The Egyptian Royals Collection (73 page)

ON THE
tenth of Thoth, Merit shook me out of bed. “My lady, the High Priestess is waiting!”

I sat up and wiped the sleep from my eyes. “What?”

“You are not to study with the vizier today. The High Priestess wants to see you instead!”

We rushed to the mirror, and I sat patiently while Merit applied my paint. “We will use the malachite,” she determined, and opened the jar of expensive green powder. I closed my eyes while she applied it to my lids, and she spent extra time outlining my eyes with kohl. When Merit took my wig from its box, I saw that she had added green faience beads. “How—”

“For the occasion,” she said eagerly.

In all the many months since I first entered the Temple of Hathor, Woserit had rarely seen me. Merit hennaed my nails with a brush meant for kohl, and when she gave me my gown I saw that it was new. I stood, and Merit sucked in her breath. “You are a woman,” she said, as if she could hardly believe it. She narrowed her small eyes as she studied my face, my gown, my nails. When she came to my sandals, her face smoothed itself out and she said frankly, “You are ready.” Her voice choked with tears and she embraced me tightly. “Good luck, my lady.”

“Thank you,
mawat.
” I pulled away to look her in the eyes. “Thank you,” I said again. “Not just for coming here with me but … but for everything.”

Merit straightened her shoulders. “Go. Go before she changes her mind!”

Woserit’s chamber was not far from mine, but even so, the walk had never felt so long. I glanced up at the painted walls with their images of Hathor and Ra and wondered if this would be one of the last times that I would ever see them. At her door, a servant bowed. “The High Priestess is waiting for you, my lady.”

She opened the door and inside, Woserit was sitting at her table, surrounded by flowers for Thoth and the new year. The bright blooms had been arranged in faience vases, and the lilies perfumed the entire chamber. She looked up, and when she saw me, the expression on her face went from one of deep surprise to pleasure.

“Nefertari?” She stood from behind her table and came over to me. “Look at your cheeks,” she gushed. “They’ve filled out! And your eyes … they’re absolutely stunning.” She made me turn around a first time, then a second, and the third time she exclaimed, “Look how you’ve changed.” She reached over and pinched the back of my gown so that she could see the outline of my waist and breasts. “Enough of these shapeless sheaths,” she announced. “I want Merit to measure you for new gowns. You have grown into a woman while I was busy! When Iset gets big and fat with Ramesses’s child, you will still be light and beautiful,” Woserit promised. “And you will never complain. I can promise you, Ramesses will grow tired of her whining.”

“He doesn’t love her?” I asked quickly.

Woserit raised her brows. “I didn’t say that.”

“But what does he like about her if she whines?”

“Oh, she can be charming when she wants, and she’s exceptionally beautiful. But her charm and beauty will be a lot less appealing once he has you to compare her with eight days from now.”

“On the Feast of Wag?” I exclaimed.

Woserit smiled. “Yes. I think we are ready.”

C
HAPTER
S
IX

T
HE
F
EAST OF
W
AG

1282 BC

                  
AT THE END
of our lesson on the eighteenth of Thoth, Paser put down his reed pen and asked, “Are you prepared for the feast tonight?”

“Yes.” I tried to hide my excitement. “My nurse has prepared an offering bowl of food for Pharaoh Seti’s temple, and another bowl—”

“I don’t mean food,” Paser interrupted. And there was irony in his voice when he said, “I’m sure Pharaoh’s
akhu
as well as yours will be very happy with the offerings you bring them. What I’m wondering is whether anyone has prepared you for the shock of visiting the court. Especially when you won’t be remaining there.”

“Yes,” I said quietly. “Woserit has warned me I may only speak to Ramesses briefly.”

Across the table Paser nodded. “And you will not be staying for the three nights of drinking. Unless you want to see Henuttawy falling over herself,” he said under his breath as he stood. I snickered, because I had heard the same stories about Woserit’s older sister. “Nefertari,” Paser said, growing serious, “soon our lessons are going to become less frequent. And as Pharaoh Ramesses becomes more involved in the Audience Chamber, so will I. Besides, there’s not much more that I can teach you. You already have an extraordinary command of each of the eight languages we’ve studied.” He walked me to the door of Woserit’s chamber. “But I hope you have taken Woserit’s advice to heart. Woserit is a wise woman and if anyone can chart your path to the throne, it is she.”

