 page)

THE NEXT
morning, Aloli knocked on the door to my chamber, and her big eyes grew even wider when she saw me in Hathor’s long blue robes. “You are really one of us now!” she exclaimed, and her voice echoed through the silent halls.

“Perhaps we should be quiet,” I offered.

“Nonsense! It’s practically dawn.” She gave me her arm as we walked through the halls. It was so early in the morning that she needed an oil lamp to guide us down the gray passages of the temple. “So, are you nervous?” she asked merrily, and I wondered once more why everyone thought I should be. “I can still remember my first day in temple. I began my career in the Temple of Isis.”

“With
Henuttawy?
”

“Yes.” Aloli wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why my mother chose that temple. She might have chosen the Temple of Mut, or Sekhmet, or even Hathor. If she were still alive, I’d ask her. But she died when I was ten. I spent five years with the High Priestess. Fetching her water, polishing her sandals, fixing her hair …”

“Is that what a priestess is supposed to do?”

“Of course not!”

A door opened at the end of the hall and a voice cried sharply,
“Be quiet!”

“That’s Serapis. The old priestess likes to sleep in late.”

“Shouldn’t we be silent then?”

“Silent?” Aloli laughed. “Soon she’ll be sleeping for eternity. She ought to get up and enjoy the hours she has left.” We reached a hall that ended in a pair of double doors, and Aloli said, “Stay here.”

Her silhouette dissolved into the chamber’s blackness as I waited in the hall beneath a painted image of the Nile in the Sky. When I was younger, Merit had pointed to the band of stars clustered across the void and told me the story of how the cow goddess Hathor had sent her milk across the heavens as a path on which Ra could sail his solar bark. I stared up at the painting, wondering if that was the same path my parents had taken to the heavenly fields of Yaru. Then the creak of a door interrupted my thoughts, and the priestess’s hand beckoned to me. “Come. She is willing to see you.”

She let me pass into Woserit’s private chamber, and as I entered the room I tried to hide my shock. Three chairs had been placed around a lit brazier sunk into the tiled floor, and one of them was taken by Paser. Instead of wearing his hair in a severe scholar’s knot, it was now tied back in a lapis band. In the firelight, I could see a cartouche hung at his neck, engraved with Ramesses’s full title in gold.

“You may close the door, Aloli.” The priestess did as she was told, and Woserit pointed to a seat across from her. “Nefertari,” she began when I was seated, “I am sure you are surprised to see your tutor here, especially as he has now become vizier.”

I looked at Paser to see how being part of Pharaoh’s court had changed him. Wearing a vizier’s tunic made him seem somehow different.

“Paser has many new duties in the palace now,” Woserit explained, “but he has agreed to continue your education. Every morning, before he reports to the Audience Chamber, he will come to the temple to tutor you in the languages that you have studied with him.”

“At sunrise?” I exclaimed.

“And earlier.” Paser nodded.

“He knows you will not disappoint him,” Woserit said. “You have mastered seven languages in the edduba. This is what will separate you from Iset and make you invaluable.”

I frowned. “To Ramesses?”

“A queen’s job is more than bearing children,” Paser replied. “It is speaking with the people, meeting with viziers, and greeting dignitaries who come into the palace. With a command of Shasu, Hittite, Nubian, who will be best suited for entertaining princes?”

“Of course, Henuttawy will be whispering into Pharaoh Seti’s ear,” Woserit warned. “And Iset
is
beautiful. Courtiers already adore her, and with Henuttawy at her side they are a perfect pair. Entertaining and pretty … But pretty doesn’t mean useful.”

“And I am to be the useful princess?” I asked, hurt.

“Hopefully, you will be more than that,” Woserit replied. “It will take much more to make you Chief Wife when everyone is looking to Iset. This means that every morning, at sunrise, you will meet Vizier Paser in this room.”

“
Your
room?”

“Yes, and you will come prepared. I hope never to hear that you have been careless or idle in your work. Paser has told me that there have been times when you did not attend classes in the edduba. That will never happen here. Once you are finished with your lessons, Aloli will meet you outside these doors and instruct you in the morning’s ritual. When your duties as a priestess are finished, we will meet in the Great Hall and you will sit with me, where I will instruct you on how to behave when you are dining with the court.”

Woserit saw my look and added, “I hope you don’t think that you know how already.” She waited for my response, and I dutifully shook my head.

