The Egyptian Royals Collection (74 page)

“We are here to remind Ramesses what he’s been missing,” Woserit continued as we walked. “If you give too much away, it will be as though you’ve never been gone. And if anyone asks why you aren’t dressed in Hathor’s robes, tell them you’re not sure you want to become a priestess—”

“
Especially
Ramesses,” Aloli said. “Let him know you are uncertain of where you belong.”

I thought Woserit would be angry at being interrupted, but she nodded. “Yes. He is intelligent enough to make the leap for himself.”

I didn’t like tricking Ramesses in this way, but wasn’t there some truth in it, too? What else would my future hold once my inheritance was gone and I no longer had a place at court? And if he didn’t want me, what was the point of marriage? Who else would ever share my desire for languages and hunting? I might as well become a priestess. My stomach clenched as we passed through the temple gates and into the dark sanctuary that Pharaoh Seti had built for himself and his ancestors. On every wall were scenes of his family story. There was Ramesses I, the general who had been chosen as Pharaoh when childless Horemheb realized he would die without issue. And there was Pharaoh Seti with his quiet, unassuming queen, who stayed in the gardens away from court politics. There were images of Ramesses II being born, with his fiery red hair painted into the scenes. My family had sat on the throne of Egypt for generation upon generation. Where was such a monument to them?

“Stop thinking,” Merit whispered as we walked. “You’ll become upset.”

I steadied my lip as we entered the eastern sanctuary. The Amun priests had finished their chants and hundreds of courtiers filled the chamber. They turned to see Woserit’s procession, and I had the sudden urge to hide deeper beneath the fur of my cloak. Incense filled the room, as did the dank cold scent of walls that had never been exposed to the sun. I followed Woserit to the head of the chamber where her priestesses began the hymn to Hathor. Woserit herself stepped away from the women, placing the bowl she had brought with her before a statue of Ramesses I. To our right, I could see the gleam of Pharaoh Seti’s crown, and next to him, the blue and gold crown of Ramesses in profile. He was taller. And more handsome than I had remembered. The
nemes
crown framed a lean face with long cheekbones and a soldier’s strong jaw. We were separated by an image of his grandfather, a towering granite statue cast in golden light. I could see Iset standing next to him, the glittering diadem of a princess on her brow, but there was no sign of Henuttawy. Merit noticed, too, and shook her head. “Late as usual.”

“She does it to draw attention,” I said. I had begun to understand the games women played. The voices of Hathor’s songstresses echoed in the chamber, but their chants were now disturbed by the noise of a large group in the hall. When the new arrivals emerged into the chamber, we could see they were wearing the unmistakable red robes of Isis. But no one was dressed in a color so deep or striking as Henuttawy. Her long crimson cloak was held by a priestess, and her hair was swept up in magnificent curls behind the golden
seshed
circlet of a princess. She cut a path through the crowded chamber, leading her priestesses across the temple to the front. “For the
akhu
of the greatest family in Egypt,” Henuttawy said loudly, withdrawing from her robes a gilded bowl. I wondered how many offerings from the Temple of Isis had gone to pay for such a lavish gift. She placed the bowl next to Woserit’s, making her sister’s look small and inferior. Then she bowed very low to her brother, and her own songstresses began their chant.

“You are late,” Seti said, and Henuttawy leaned forward and whispered something in her brother’s ear. For a moment he looked angry, then he laughed.

“Beautiful, charming Henuttawy,” Woserit whispered in my ear. “Always ready with an excuse. And my brother, ready as always to forgive. That is something that Ramesses has learned from his father. You must watch for that.”

The priests of Amun came forward again, and as their chants rose I couldn’t take my eyes from Ramesses. But he was looking to the priests, whose deep song resounded in the hollow chamber. Woserit lifted her arm so that her bangles made a noise like small bells, and when Ramesses looked across at us, he froze. Then he peered forward in the darkness, and I let my hood slip back slowly from my face.

“Nefer?”
he mouthed.

I smiled to let him know it was me. Then I saw that he was wearing the ox-hair necklace on top of his cloak, and my breath caught in my throat.