“Not Henuttawy?” I asked curiously.

“Henuttawy knows how to trick and lie. She might teach Iset how to beguile, but eventually, that spell of enchantment will wear off.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing? Tricking and beguiling?”

“By keeping away from Pharaoh Ramesses?” Paser asked. “No. You’ll simply remind him of the friendship he’s been missing.”

When I entered my chamber, I was surprised to see both Woserit and Aloli. They were standing with Merit over two pairs of sandals. “The pair with the thick heels and braided gold,” Woserit decided. “She’ll be walking tonight, but we don’t want her looking like a shepherd’s daughter trekking through the hills.”

Aloli spoke to me first. “Are you ready?”

I nodded, even as I realized that the only hooded robe I owned would never match the sandals that Woserit had just chosen for me. The Feast of Wag always began with a pilgrimage to Pharaoh Seti’s mortuary temple in Thebes. Once we paid obeisance to Seti’s ancestors, we were allowed to carry food to the mortuary temples of our own
akhu.
There was no mortuary temple for my family. Every year I went to see Horemheb, who had stolen my grandfather’s temple in the city of Djamet and made it his, carving my family’s faces from the walls—with the exception of a single image of my mother. The progress began once the sun had set, and although the nights of Thoth were warm, in the temples it could be cold and dank. What would I do without a proper robe? I glanced at Merit. “What will I wear?”

“The High Priestess has been kind enough to give you this,” Merit said, and she indicated an exquisite white cloak on the bed. The hood was trimmed in fur, and the flowing sleeves were elaborately edged. With the sandals that Woserit had chosen, I would be a vision of white-gold in the dark of the tombs.

“This may be the festival that will change the course of your life,” Woserit said. “Merit has altered one of my dresses for you as well.” She went to the bed and lifted the cloak, revealing a netted dress of faience beads. “The lapis beads will match your eyes. When I return,” she said, moving toward the door, “I expect you to be ready.”

She left, and I went over to the bed, astonished by a garment so delicate and revealing.

“It’s a rare dress,” Aloli said. “I have never seen the High Priestess give it to anyone, even to repair. Hold up your arms.”

I took off my sheath and did as I was told. Aloli eased the dress over my head while Merit pulled it down over my thighs. Then I put on the cloak and seated myself in front of the mirror.

“We are not going to use lapis for your eyelids,” Merit determined. “It won’t stand out in the half light.” She opened a jar of gold dust and mixed it with oil. “Even if no one can see your hair beneath that cloak,” she promised, “they will still see your eyes.”

It took until sunset to henna my nails, and Merit paid careful attention to the design on my feet. In the mirror, a gleam of white and gold shimmered back at me. The soft white of Woserit’s cloak framed my face, and the fur trim stood out against my cheeks. When the door to my chamber opened, I heard a slow intake of breath.

“Magnificent.”

Woserit came forward and I could see her reflected in the polished brass. A long, white sheath was pressed against her hips with a belt of polished lapis. Her ankle-length cloak was trimmed in thread of the most stunning turquoise, and a golden cow with lapis eyes fastened it at her neck. Her hair had been brushed to the side, so that anyone standing behind her could see the counterweight of the
menat
worn by every priestess of Hathor. The sacred necklace had been made of faience, ending in a golden amulet that kept the wearer from harm. There was no part of Woserit that wasn’t remarkable, from her golden anklets to her translucent sheath. I turned in my chair to see her better. “You look beautiful,” I whispered, and I was surprised to realize she was just as striking as her sister, Henuttawy.

She motioned for me to stand, then inspected me as I turned. She lifted the edge of my cloak to see what Merit had done with my feet, then hummed her approval. “You’ll be careful not to cover the henna in dust,” she said. “And do not drag your feet through the sand. Walk carefully tonight.” She drew the hood of my cloak over my forehead, and Aloli arranged my braids, one over each shoulder.

