CHAPTER NINETEEN

SEKHMET’S CLAWS

  IN THE DAYS after Ahmoses’s visit, I thought a great deal about my family and wished for things that could never be. I wished I could have gone with Asha to Amarna and seen the crumbling walls and abandoned remains of the city that Nefertiti had built. I longed to tear down every statue to Horemheb the way he tore down the statues of Ay and Tutankhamun, or wipe his name from the scrolls just as he tried to wipe away theirs. To avoid being consumed with vengeance, I spent my time thinking about my sons. I tried not to love them as much as I did; I knew that half of all children born never reached the age of three. But every day with my sons was an adventure, and neither Ramesses nor I could help but take them into our arms whenever our time in the Audience Chamber was finished. We laughed over the new faces they made when they were happy, or tired, or frustrated, or sad. By Tybi, they had their own little personalities, so that at night when I heard them crying from Merit’s chamber, I could tell their cries apart. Even after a long day of petitioners, I would sit up, and Ramesses would follow me to Merit’s door. “Go to sleep,” I’d tell him, but he wanted to be awake with me. So he would take Prehir, and I would take Amunher, and we would rock them by the light of the moon and smile at each other on those clear late-autumn nights.

“Can you imagine the day they’re old enough to hunt with us?” Ramesses asked one evening.

I laughed. “Hunting? Merit probably won’t even allow them to go swimming!”

Ramesses grinned. “She’s a good nurse, isn’t she?”

I looked down at Prehir’s contented face in my arms, and nodded. During the day, I doubted if our sons even noticed we were gone. They ate and slept under Merit’s supervision, and she was the perfect mawat, watching over them with a lioness’s ferocity.

“In a month, Iset will be going into the birthing pavilion,” Ramesses said quietly. “I’m going to take the army north before she gives birth.”

“To fight the pirates?”

“Yes. And I’ve been thinking, Nefer. What if you came with me?” My heart raced in my chest, and when I didn’t say anything Ramesses added, “What better way to convince the people that you’re beloved of Amun than to let them see you at my side when I defeat the Sherden? You would remain in the cabin surrounded by guards. There would be no danger—”

“Yes.”

Ramesses peered through the darkness at me. “Yes . . .”

“I will go with you. To the north . . . to the south . . . to the farthest ends of the desert.”

ON THE fifteenth of Tybi, good news came to Ramesses with the bad. Iset had been taken early to the birthing pavilion, and in the Northern Sea the Sherden pirates had attacked another Egyptian ship carrying five thousand deben worth of palace oil to Mycenae. Ramesses dismissed the day’s petitioners, shouting that the Audience Chamber must be cleared at once. Even Woserit and Henuttawy couldn’t calm him.

“There is nothing you can do today,” Henuttawy reminded, but Ramesses ignored her.

“Guards!” he demanded, as the viziers gathered nervously around the steps of the dais. “Summon Asha and his father, General Anhuri. Bring General Kofu in as well!”

“What will you do?” Henuttawy asked. “The army isn’t supposed to leave for ten days.”

“I’ll prepare a small fleet of ships tonight, and we will leave as soon as Iset has given birth.”

“But what if it’s a son?” Henuttawy asked. “How will Amun know that an heir has been born if no Birth Feast has been held?” Rahotep spread his hands in question, and the viziers looked at one another, waiting for Ramesses to make a decision.

“I will stay for the feast,” Ramesses conceded. “But only so that Amun knows this child. I won’t sit in Thebes while a band of thieving Sherden make fools of Egypt!”

I picked up the list that Paser had made, reading off the number of goods that Egypt had lost to the pirates. “A grove of potted myrrh trees for ointment, three golden collars from Crete, leather armor from Mycenae, chariots plated in gold and electrum, fifty barrels of olive oil, and twenty barrels of wine from Troy. The sooner we leave the better,” I said cunningly.

Henuttawy and Rahotep turned. “We?” Henuttawy said, and her eyes grew so narrow they looked like they had been painted on with the thinnest stroke of a reed brush. “Where do you think you’re going, Princess?”

“With me,” Ramesses said firmly.

“You are taking the mother of your sons,” Henuttawy asked calmly, “to war with the Sherden?”

“I wouldn’t call it war.” Ramesses glanced at me. “More like a battle.”

But Henuttawy wasn’t concerned about me; she was concerned that while Iset was recovering in the birthing pavilion, I would be riding into battle at Ramesses’s side, like the lion goddess Sekhmet, who avenged men’s evil deeds through war.