“You may meet him in the courtyard,” Woserit whispered. “But you will only have a few minutes after the chanting is done.”

I was never so impatient for my time in Pharaoh Seti’s temple to be finished. Every hymn to Amun felt like an eternity. When they had finally finished, I glanced at Woserit and she smiled to indicate that this was the time. In the courtyard outside the mortuary temple, Ramesses and Asha moved through the crowd. “Nefer!” Ramesses shouted, and when he saw me beneath the statue of Amun, I restrained myself from rushing forward and embracing him.

From his side, Asha regarded me with wide, approving eyes. He took in my netted faience dress under which my breasts had been carefully hennaed. “Nefertari, you’ve become a real princess.”

“And you’ve become a real soldier,” I complimented, noting the heavy sword at his side.

Ramesses looked between us, and I’m sure that I saw his shoulders stiffen. “Where have you been?” he exclaimed. “Did Woserit tell you we’ve been to the temple
six
times?”

I refused to show that I was shocked by the news. Instead, I smiled. “Yes, but priestesses are forbidden from seeing anyone outside the temple during their apprenticeship,” I reminded him.

“But we came inside twice,” Asha interrupted, “pretending to worship just to look for you!”

I laughed, to hide my surprise. “And you think Woserit didn’t know? She wanted to keep me away, in case I should change my mind about the temple!”

Ramesses met my gaze and stepped closer to me. “And now?” he asked quietly. I could smell the mint on his breath, and if I reached out slightly, I could have touched the ox-hair’s necklace. “You aren’t dressed in the robes of Hathor,” he said. He looked down at my beaded dress, and a brilliant flush crept into his cheeks.

I glanced at Asha, who was looking between Ramesses and I with a curious expression. “Because I’m not certain I want to be a priestess,” I said. Before they could question me, I continued with the speech that I had rehearsed. “I don’t know where my place is at this court, or in the temple.”

“Then you should come back!” Asha exclaimed.

Ramesses searched my face, to see if I truly meant what I was saying, and suddenly Iset was at his side. “There you are!” Iset laughed easily. “Henuttawy told me you had gone, but I knew you wouldn’t leave without telling me.”

“How far could he have gone?” Asha scowled. “It’s the Feast of Wag.”

Iset ignored him and put her arm around Ramesses’s waist. I was surprised by her familiarity, and the confident way she met his gaze.

“Have you seen Nefertari?” Ramesses asked.

Iset looked at me. “Nefertari.” She smiled and even managed to sound delighted. “I didn’t recognize you in so much paint.” She turned back to Ramesses. “There is an emissary who would like to speak with you,” she said. “He wants to bring news back to Mitanni about your victory in Kadesh, but he only speaks Hurrian.”

“Then perhaps Nefertari can converse with him,” Ramesses said, looking at me. “She’s probably better at Hurrian than I am. Could you speak with the emissary from Mitanni?”

I gave Ramesses my widest smile. “Why not?”

As the four of us crossed the courtyard, students from the edduba recognized me and called out my name. “You see how much you’ve been missed?” Asha asked. “I can’t imagine why you’d want to be a priestess of Hathor.”

“I think she’d make a wonderful priestess,” Iset offered. She hooked Ramesses by the elbow and led him on.

Asha leaned over to me and whispered, “Of course she does. Without you here, there’s no other woman Ramesses is interested in.”

Asha and I trailed behind Ramesses and Iset, our voices lost in the cacophony of feasting. “So is she always with him?”

“Yes. It’s unbearable. The only place she won’t follow him is the Arena. She even tries to stop Ramesses from racing, or hunting in the marshes.”

I inhaled sharply. “And does he listen?”

“With one ear. He promises her that he will always be careful and tries to quiet her whining with gifts.”

“Why does he put up with it?” I exclaimed.

“Because half the men at court are in love with her. All of Thebes is singing her praises, and the people are hopelessly charmed.”

We both looked at Iset. She was not as tall as Ramesses, but tall enough that everyone in the courtyard noticed when she passed by. Students may have waved and smiled at me, but it was Iset their eyes followed.