“Good. When our meal is finished, you will accompany Aloli to the eastern sanctuary where she will teach you harp.”

“But I already
know
how to play harp,” I protested.

“Properly? Like my sister or Iset?”

“No, but my talent is in languages—”

“And now it will be in harp, as well.”

I looked to Paser, as if he might offer me some reversal, but his face was set.

“When you are finished with harp,” Woserit continued, “you may return to your chamber to study. Then I expect that you will join the priestesses in their sunset ritual. When your day is finished, if you would like to join the priestesses at their dinner, you may go to the Great Hall. Otherwise, you may enjoy a quieter meal in your room.” She stood to excuse herself. “I know this sounds like a great deal to learn,” she said softly, “but there is a purpose for everything. The longer you are away from Ramesses, the more he will miss you, and the more time we will have to transform you from a sapling into a tree that can withstand even the strongest winds.”

I nodded as if I believed her, and when she left, Paser said quietly, “And there will be winds. Trust her, Princess.” He stood and retrieved a large model from a desk across the room. He placed it on the table between our chairs. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

I leaned forward to get a better look. An artist had carefully sculpted a long chamber with more than three dozen columns holding up a roof of blue tiles from clay. On one end of the room was a pair of bronze doors that I recognized from the palace. On the other was a raised and polished dais. Its steps were painted with images of bound captives, so that whenever Pharaoh ascended the platform he could crush his enemies beneath his braided sandals. Three thrones had been placed on top of the dais, each of them gilt in gold. Although members of the court had to be at least fourteen to enter, I recognized the room by sight. “It’s the Audience Chamber,” I said.

Paser smiled. “Very good. But how do you know if you’ve never been inside?”

“Because I recognize the doors.”

“Every morning, Pharaoh enters here.” Paser picked up a reed pen from the table and pointed to the front of the chamber. “He passes the viziers.” He indicated a long table inside the model that was nearly as wide as the room. “Then the viziers stand and make obeisance to him. Once he has crossed the wide distance between the viziers and the dais, he takes his throne, and petitioners are let into the Audience Chamber. Each petitioner approaches one of the four viziers with his complaint.”

“Any vizier?”

“Yes. If the vizier does not have the authority to help him, guards search the petitioner and he is allowed to approach Pharaoh. But it is not Pharaoh alone on the dais. There are three thrones.” He indicated the three golden chairs. “Four today.”

“For Pharaoh Seti, Queen Tuya, Pharaoh Ramesses, and Iset.”

“
Princess
Iset,” Paser reminded. “And here, on this dais, is where futures are decided. Will you be a queen like Tuya, disinterested in everything but the happiness of your
iwiw?
” I thought I heard disapproval in his voice, but I couldn’t be certain. “Or will you be a queen like your aunt, clever and watchful, prepared in deed if not in name to make yourself coregent?”

I inhaled sharply. “I’ll
never
be like my aunt! I’m not a whore.”

“And neither was Nefertiti.”

I had never heard anyone but Merit speak her name, and in the amber light of dawn Paser’s face appeared stern and defiant. “Your aunt never used her body to command the Audience Chamber, whatever you may have heard.”

“How do you know that?”

“You may ask your nurse. She knew Nefertiti, and there’s no one in Thebes with a greater interest in gossip.” Paser might have smiled, but he was serious. “Why do you think the people tolerated your aunt’s policies, the removal of their royal city, the banishment of their gods?”

“Because she had the power of a Pharaoh.”

Paser shook his head. “Because she knew what the people wanted and gave it to them. Her husband took away their goddesses, so she became their goddess on earth.”

“That’s
heresy,
” I whispered.

“Or wisdom? She knew what her husband was doing was dangerous. If the people had rebelled, she would have been the first beneath the knife. She saved her life by impressing the petitioners in the Audience Chamber. She could paint every wall from Thebes to Memphis with her image, but only words can sway opinion. With each petitioner, she influenced the people.”

“And that’s what you’d have me do?” I asked him.

“If you wish to stay alive. Or you can follow Queen Tuya’s example,” he said. “You can leave all but the simplest petitions to your husband, assuming Pharaoh Ramesses takes you as a wife. But as the niece of heretics, I do not believe you have that option. If you find yourself on a throne in the Audience Chamber, your time there will be the only means you have to influence the people. The way your aunt did.”

“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.