“It is kind of you to be concerned, Henuttawy,” I said, noting silently how much she resembled the viper she wore on her brow. “But I have no fear when I am with Ramesses. I know he’ll protect me.”

The doors to the Audience Chamber swung open and Asha arrived with his father, General Anhuri, and a second officer. The viziers stepped back to allow them through. “Your Majesty.” The men bowed.

“Have you heard?” Ramesses demanded.

“Sherden,” Anhuri replied. He was tall, like Asha, but with darker skin and harder eyes. I thought, as I often had, that he looked like he had spent many days in the desert without water or shade, and that neither had bothered him. “We have waited long enough to deal with these pirates,” Anhuri said. “Every day they’ll grow bolder until ships no longer come to Egypt from the Northern Sea.”

“We will wait until my wife has given birth,” Ramesses said. “But make ready a fleet.”

“Of how many ships?” General Kofu asked. “The Sherden use two ships to attack. Both ships work together.”

“Then ready ten. We’ll send one ship to lie in wait for them,” Ramesses plotted. “And we’ll stock it to look like a merchant ship. The soldiers will dress as sailors, and when the Sherden come to attack—”

“They’ll become prey themselves!” Asha finished. His eyes were bright with expectation. A baited merchant ship could dock at a bend in the river, while around the bend, nine of Pharaoh’s best ships could be waiting. When both of the pirate ships were lured in, Pharaoh’s ships would surround them. “But the Sherden are no fools,” he said cautiously. “They will be wary now of a ship moving slowly on the river.”

“Then we can dock and pretend to be unloading barrels,” Ramesses said.

“They have grown fat on their thievery,” General Anhuri warned.

“They will want something more than barrels of oil. Perhaps a ship they believe is carrying gold . . .”

“What if we sail the ship with Pharaoh’s pennant?” General Kofu suggested.

“No. They may not trust that,” Anhuri said.

“Then what if it’s a princess’s ship, sailing for Mycenae?” I asked.

“They may still be suspicious,” Anhuri warned.

“And what if the princess was on board, wearing gold that would reflect far enough for them to see? I could walk the decks and there would be no doubt of it being a royal barge.”

The generals looked at Ramesses.

“We’re not using you as bait,” he said. “It’s too great a risk.”

“But the idea is good,” Anhuri admitted. “And we could just as easily dress up a boy. It might lure in the Sherden.”

A messenger entered the chamber and bowed before the dais. Henuttawy demanded, “Has she given birth yet?”

I flinched at her callousness and wondered who was sitting with Iset while we clustered in the Audience Chamber.

“Not yet, my lady. But she will deliver His Majesty’s next heir at any moment.”

Ramesses stood from his throne. “Have the proper midwives been summoned?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The messenger bowed. “They are ready.”

We rushed through the palace, and I wondered what Ramesses was hoping for. I never dared to discuss it with him at night, but if it was a son, the will of the gods would be unclear. However, if it was a daughter . . .

We reached the birthing pavilion, and behind us the courtiers halted to wait at the chamber’s entrance. I hesitated in front of the doors. “I . . . I shouldn’t. She already thinks I stole the ka of her last child!”

Ramesses scowled. “Then she will have to get over such superstitious nonsense.”

I passed a look to Woserit, who followed us across the threshold of the pavilion. Inside the chamber, the wall hangings and reed mats had all been changed. Even the color of the linens was different. I heard the sharp intake of breath as Iset saw Ramesses cross the room, and I knew she was afraid that his presence might incur the wrath of Tawaret. From her bed, she cried out in pain, and the midwives lifted her up, a woman under each arm, until she was seated on the birthing chair. Her lap was covered by a wide strip of linen and her hair had been pulled back in elaborate braids. She was perfectly beautiful even in childbirth. I knew I had not looked so well kempt during my own time in the pavilion.

I went to the statue of Tawaret and lit one of the cones of incense. Most had been burned by the midwives, and a pile of ashes smoldered at the feet of the hippopotamus goddess. I closed my eyes and whispered obediently, “May you bless Iset with the strength of a lioness. May you give her an easy birth . . .”

Iset shrieked; Henuttawy pointed to me and cried, “Nefertari, take back that terrible prayer!”

I blanched. Even the midwives turned.

“I heard what she prayed for,” Woserit said. “She was praying for Iset’s health.”

“Get her out!” Iset cried, gripping the arms of her chair.

“Nefertari is my wife,” Ramesses said sharply. “She has prayed for your health—”

“She stole the ka of my son and now she wants another!”

