The Heretic Queen

He was too young to understand the gravity of it. The army had approached the palace gates, thousands of weapons gleaming like burnished gold beneath the sun. Iset and I pressed together in the narrow window, close enough to smell the lavender oil on her skin, and the scent of jasmine from her hair. “He is back,” I cried to her. “He’s returned.”

When Ramesses appeared in the courtyard below, he raised his iron sword to us in triumph. His leather shield was stained with blood, and he had removed the nemes crown so that his hair streamed loose behind him. He climbed the stairs to the Window of Appearances, and though Iset held back, the guards parted for me and I rushed into his arms.

“Nefertari!” he exclaimed. “Oh, Nefertari.”

He greeted Iset with a firm embrace, and she wept in his arms the way she had wept daily since we left Avaris.

“How did you survive it?” I whispered. I searched his body for any sign of wounds.

“Only by the grace of Amun,” he admitted, but when he turned to greet the people of Damascus, he raised his arm triumphantly and declared, “We have returned!”

A magnificent cheer rose through the courtyard, echoing beyond the open gates into the city’s streets. Then Ramesses promised the people peace. He promised them trade in the rich Aegean Sea through the hostile territories of the Hittites, and he swore that although Kadesh had been lost, Egypt would endure.

“We have taught the emperor a powerful lesson,” Asha declared, his voice carrying over the thousands assembled. “The Hittites will never again rush to invade the kingdom of a Pharaoh as brave as Ramesses the Great.”

While the city feasted, Ramesses found me in my chamber.

“Tell me what happened,” I said. “Tell me how Egypt can be victorious if a truce has been declared and we have lost Kadesh for good.”

Ramesses sat on the edge of the bed and placed his head between his hands. “We were victorious because my soldiers weren’t slaughtered. We were victorious because although I lost Kadesh, I didn’t lose Egypt.” His eyes brimmed with tears. “And I didn’t lose you.” He took me in his arms. “Nefertari,” he whispered. “Nefertari, my pride almost killed you. It killed so many men. Good soldiers who trusted me to lead them.”

“You couldn’t have known that they were spies,” I said, but he was right. His pride had cost thousands of men. When we returned to Avaris, their mothers would wait at the gates to greet their sons, searching the faces of every soldier until the entire army had passed and they realized their children weren’t coming home. His pride had done this. His rashness. His belief that the gods were with him and that Sekhmet would prevail over reason. That a divided army could confront the Hittite power. He should have waited for the rest of his army to take Kadesh. But how could I tell him this? I looked at Ramesses in his short white kilt and golden pectoral, and even in his nemes crown he looked like a frightened child, like the one who had begged Amun for Pili’s life in the temple. I repeated, “You couldn’t have known.”

“What would have happened if you didn’t speak Shasu? What would have happened if the Ne’arin hadn’t come to our rescue after six thousand Egyptians already lay dead?”

Ne’arin meant young men, but I didn’t understand. “Who are the Ne’arin?”

Ramesses fixed me with his gaze. “Habiru mercenaries from Canaan.”

I gasped. “Ahmoses?”

“Who else could have summoned them? They appeared out of nowhere with the division of Ptah. They fought like they were possessed by Montu. But how could Ahmoses have known?”

“The Habiru must have been willing to fight for a chance at what they want,” I told him.

Ramesses was quiet, surely thinking about the Habiru in Canaan.

“They will rebel,” he said with certainty. “If they settle with their brothers in Canaan. Their army of Ne’arin were well trained.”

“But they came to fight for you.”

“Because under the Hittites there would be no chance of being set free. In helping me, they are helping themselves. If I don’t set them free, the Ne’arin will rebel. I could crush it. They’re not so many men . . .”

“Enough to save your army.”

Ramesses nodded. “I saw more blood before the walls of Kadesh,” he admitted, “than my father saw in all his years. I vowed to give them victory, but I should not have made that promise. There are many promises I should not have made. I thought I could make the gods listen to me. I thought a victory in Kadesh would write my name in their halls. But the old priestess was wrong. The gods were already listening,” he went on. “They’ve always been listening.”

The Ne’arin were proof of that, I thought.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

TO DIE BY THE BLADE

Avaris

WHEN WE RETURNED to the city of Avaris and the Dowager Queen saw that Ramesses was safe, she crushed her son in her large embrace, and even took Amunher in her arms, marveling at how big he and his brother had grown.

“In two months they’ve become different children,” she exclaimed, and I wondered if her newfound interest was sparked by the cries of “Warrior Queen” that filled the streets. “Tell me about the battle,” she implored, “and how you helped to crush the Hittites!”

I told her the story, and that evening in the Great Hall, there was a celebration surpassing anything ever seen in Seti’s time. Dancing girls with bracelets on their wrists flitted from one room to the next, laughing and singing with the elated men. Asha presided over a group of noblewomen, recounting for them the story of how he arrived just in time as the Hittites broke down the gates of Kadesh. I noticed them leaning forward to listen, but he seemed to be speaking to one red-haired woman in particular, and I saw with a start that it was the priestess Aloli.