I stared at myself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman who looked back at me. She was the kind of woman who spent her days in the baths, gossiping with friends, and buying beads from palace vendors.

“Aloli, it’s time for you to get ready,” Woserit said. “You and Merit have done an exquisite job.”

When Aloli and Merit left for their own chambers, Woserit took a seat. She appeared tense. Later, I would come to understand that in many ways the year had been easier for me than it had for her. All I had to do was learn, soaking up the information around me like a papyrus reed, whereas she had to arrange, and plot, and plan. She knew the consequences of failing, whereas I only imagined that I did. But for all her generosity—giving me her room in the palace, keeping me in the Temple of Hathor, arranging Paser as my tutor, and providing me with clothes—she had never asked for anything in return. When I could hear that Merit was snapping and folding sheaths in the ante-chamber, I asked quietly, “What will I owe you for all of this?”

A smile touched Woserit’s lips. “I am not like Henuttawy,” she said. “There’s nothing to repay.”

“But all of this work and time you’ve put into me. Why? For what?”

“You have grown into a mature, clever woman,” she said, and she seemed pleased that I had asked. “I expect you to take Iset’s place and make certain that Henuttawy never becomes as powerful as she wishes to be. That is what I expect,” she said firmly. “A Thebes that doesn’t dance to Henuttawy’s tune, and nothing else.”

I sensed there must be more, but that was all she said. I wondered if someday a larger reckoning would come.

WE LEFT
as the sun sank beyond the hills, reaching the quay in front of Hathor’s temple as the water turned the color of wine in the disappearing light. In a boat filled with Hathor’s songstresses, we sailed to the mortuary temple that Pharaoh Seti had built for his
akhu.
Like the palace, the temple had been built on the western bank, since this is where the sun dies every day and the journey to the Afterlife begins. I had gone with the court many times on its annual progress to Seti’s temple, but tonight was different. As lights flickered on the approaching shore, I felt a nervousness in my stomach that had never been there before. Merit stood next to me on the prow and raised my hood so that the fur framed my face.

“Delicate,” she said as darkness descended. “Soft.”

The full moon reflected on the River Nile and I thought of something Woserit had said.
When Iset gets big and bloated with Ramesses’s child, you will still be light and pretty.
I asked Merit over the splashing of the oars, “What if Iset is already pregnant?”

“Then there is even more reason to make her queen,” she said. “Ramesses is eighteen. This is the year he will choose a Chief Wife.”

As the boat slipped into the quay, Woserit spoke in my direction. “I should think the court will already have arrived, but the rites won’t begin without us. Or without Henuttawy,” she added. “And we can expect her to be late.”

Palace servants, who were waiting on the shore, held up torches to escort us through the darkness. And ahead, within the courtyard of the mortuary temple, a hundred lamps lit up its towering pylons, casting their glow across the painted murals. In one scene, Osiris, the prince of the gods, was being murdered by his brother, Set. In the light of the reed torches, I could see Set dismembering Osiris’s corpse and scattering the pieces up and down the River Nile. Further along, a painter had depicted Osiris’s wife, Isis, who wore the same scarlet robes as Henuttawy. On the wall, she was shown searching far and wide, gathering her husband’s body parts and piecing them together to resurrect him. Above the gates of the temple the last scene had been painted. The resurrected Osiris had given Isis a child. He was Horus, the falcon-headed god of the sky, and he was avenging his father by destroying Set. Once Set was banished, he joined the jackal-headed god Anubis in the Underworld. Those who had crossed to the land of the dead had to pass the judgment of Anubis before becoming
akhu.
Gazing up, I wondered how many of my own ancestors had passed this judgment, and whether I would see my mother again on that distant shore.

As we approached the open gates, the chants of the Amun priests grew louder. Woserit turned to me. “Stay close to me, even when I place the offering before my
akhu.
And when my priestesses begin their hymn to Hathor, remain by my side. There will be hundreds of people in the temple tonight. I want you where Ramesses can see you.”

Merit shot me a warning look, and I promised to keep by Woserit.