I turned from the shrine. When Ramesses reached out his hand to stop me, I shook my head firmly. “No!” I pushed the door open with Woserit following close behind, as the waiting crowd shifted to catch a glimpse inside. Paser separated himself from the group of viziers expectantly. “Has she given birth?”

“No.” Woserit scowled. “But she ordered us from the pavilion. Henuttawy accused Nefertari of praying for Iset’s death.”

Moments later, the heavy wooden doors opened again, and this time it was a midwife. The entire hall went silent, and I found myself holding my breath. I tried to read the woman’s face, but she was keeping her own counsel to heighten the suspense. Finally, someone shouted, “What is it?” and the midwife let herself grin. “A healthy son!” she cried jubilantly. “Prince Ramessu!”

My heart fell like a stone in my chest. Woserit squeezed my hand and said quickly, “He’s still younger, and she hasn’t given him two.”

Ramesses emerged from the birthing pavilion, and his eyes sought mine in the cheering crowds. He motioned to me and Woserit, and when we joined him on the steps of the pavilion, he took my arm. “Go back in to see her. Please don’t take offense at what she said. She was in pain—”

“Was my sister in pain, too?” Woserit asked sharply. “She accused your wife of praying for your own child’s death.”

“She is punishing Nefertari for being your friend, and I have spoken to her about this.”

“And what did she say?” I demanded.

Ramesses appeared tired, as if the conversation had taken a great deal out of him. “I’m sure you can imagine. But she’s my father’s sister.”

We went into the pavilion, and in the milk nurse’s private chamber, a crowd of midwives were gathered around Prince Ramessu. As the women parted, I felt a selfish thrill that his hair was as dark as his mother’s. This child was bigger than the last, and he was feeding greedily from his milk nurse’s breast. She carried him to a chair nearest the windows, so he could rest in the healthy light of the sun, and Ramesses stroked the downy curve of his head. Noblewomen fussed over the color of Ramessu’s skin, his eyes, his little mouth, while across the pavilion, Iset sat in her bed, waiting for the traditional line of well-wishers. When I approached, she shrank into the pillows.

“Congratulations on a healthy son,” I said.

“What are you doing back here?” she hissed.

“Enough of your peasant’s superstitions,” Woserit snapped, appearing at my side. “Even my nephew is tired of them.”

“There are amulets all over this chamber,” Iset warned us. “The milk nurse used to be a priestess of Isis.”

“You are a fool if you think I can perform magic,” I told her.

“Then who killed my son?” she whispered harshly. Her eyes brimmed with tears as Woserit stepped forward. “You are a young and foolish girl. Nefertari cannot conjure magic any more than you can. Learn to accept that the gods asked Akori to return from this world. If you’re looking to blame someone, then blame Henuttawy.”

“And why should I do that?”

Woserit looked at me, and I understood what she wanted me to say.

“Because if Henuttawy hadn’t threatened Ashai to stay away, he might have been Ramessu’s father instead,” I replied.

Iset started. “Who told you this?” When I glanced away, her whisper became bitter. “You don’t know what you’re saying! Ashai left me to care for his father in Memphis.”

“Is that what Henuttawy told you?” Woserit raised her brows. “No, Ashai is an artist in Thebes. He works on the Ramesseum, and he married a pretty Habiru girl. Of course, now that you have a son, perhaps you don’t care about any of this.”

But even as Woserit said the words, we both saw it wasn’t true.

Iset’s face had fallen like a heavy sail deprived of wind.

“We will light a cone of incense at the temple,” Woserit said, “and thank Amun for a safe delivery.”

Once we were outside the birthing pavilion, I turned to Woserit. “We shouldn’t have told her that right after she gave birth,” I worried.

“It was the right time for the truth. While Ramesses is gone, Iset will confront Henuttawy. My sister knew that Iset was a poor match for Ramesses, yet she still pushed her toward the dais. She has condemned her to a life of loneliness. But don’t feel sorry for her,” Woserit warned. “She chose this path. Just as you are choosing yours tomorrow.”

THAT EVENING, I sat at the mirror while Merit painted my eyes. She placed a turquoise pectoral around my neck, and when she fitted a golden diadem on my brow, I stood so that I could admire the way the cobra reared up, its garnet eyes like twin flames against the blackness of my hair.

“You are in a good mood,” Merit remarked, “given what’s happened.”

“I am about to set sail for the greatest adventure of my life, Merit.” My heart ached at the thought of leaving Amunher and Prehir, but I knew that this journey would be recorded on the monuments of Thebes. The gods would see my dedication to Egypt, and the people would recognize my importance to their Pharaoh. “We are going to crush the Sherden pirates and remind the north that Egypt will never bow to thievery!”