The feasting was to continue for seven days, and each evening when the oil lamps were lit, women emerged from the shadows of the palace with their eyes rimmed in kohl and their cheeks rouged with ochre. Each evening I marveled over the quantities the cooks of Pi-Ramesses unveiled. There were the common servings of olives and dates, but in larger bowls there was goose with honeyed lotus, glazed in heavy pomegranate wine. The scent of slowly roasting meat woke me in the mornings, and by the fifth night in the Great Hall, Ramesses said jokingly, “I think that Amunher and Prehir have doubled in size since returning to Avaris.”

The courtiers around our table laughed, their voices like polished bells, and Iset added eagerly, “Ramessu has grown so big that his hand can fit around a spear. He’ll be hunting hippo before he’s two.” She smiled at Ramesses, but Paser had approached the dais with a scroll, and Ramesses’s attention was diverted.

“There is a message from Kadesh,” Paser announced.

Henuttawy sighed. “Is it always work with you?”

“Yes. Just like for some it is always play.”

Ramesses frowned over the courtiers’ guffaws, taking the scroll from Paser. “This isn’t the seal of Emperor Muwatallis.”

“No. It is the seal of his son, Prince Urhi.”

Ramesses glanced around him. Everything was bright and happy. Women in jeweled collars and linen tunics laughed with young soldiers, who described the Hittites fleeing from the division of Ptah and the Ne’arin. The women never asked how it could be a victory if Egypt had not regained Kadesh; the soldiers saw the battle as a warning to the Hittite king that Egypt would be taken seriously. We had won Emperor Muwatallis’s respect. But then why was his son writing to us, and not the emperor himself? “If it’s bad news,” he whispered to Paser, “I don’t want to read it here. Come into the Per Medjat.” He looked at me, and it was clear that I was invited as well.

I had only been inside Seti’s Per Medjat once before. Seeing it again I realized how much larger it was than the library in Thebes. Scrolls filled the polished wooden shelves, reaching to the top of a chamber painted with images of Thoth, the ibis god of scribes who first invented language. On every wall his beaked head was painted or raised in relief, and scenes from his sacred book were depicted around him. Of course, it is forbidden to read the Book of Thoth, for it is filled with powerful spells. But I wondered if somewhere within Pharaoh Seti’s great library the dangerous book still existed.

We sat at the farthest table, and when Ramesses broke the seal on the prince’s message, I wondered aloud, “Why isn’t Muwatallis himself writing?”

Ramesses looked up from the papyrus. “Because Emperor Muwatallis is dead.”

He handed me the scroll and Paser read it over my shoulder, both of us squinting in the candlelight. “It doesn’t say how he died!”

“But Prince Urhi is writing for confirmation,” Paser replied. “He is telling the kingdoms of the south of his ascension, before his uncle can make a claim for the throne.”

“Muwatallis’s brother,” Ramesses said darkly. “He’s the general who ambushed the division of Ra. General Hattusili.”

And now Hattusili wanted his nephew’s throne. The young prince was writing to Ramesses, asking for his support. Hatti had never asked for aid from Egypt before. “And what about the truce?” I asked fearfully.

Paser was firm. “Prince Urhi will want peace. He will have enough to do in keeping his uncle at bay.”

“Prince Urhi might want peace,” I said, “but if Hattusili takes the throne, how do we know he won’t rise against Egypt?”

“Because he’s already seen war with Pharaoh,” Paser said, “and he didn’t much like it. If there had been a chance of defeating Egypt, he would have convinced his brother to carry on.”

“Then what will Egypt do?” I asked. “There are two contenders for the throne of Hatti. If we pledge support to Urhi, but Hattusili takes the crown . . .”

“We will wait.” Ramesses gave the scroll back to Paser. “Wait until there is a certain victor, and pledge our support to him.”

I glanced up at Paser, who appeared equally impressed that Ramesses was choosing the safest thing to do.

“Shall I draft a message?” Paser wanted to know.

There was the loud creak of the door, then the sound of several sandaled feet making their way across the tiles. The three of us turned, and Henuttawy stepped into the light. I could smell that she had been drinking.

“Ramesses! What are you doing here?”

“There is business to attend to,” Ramesses said severely.

“With Nefertari?” She laughed, and Iset appeared behind her in a netted dress of beads. “The entire feast is waiting for you. Come.” Henuttawy stretched out her bangled hand, and to my surprise, Ramesses refused to take it.

“There is new trouble in Kadesh. This is no time for feasting.”

A messenger burst into the Per Medjat, startling Iset. The young boy straightened his shoulders, trying to appear taller than his height.

“What is the news?” Paser demanded.

“The Emperor of Hatti,” he piped in reply. “He is here, Your Highness, in the Audience Chamber!”

We stood from our table and followed the messenger through the corridors of Pi-Ramesses. Courtiers still danced in the Great Hall, singing and laughing, and Ramesses turned to a passing servant and said, “Send for the Master of my Charioteers, the generals, and every vizier in this palace.”

The messenger opened the doors to the Audience Chamber, and while laughter filled the halls outside, within there was silence. A lone figure stood near the dais, covered from head to foot in a cloak, and I saw Ramesses tense. But the messenger boy approached the cloaked figure in the darkness. “Your Highness?” he said tentatively.