“And you?” I asked curiously as we walked together. “Is she charming to you?”

“I see her for what she is. A fool. And she’s completely lost in the Audience Chamber.”

“But Ramesses loves her, doesn’t he?” I asked, and Asha studied me by the light of the torches. “Oh, no.” He shook his head. “Not you as well! All of the priestesses fawn over Ramesses. Visiting princesses practically throw themselves at his feet, begging to be his wife!”

“Who said I wanted to be his wife?” I exclaimed.

“I saw the way he was looking at you! And you were looking back,” he accused. “Nefer—”

“Nefertari,” I corrected, and I could see that Asha was hurt.

“Nefer
tari,
” he repeated indignantly. “I have always been like a brother to you. And so has Ramesses. To change that relationship now would be to risk great danger.”

“I don’t see why,” I lied.

“Then think of Iset! Of Henuttawy! The High Priestess instructs Iset in everything she does. You would be making enemies of all of the women who want Ramesses for themselves. Why sleep in a bed of scorpions, when you could marry a nobleman and live in peace? Your mother was forced to become Pharaoh Horemheb’s wife, and she hated it every day she drew breath.”

“How do you know that?” I demanded angrily.

Asha gave me a look. “You know it as well as I do! So why follow in her path?”

But Asha was cut off when Ramesses recognized the emissary from Mitanni. Although the Hittite empire had crushed their kingdom, the Mitanni people still had their own leaders, and there always smoldered a hope of rebellion. I watched as Ramesses strode ahead. I tried to avoid Asha’s interrogating gaze, since I already knew the answer to his question.
Why follow in her path?
Because unlike my mother, I was in love.

“You are Kikkuli of Mitanni?” Ramesses asked.

The fat man paused in his conversation with an emissary from Assyria. “Yes, Your Highness.” He bowed his head, and the Assyrian emissary did the same.

“My wife tells me you have some interest in our victory over the Hittites,” Ramesses said in Hurrian.

“Yes. Very, very interested,” Kikkuli replied.

“Then perhaps the princess Nefertari can explain, since her Hurrian is much better than mine.”

It was true. My Hurrian was better, but Ramesses seemed to follow all that was said. I introduced myself and Kikkuli bowed again.

“I am glad to make your acquaintance, Princess. I have been sent to the court of Egypt to learn how to speak your language.”

I was surprised. “Aren’t there any teachers of Egyptian in Mitanni?”

“Plenty! And all of them speak worse Egyptian than I do!”

Ramesses and I both laughed, while Asha and Iset stood quietly.

“But I believe you wanted to know about Pharaoh’s victory in Kadesh,” I said. I told him what I had learned while at the temple. When I was finished, Kikkuli looked humbled.

“Thank you, my lady. I had no idea that anyone in the court of Egypt spoke such fluent Hurrian.”

“Many royals study your language,” I flattered. “And we greatly admire the captive kingdom of Mitanni.”

Kikkuli’s eyes widened. “I shall be certain to report such warm feelings to my people.”

“Yes, please do,” Ramesses said. “For Egypt hopes to remain great friends with Mitanni, and we trust that your governor would send word if ever your invaders planned an attack against us.”

Kikkuli bobbed his head like an ibis. “If the Hittites should dare to march south through Aleppo, or even Nuzi, you have our word that Egypt will know of it.”

Ramesses smiled, but Kikkuli only had eyes for me. “Your princess is exceptional,” he complimented.

Ramesses met my gaze. Although he didn’t reply, his eyes said more than his words ever could, and I knew that I had made him proud.

“What? What did he say?” Asha asked.

Next to him, Iset had gone still and hard as stone. Her beauty might fascinate men, but it was difficult to charm them when she stood mute as an obelisk.

“He said he would bring back the news of how powerful Egypt’s army has become to his people,” I translated.

Next to Kikkuli, the emissary from Assyria cleared his throat. “And if the Hittites try to reclaim Kadesh?”

Ramesses shook his head. “I apologize, but your Akkadian is one language I cannot speak.”