“A battle is not an adventure!” Merit scolded. “You have no idea what might happen.”

“Whatever happens, I will be with Ramesses. And Iset is not going to be made Chief Wife.”

Merit put down a perfume jar to study me. “Did Pharaoh say something?” she asked eagerly. “Has he told you this?”

“No. He will attend the Birth Feast tonight, and he will pay Iset every respect. But we are leaving, Merit. He’s going into battle a day after she’s given birth.”

Merit realized what this meant. “He spent every one of your fourteen nights in the birthing pavilion with you.”

Merit followed me into her chamber and we stood, watching my sons sleeping. Amulets hung from their cradles to keep away Anubis, and protective spells had been written on small scraps of papyrus and placed around their necks in silver pendants. When I journeyed north with Ramesses, I would feel safe knowing that both Merit and the gods were watching my sons.

The two milk nurses watched me from their chairs, feeding their own daughters while Amunher and Prehir slept. I had told the women to move their daughters’ cradles next to Merit’s chamber. Merit had snapped that the children of milk nurses should not be allowed to sleep beside princes. But Ramesses didn’t mind, and I could imagine my own heartache if my job was to feed other children all day, while someone else watched over my own. After the first year, they would stop feeding them milk from their breasts and begin to use the clay bottles that potters make in the markets. I suspected that Merit’s complaint had less to do with lowly birth than with having four children crying in the next chamber.

BY THE time we reached the Great Hall, the singing and feasting had begun. Dancers, naked except for silver belts around their slender waists, moved their hips to the high trills of flutes, invoking the presence of the dwarf god Bes, who would look over Malkata and protect Prince Ramessu. Normally, Ramesses would watch these girls with rapt attention, and later in the night he would take me in his arms and his love would be even more passionate than usual. But that night, all we could think about was the Sherden. What if they had added more ships to their fleet? Or if they didn’t fall for our ruse? The Birth Feast was to go on until morning, and when Ramesses and I both stood to leave, Iset reached for him from her throne.

“We must rest before we sail north tomorrow,” he said. He kissed her hand, but Iset withdrew it in a fury.

“We?” Iset turned an accusatory look at me. “Nefertari is going with you?”

“She speaks the language of the Sherden.”

“And doesn’t Paser?”

“Yes, but if he comes, who will be watching my kingdom?”

Iset stood shakily from her throne, and her face was desperate. “But when will I see you? How will you know how Prince Ramessu is doing? What if something happens to your ship?”

I could see Ramesses softening under Iset’s need. “Nothing will happen to my ship,” he promised. “And Ramessu has the best nurses in Egypt.”

“On your way to the Northern Sea, you will be sailing past Avaris,” Henuttawy pointed out. “Will you stop to see your father?”

“Yes. On our return.”

“Then why not have us meet you there? We can greet your triumphant return together, with my brother.”

I wondered what Henuttawy was playing at, but Ramesses warmed to the idea at once.

“Yes,” he said eagerly, “come to Avaris.” Iset hesitated, but Ramesses took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Sail for Avaris as soon as you can. Henuttawy will go with you.”

He waited until the tears cleared from her eyes and she assented. Then we descended the dais, and the court stood from their chairs as we walked the length of the Great Hall together. Courtiers bowed at the neck, sweeping their arms before them in obeisance. A pair of guards opened the heavy wooden doors into the hall, and I thought, they know that I am the future of Egypt now.

In Merit’s chamber, Ramesses stood with me over our sons’ cradles. I felt my eyes burn, and Ramesses put his arm across my shoulders.

“I will care for them like my own sons,” Merit swore, and I knew that she would. She would guard them with her life. But I also knew that all the spells in Egypt couldn’t protect my princes from Anubis if the jackal-headed god of death set his sights on them. When sons live to see five years of age, it is a cause for rejoicing, and their heads are shaved but for a single forelock that is tightly braided and curled at the end. We have a saying in Thebes that a son is his father’s staff in old age. Amunher and Prehir would be more than that; they would be the heirs to their father’s throne if I were made queen. They would be the jewels in his crown.

Merit said solemnly, “You don’t have to worry about them, Your Majesty. I raised Nefertari—”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Ramesses laughed.

Merit crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. “I raised Nefertari, who was never sick and never in want of anything. She may have turned out wild”—her lower lip trembled—“but that is no doing of mine.”

“And you did very well, mawat.” I embraced Merit and her sharp gaze softened.

“I would like to think so, Your Highness.”