The man turned, lowering his hood, and I was shocked to see how beautiful he was. He did not have the angular jaw or handsome cheekbones of Paser, nor did he have the same bronze beauty as Ramesses with his sapphire eyes and bright red hair. He had a soft, youthful beauty, and I couldn’t imagine him as the Emperor of Hatti.

“I am Urhi-Teshub,” the cloaked man said in flawless Egyptian.

“And what are you doing in Avaris?” Ramesses demanded. “Is there an army with you?”

“If there was an army with me,” the prince replied bitterly, “I would be using it to defend my crown. Didn’t my message arrive?”

Paser held up the scroll. “It came tonight.”

“Then it came too late,” the Hittite said. “My father died in his sleep and now my uncle has seized the throne. The kingdom that my father left to me has been stolen by his brother. I have come to Egypt seeking the help of the Pharaoh they are calling Ramesses the Brave. I have heard extraordinary things about you—that you are a leader in battle unlike any other. I have heard of your ferocity, how you fought off a hundred of our chariots when your divisions were scattered and fleeing around you. If you will help me regain my throne, I will offer you the cities that your predecessor Akhenaten lost. All of the cities he gave away. They shall be yours, forever, ceded in exchange for your support,” he promised.

I glanced at Ramesses. He had not told me of any personal victories in battle, yet in the streets the people hailed him as a hero. The Hittite prince held out his hand. I wondered if Ramesses would take it.

“This is not something I will decide now,” he said. I heard Paser exhale. “I must summon my generals and my viziers. But you may stay with us until I have determined what to do.”

“And if my uncle demands my return?”

“You will find safe refuge here.”

“He will know I am here,” Prince Urhi warned. “He will ask that you send me back to Hatti so that he can receive me with open arms.” His tone was caustic.

“Then he will have to content himself with receiving your letters instead.” Ramesses turned to Paser. “Give the prince the largest guest chamber in Pi-Ramesses. Have someone escort him to the feast.”

“I will take him,” Henuttawy said quickly. “Let me show the Hittite emperor how we Egyptians celebrate.” She held out her arm, and as Urhi took it his dark eyes grew luminous.

When she led him away, Ramesses remarked smugly, “He may not want to return to Hatti after this.”

I wondered if the prince would be so radiant if he knew what Henuttawy really was.

We moved ourselves to the longest table in the room, and as the generals and viziers arrived, Asha glanced at Iset. “Wouldn’t you rather be in the Great Hall, Princess?”

“Would Nefertari rather be in the Great Hall?” she snapped.

“Yes,” I said curtly, “but the business of Egypt is more important.”

When the heavy doors to the chamber were shut, Ramesses saw that Iset had stayed and said kindly, “You may rejoin the feast.”

“Is Nefertari going as well?”

“No, Nefertari is remaining here,” he said calmly. “She can contribute to this meeting in a dozen different ways. Is there anything you would like to contribute?”

Iset looked between the viziers for their support, yet their faces were all set against her.

“Then I think your skills are best used in the Great Hall,” Ramesses said, and although he was not purposely slighting her, she turned on her heel and stormed from the chamber. The doors swung shut behind her with a crash that echoed through the room. The generals avoided Ramesses’s gaze. Ramesses looked at me, and even I looked away so he would know how shameful Iset’s behavior had become.

Paser cleared his throat tactfully. “Prince Urhi,” he began, “is the son of Emperor Muwatallis. He brings news that the emperor has died in his sleep.”

There was startled conversation around the table, and Paser waited while the generals speculated what could have been the cause. Rahotep said it must have been poison. General Kofu thought it might have been the stress of war.

“Whatever it was,” Paser went on, “the throne has passed to his son, Prince Urhi. But Urhi is seventeen and has never led an army. He is not Pharaoh Ramesses and the people don’t trust him. They have accepted his uncle, General Hattusili, on the throne in his stead.”

“So what does this prince want Egypt to do?” Anhuri’s voice was suspicious.

“He wants us to place him back on the throne,” Ramesses replied. “And he has arrived in Avaris with a very attractive offer.”

Paser spoke up. “Prince Urhi has offered a return of the lands that the Heretic lost.”

“All of them?” Asha challenged.

“All,” Ramesses replied.

“And how do we know he won’t change his mind?” Asha shook his head. “Look at Kadesh! No Hittite can be trusted.”

Ramesses agreed. “We could march into Hatti and discover a trap. We might discover that Urhi hasn’t been displaced from his throne at all. We could be ambushed, and all of Egypt would be lost.”

“I don’t think Urhi is that cunning,” I said. “He has never led an army into battle. Listen to what the Hittite servants in this palace have all said about him. They take their gossip from travelers who come by, and they call him pretty, they call him a prince, but never an emperor. Who among us would dare to call Ramesses a prince?”

None of the men at the table spoke up.

“If Ramesses were to follow him into Hatti, Egypt would profit, and Urhi wouldn’t dare to go back on his word. He’s not a fighter. But he may be a fool, and if that is the case, how can such a man be expected to keep a crown?”

The viziers nodded in agreement with me. Egypt could help return Urhi’s throne, but if he lost it a second time, then what was the purpose?

“And the truce?” Asha asked. “If the prince remains here, what will Hattusili do?”

“He may go back on his brother’s truce,” Vizier Nebamun predicted.

“But Hatti is not as strong as she was,” Paser argued. “While she was busy stealing our land in the north after the Heretic’s death, Assyria conquered the kingdom of Mitanni.”

“And now the Assyrians won’t be satisfied with Mitanni alone,” Ramesses mused.

Paser agreed. “They will move west to the cities that belong to Hatti. With the Assyrians at his throat, Hattusili can no longer afford to make an enemy of Egypt.”

Ramesses sat back in his chair, and the generals watched while he closed his eyes to think. “We will send Hattusili a treaty,” he said, haltingly. “A signed gesture of peace between Hatti and Egypt. The promise to send military aid to each other if the Assyrians attack. Hatti may be our rival, but Assyria has become the greater threat.”

“If Hattusili signs the treaty,” Paser added, “we could promise them aid in time of famine.”

“And in exchange for that,” Ramesses said with growing excitement, “they must give us access to their ports. And to Kadesh.”

But Vizier Nebamun’s look was wary. “No kingdom in the world has ever made such an agreement with their enemies.”

Ramesses sat straighter in his chair. “We can be the first.”

We stayed in the Audience Chamber until the early hours of morning, discussing the terms of this treaty, and by dawn only Paser remained with Ramesses and me. Once the temple’s morning rituals were finished, Woserit came to bring us fresh fruit.

“Tell me about the treaty,” she asked, but Ramesses was too tired to speak.

“It will give Hattusili the chance at peace and to consolidate his throne,” I said. “But if he doesn’t want it, then he can risk a war with both Egypt and Assyria. And we still have the prince . . .”

Paser smiled wearily. “Pharaoh Ramesses is forging a new way of living among nations. If Hattusili won’t sign, then we will make the same offer to Assyria.”

“And we are offering more than just military aid,” I said. “If a criminal dares to run and hide in Hatti, they will have to send him back. And if a Hittite tries to do the same, we will send him to Hatti.”

Woserit saw my name at the bottom of the papyrus and glanced at me. My signature was now on official correspondence. In deed, if not in name, I had been made Queen of Egypt. I wanted to dance across the palace and shout the news from every window, but I knew enough to keep my silence. Unless Hattusili approved it, the treaty would remain a secret. But if he agreed, the entire court would know that I had signed it.

“You should get some sleep,” Woserit said with real pleasure in her voice. “This has been a long, though very rewarding night.”

“If the Hittites agree.” Ramesses sighed. He squinted against the early light of dawn, and we took her advice and retired to my room. As we settled into my bed, the linen sheets felt deliciously cool against the rising heat of morning. When I asked him if we should go instead to the Audience Chamber, he said, “Unless it’s a messenger with news from Hatti, there’s no one in Egypt I wish to see right now. Except you.” He reached out tenderly to caress my cheek, but a knock resounded throughout the chamber and he withdrew his hand.

“Nefertari?” A voice came through the door. I glanced at Ramesses, and the pounding came again. “Nefertari, open up!” someone shrieked. I recognized the voice as Iset’s.

“What is she doing?” Ramesses exclaimed.

“I don’t know.” I crossed the chamber and swung open the door. The rage in Iset’s eyes was so blinding, she didn’t seem to recognize Ramesses behind me.

“Is it true?” she demanded. At once, I knew that Rahotep must have told her. “Did Ramesses put your name on the message that’s being sent to Hatti?”

I opened my mouth, but it was Ramesses who came to my side and spoke. “Yes.”

Iset staggered backward. “You promised,” she whispered.

“Iset—” Ramesses reached out to stop her from leaving, but she shook her head angrily.

“No! You made a promise to me, and I should have known you would break it for her!”

“I have never betrayed a promise!” Ramesses swore.

“You have!” she insisted, and now wouldn’t move. A small crowd was gathering in the hall. Courtiers stopped to stare, and servants pressed themselves against the wall in fear. “On our wedding night, you promised to love me above all other women. You promised it!” she screamed, and there was a wildness in her eyes. “You took me in your arms—”

“Iset!”

“And swore there could never be a woman as beautiful or charming as me. You said the people loved me!” she cried. “But it’s not my name on that scroll. It’s Nefertari’s!”

Ramesses glanced at me to see my expression. The entire palace would know of it now.

“Go to your chamber,” Ramesses commanded. “Go to Ramessu and calm yourself.”

“How can I be calm,” she shrieked, “when you have slighted me in front of the entire court?” She looked around, and for the first time saw that it was true. Rahotep had come to see the commotion. Now he stepped forward to take her away. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted. “You are the one who convinced him to do this! You are the one who’s pretended to be my ally while speaking for Nefertari!”

“No one speaks for Nefertari,” Ramesses said sternly. “She speaks for herself. And that is why she will be queen when the feasts of Kadesh are finished.”

Rahotep stopped where he was in the hall, and Iset grew very still.

“You say you’ve never broken a promise,” she whispered. “Then what of your promise to your father to wait a year before choosing a Chief Wife?”

I held my breath. Then Ramesses said quietly, “It is the first and last promise I intend to break.”

There was nothing Iset could do or say. Rahotep led her away, and Ramesses closed the door. “She is not the same woman I took to wife,” he whispered.

I wanted to tell him that she was, that she hadn’t changed at all, but instead had grown desperate, knowing she would never be able to give Henuttawy what she wanted. Instead, I said cryptically, “Sometimes, we misjudge who people are.”

“Like the Shasu spies?” he asked miserably. “Perhaps I should leave the judging to you.” He took my hand and led me back to our bed. “You know, it’s true.”

“What’s true?”

“I have never broken a promise. This is the first promise I intend to break, and in a few days, Egypt will have another cause for celebration. A magnificent queen for its throne.”

BY EVENING, the entire palace of Pi-Ramesses had learned that I would be made queen. As I entered the Great Hall, where Henuttawy sat drinking with the prince of Hatti, I was flocked by courtiers wishing to congratulate me.

“It’s not done yet,” I told them demurely, but Aloli was among the women, and she exclaimed loudly, “Not done yet? All that’s left is to fit the crown!”

Woserit and Paser appeared arm in arm, and when they came to offer me their best wishes, Woserit squeezed my hand and I knew, at last, that our long struggle was over. For the first time in my life no one would look at me as the Heretic’s niece. In the streets, on the dais, in the Audience Chamber, I would be treated with the respect due to a queen. And in the temples, the images of my akhu would never be erased. Their names would be carved with mine until eternity, and the gods would remember them when they returned to walk among the living.

Woserit smiled. “It’s done.”

“There’s still the coronation,” I worried.

“And what do you think will go wrong by then?” She laughed with real joy, and I realized it was a sound I had heard very rarely from her.

Merit appeared with Amunher and Prehir on each hip, while about her servants rushed to light the hundreds of candelabra that would burn deep into the night. I looked to the dais and wondered what my reception there was going to be. Henuttawy was sitting with the Hittite prince, passing him wine and sipping from his cup.

Merit saw the line of my gaze and whispered, “She’ll still expect payment from Iset. And who knows what she promised to Rahotep to ruin your name.”

“I should think her body has been payment enough.”

“For Rahotep?” Merit’s upper lip curled. “She doesn’t know his history, then.”

I looked for the High Priest of Amun, but he was missing from his place at the dais.

Ramesses joined me in the doorway, dressed in a kilt striped with gold, and his smile was brilliant. “Ready?” he asked. He took my arm in his, and through a crowd of courtiers offering us their blessings, we approached the dais. For the first time, small wooden seats had been arranged for my sons, and because they were too young to behave themselves, there was an armed chair for Merit where she could sit and watch over them as they ate.

I took the throne to the right of Ramesses. The viziers stood, and Henuttawy announced with a sneer, “The princess who will be queen. Come. A toast to Nefertari!” She raised her cup and everyone at the table did the same.

“To Nefertari!” they echoed merrily.

“Of course, I don’t want to celebrate too long,” Henuttawy said, and her words were slurred from too much wine. “After all, I have to make obeisance in the morning.” She stood up and, as she looked at Iset, added bitterly, “Are you coming?”

Iset glanced at Ramesses. “Of course not. My . . . my place is here.”

Henuttawy narrowed her eyes. “Then I will see you all in the morning.” She smiled intimately at Urhi. “Good luck with your petition.”

Her scarlet robes disappeared through the double doors, and for the rest of the night, the Hittite prince sat alone, watching Ramesses anxiously. Finally, when the feast was nearly over, he asked, “Has Egypt made its decision?”

“I’m sorry, but we must consider it further.”

“Your Majesty,” Prince Urhi said passionately. “My throne has been taken. There is no chance I can raise an army on my own, but with you at my side, think of the triumph we would know! I would cede you all the lands that Pharaoh Akhenaten lost. Every last one in our empire.”

Though I could see that Ramesses was desperately tempted, peace was more important now. “I understand your proposal,” he began, then the doors of the Great Hall suddenly swung open and a servant cried, “The High Priestess of Isis has been murdered!”

There was a moment of stunned silence in the hall, and then the entire chamber was thrown into confusion. The courtiers rose, and Ramesses rushed from the dais, as I followed close behind. General Anhuri reached the boy first and took a bloodied knife from his hand.

“Move!” Ramesses shouted. “Move!” He grasped my arm, and as we approached Anhuri and the stained blade, Ramesses’s face became ashen. “Who did this?”

The young stable boy looked fearful. “Your Highness, I heard a scream coming from the quay. I took the other boys to see what it was, and the High Priest of Amun rushed into a boat. His robes were covered in blood, Your Highness. I called for the guards. They’ve already captured him!”

I tightened my hold on Ramesses’s arm as seven soldiers escorted the High Priest of Amun into the Great Hall. Bright smears of fresh blood stained Rahotep’s kilt, and when Ramesses stepped forward, his voice became enraged. “What have you done?”

There was a moment when I thought that Rahotep would deny it. But he caught sight of the servant who had seen him, and his shoulders tensed. “I have avenged Pharaoh Seti’s death, Your Highness,” he swore, and when he saw the baffled look on Ramesses’s face, he added, “Your father was poisoned!”

A murmur of shock spread through the Great Hall, and as Ramesses tried to comprehend this statement, Rahotep said bitterly, “If that news is so shocking to you, perhaps you should question the other viziers. Or your future queen, the princess Nefertari.”

Ramesses turned to me. “Is it true? Did you suspect—” He followed my gaze to Paser, and then shouted, “Did Henuttawy murder my father?”

His voice echoed through the Great Hall, and a fearful silence fell over the room.

Paser stepped forward in the crowd. “No one knows,” he said quietly. “A conversation was overheard in the Audience Chamber.”

“Between who?” Color bloomed on Ramesses’s cheeks.

“Between Henuttawy and Iset,” Paser replied. “It’s possible that Henuttawy gave your father poison.”

“And no one knows the truth?” Ramesses shouted. Rage and heartache broke his voice, and I realized how deeply we had all betrayed him.

“What could we have said?” I cried, but even as I spoke the words, I knew that I should have told him the truth. “To accuse a High Priestess and have her deny it . . .” I tried to comfort him, but he shook off my touch.

“No!” he shouted, and he looked at Rahotep. “You know,” he challenged. “What did she tell you?”

“That she murdered her brother with antimony in his wine.”

Ramesses’s rage seemed to crumble, and he looked around him. “Iset. She heard it from Henuttawy herself and never told me.”

“How could she have told you,” Rahotep demanded, “when your aunt would have blamed her for Pharaoh’s death? Henuttawy poured your father’s wine out of sight. She gave innocent Iset the cup. Your High Priestess was cunning.”

I saw what was happening. If no one challenged his story, Ramesses might pardon him for Henuttawy’s murder. But he had killed Nefertiti. He’d still set the fire that destroyed my family.

“She was a snake,” Rahotep went on proudly, “and now she’s dead.”

“But that’s not why he killed her.” The entire court turned to me. “He may tell you that he murdered her in your father’s name, but that is a lie. He killed Henuttawy to silence her. Henuttawy had no reason left not to accuse his daughter of murder. And she had every reason to try and save herself.”

“And who is his daughter?” Ramesses whispered.

I closed my eyes briefly, so I wouldn’t have to see the betrayal on his face, and when I opened them again, she was standing beside us. I nodded. “Iset.”

Ramesses turned to her in bewilderment. “The High Priest Rahotep is your father?” he demanded.

“How can I be certain?” she exclaimed.

Rahotep stepped forward, and this time, the guards didn’t pull him back. “Henuttawy wanted things my daughter could never give her. Gold, deben, promises of power. I killed her not just in the name of your father, but in the name of Iset.”

“Don’t believe him,” I swore. “He murdered your aunt just as he murdered mine. For vengeance.” I turned to face Rahotep. “I know that you murdered Nefertiti. Twenty years ago, Merit saw you at her chambers, just as this boy saw you bloodied tonight. But when you returned to Thebes as the High Priest of Amun, you threatened to tell the court that I was cursed by Amun as a heretic’s child. You threatened to have me banished from Thebes, and Merit kept her silence. But no one can keep me from the palace now.” I looked at Ramesses. “Ask him about the fire in Malkata. Ask him who killed my father, and my cousins, and what he did it for!”

The guards tightened their circle around him again, and this time, Rahotep’s voice shook with fear. “Remember what Henuttawy did to your father. She was a murderess!”

“Did you murder Nefertiti and set that fire?” Ramesses demanded, and when Rahotep saw he was defeated, he simply looked at me with loathing. “Strip him of his cloak,” Ramesses commanded.

Iset covered her mouth in horror, and Rahotep shouted, “I saved you from a murderess! I saved you from a lifetime of ignorance!” Two guards held Rahotep’s arms behind his back; his nostrils flared, reminding me of a bull that had been penned for the slaughter. He had escaped punishment for the murder of a queen, and now it was a lowly stable boy who’d brought him down.

“Why did she kill my father?” Ramesses asked. Rahotep’s red eye darted in every direction. “You can die by the blade or slowly of starvation.”

When I saw that Rahotep wasn’t going to answer, I said, “Because she wanted power over Iset. Henuttawy promised to put Iset on the throne, but she wanted to make sure Iset would never forget their bargain once becoming queen.”

“And what bargain was this?”

“To rebuild the Temple of Isis into something so vast that every pilgrim in Egypt would leave their deben at its gates.”

“Making her treasurer of the greatest fortune in Egypt,” he said slowly. He had awakened from blissful ignorance to a nightmare of intrigue he’d never known existed. He looked at Rahotep and drew himself up to his fullest height. “General Anhuri, escort Rahotep to the prisons. Give him death in whatever manner you think he deserves.”

Iset shrieked as her father was taken away, as her ladies fluttered helplessly around her. I pressed Ramesses’s arm firmly in mine and steered him through the commotion into the privacy of my chamber. When I had locked the door behind us, we sat together on the edge of the bed.

“I wanted to tell you,” I whispered. “It has haunted me for months, but everyone cautioned me to keep my word. Paser, Woserit . . . even Merit swore that if I ever spoke out, Henuttawy would find a way to make me look like a liar.”

“So everyone knew?” Ramesses cried.

“Yes, but there was no way to prove it! After the coronation, once you knew that I had no reason to lie, I was going to tell you about Henuttawy and Rahotep. And they must have sensed that my queenship would spell their ruin. For so long they had worked together—until the time came to save themselves. But I couldn’t tell you—they would have done anything in their power to keep you from believing me! You have to understand—”

But I could see that he didn’t.

“I should have told you sooner,” I said. “I should never have kept anything from you, Ramesses. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t Iset tell me about her father?”

“Perhaps she was ashamed.”

“Of the High Priest of Amun?”

“Of a murderer and a man they call the jackal!” I cried, and though I knew I should have been trying to defend myself, I was tired of calculating every move and weighing every word before I said it. “This palace has been a web of secrets,” I told him. “Every night, I’ve gone to bed wondering what Henuttawy might do. Or Rahotep. It doesn’t pardon what I’ve done,” I said desperately, “but don’t be harsh with Woserit and Paser. Even Iset must have had her reasons.”

Ramesses buried his head in his hands. “But I trusted Henuttawy and Rahotep,” he said, “just like I trusted the Hittite spies in Kadesh. Why?” His voice rose with his anger. “Why?”

If there had ever been a time to tell him about Iset and Ashai, it would have been then. But I was a coward. I was afraid he would wonder how many other secrets I had hoarded in the chambers of my heart, and I hoped it could lie hidden in Ashai’s quiet village.

“Everything feels like darkness,” he whispered, and I caressed his cheek.

“You are Pharaoh of the greatest kingdom in the world. And you have princes. Three handsome princes.”

He looked through the open door of the milk nurses’ chamber, and when he smiled, I knew he was going to forgive me. But I didn’t deserve his kindness. I had kept from him things that a better woman would have revealed without worrying over her status. Still, I felt a sudden lightness in my heart, as if a long and terrible journey had finally come to an end.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

FOR THE KING IS PTAH-SOUTH-OF-HIS-WALL

THE NEXT MORNING, the palace lay subdued. Men quietly offered their petitions in the Audience Chamber, unwilling to break the uneasy silence. But when Woserit appeared in her blue robes of Hathor, a ripple of whispers passed among the courtiers.

“Woserit.” Ramesses stood to embrace her, and the viziers rose to offer sympathy. I searched her face for any trace of sadness, but when she turned to me, I could only see immense relief in her eyes.

“Nefertari.” She embraced me, and when I encircled her in my arms, I heard her whisper, “It’s over.” There was an unsteadiness in her voice, as if she had never really believed that her sister was mortal. The courtiers of the chamber surrounded her, wanting to express their own sympathy and shock. That evening as I prepared for the Great Hall, I asked Merit quietly, “What do you think will happen to Henuttawy?”

“What does it matter?” She placed Amunher with his brother on the bed and returned to fasten a pectoral around my neck. “She will probably be buried in an unmarked grave, placed inside the earth without even an amulet for the gods to identify her with.”

I thought of Henuttawy’s final moments, and I shivered to imagine how she must have felt knowing that Rahotep’s blade was meant for her. I walked to the bed and kissed Amunher softly on his cheek. “There will never be a question anymore,” I whispered. “When you learn to walk, when you learn to speak, all of Pi-Ramesses will pay attention and know that you are the heir to your father’s throne.” He reached out and pulled at my earring, giggling as if he understood what I was telling him. But the rest of Pi-Ramesses was not so merry.

For ten days, we waited for news from the Hittites, and though only two thrones of polished ivory and gold now rested on the tiled dais of the Audience Chamber, it felt as though I had been robbed of my triumph. In the month of Thoth I would become Ramesses’s queen, but it wasn’t until a message arrived from Hattusili that I felt it was complete.

Ramesses took the scroll, and when he’d finished reading, he looked up with amazement.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Peace,” he said, triumphantly. “With the Empire of Hatti.”

Cheers erupted in the Audience Chamber, breaking the silence that had hung like a heavy pall over the palace of Pi-Ramesses. He handed the scroll to me and watched as I read. There was agreement that the Hittites would retain Kadesh, and in the case of war with Assyria, neither country would use the advantage to encroach on the other’s kingdom. For the second time, I read over Paser’s flawless Hittite and thought, It is a pact for the ages. In a thousand years this treaty will remain as a testament to our reign.

“Is there anything you would change?” Ramesses asked.

“No.” I smiled triumphantly. “I would seal this treaty and dispatch it before sunset.”

“Bring me the wax,” Ramesses commanded. A tablet with heated wax was brought, and when Ramesses was finished, I took my ring and pressed it deep enough to make an impression. Two sphinxes with the ankh of life appeared, the symbol that had belonged to my akhu since the scrolls of Egypt had first recorded history. My family would live on; even when the sands buried Amarna and my mother’s face disappeared from the mortuary temple in Thebes, the cartouche that belonged to our family would endure.

“Our kingdoms are now at peace!” Ramesses declared.

“And the blessing of the treaty?” Paser asked. “Shall we consider the replacement for High Priestess now?”

Asha spoke up from the table beneath the dais. “I would like to suggest Aloli of Thebes,” he offered.

Ramesses looked to me. “I think she would make a fine High Priestess. But the decision to release her must be Woserit’s.”

Woserit was summoned, and when she arrived, I again searched her face for any trace of sadness. Her sister was condemned to be forgotten by the gods for eternity. But she smiled at Paser as she approached the dais. When Ramesses asked her about Aloli, she looked to Asha.

“Aloli would make an excellent replacement,” she pronounced. “If she would like, she may start with morning prayers.”

Asha settled back in his chair, red-faced from his brow to his neck. “And the High Priest of Amun?” Ramesses asked his viziers. “By the first of next month, there must be another High Priest. I have waited two years to crown my queen, and I will wait no longer.”

I CAN remember very little of my coronation in that month of Thoth. For all the anticipation, when the moment came, I felt a strange calm settle over my chamber. Although Merit was rushing from chest to chest, and servants were tearing through boxes to find my best leather sandals and lotus perfume, I sat in front of the polished bronze mirror and thought of the events that had brought me to this day. My bitterest enemies in the palace were gone, and though they say that snakes can’t kill each other with their poison, I saw it happen.

When Rahotep was executed and the news was brought into the Great Hall, the court looked to Iset, but she didn’t cry. Perhaps the shock of her father’s death weighed equally against the murder of Henuttawy. But aside from these thoughts, I remember very little, and in my memory the day seems like an artist’s palette, with colors and scents running into each other.

I know that Merit dressed me in Pi-Ramesses’s finest linen, and that the Dowager Queen gifted me her collar of lapis beads and polished gold. I can recall Aloli coming into my chamber with Woserit, and that both of them had never looked so happy or talked so much. Aloli thanked me for what I had done for her in the Audience Chamber. I told her that it was Asha who had first spoken her name.

“I think he is very much in love,” I said. “Perhaps like someone else I know.”

We both looked to Woserit, who bowed her head like a young bride.

“Will you marry after Nefertari’s coronation?” Aloli pressed.

“Yes.” Woserit blushed. “I believe we will.”

“But as High Priestess—”

Woserit nodded at me. “I’ll have to give up my chambers in the temple and move into the palace. Someone else will perform the morning rites. Then someday, if there are ever any children, perhaps I will have to leave altogether. But . . . but not yet.”

“And Henuttawy?” I whispered. “Do you know what will be done—”

“She is to receive a burial without recognition. But I will place an amulet in her mouth,” she promised. “So the gods will know who she is.”

I nodded quietly, and I understood that even though they had never been friends in life, they had still been sisters, and Woserit would do what was right.

In the Temple of Amun in Avaris, the new High Priest, Nebwenenef, poured the sacred oil over my wig. I closed my eyes, knowing that somewhere below the dais Iset was watching. I imagined her face holding the same bitter expression Henuttawy used to wear. If she had sent Rahotep after Henuttawy, I didn’t want to know. Then came the words. “Princess Nefertari, daughter of General Nakhtmin and Queen Mutnodjmet, granddaughter of Pharaoh Ay and his wife, Queen Tey, in the name of Amun I crown you Queen.”

There was a deafening sound of cheers from all around me. Amunher and Prehir were bouncing and clapping as well, caught up in the jubilation of the crowd. My wig was removed and the vulture crown of queenship placed on my head. The wings of the vulture swept from the diadem over my hair. I would never wear the seshed circlet of a princess again. On the steps of the altar, Ramesses took my hand.

“You are queen,” he said, marveling at the beauty of the vulture headdress that framed my face in lapis and gold. “The Queen of Egypt!”

A thousand courtiers celebrated behind us, and when I looked beyond the Temple of Amun, the faces of the people were filled with joy. The morning had dawned cloudless and brilliant, and the sound of sistrums filled the temple and echoed far beyond the banks of the River Nile. Children held palm branches above their heads, and the women who had come in their finest wigs laughed beneath their white linen sunshades. For as far as the eye could see, there was smiling and celebration, and the scent of roasted duck with barley beer and wine filled the streets. Thousands of people pressed into the roads, wanting to share in the joy of the day. I was their queen. Not the Heretic Queen, but a Warrior Queen, beloved of Ramesses the Great.

“So what will you do first?” Ramesses asked me.

I thought of the Ne’arin who had come to Egypt’s rescue in Kadesh, and when I turned to Ramesses, he knew my request before I said the words.

THAT EVENING, Ramesses announced to the Great Hall that I had expelled the heretics from Egypt. The people rejoiced as if the army had just taken back Kadesh. But across from me, Iset’s face grew pale. “Will every Habiru be leaving?” she asked desperately.

“Only the ones who want to go,” I replied in a low voice.

Iset excused herself early, and though I knew where she was going, I kept my silence.

The next morning, Merit reported that a painter named Ashai would be keeping his family in Avaris while the Habiru journeyed north.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

YOUR AKHU WILL STAND WITH MINE

Nubia, 1278 BC

BEFORE DAWN, IN the third month of Akhet, the court sailed in a flotilla of ships up the River Nile. Gold pennants snapped from the mast of Amun’s Blessing, and on the deck of the ship Ramesses pointed to the west. He had waited two years to show us this. “Do you see them?” he asked, and as the sky brightened behind the eastern hills, light fell across a pair of temples carved into the face of two mountains.

Courtiers flocked to the sides of the ships, awed by the grandeur we had traveled so far south to see. Asha asked the architect Penre, “You created these?”

But Penre shook his head. “They were Pharaoh’s design, from beginning to end.”

When the ships reached the quay, Ramesses took my hand. He led me to the entrance of the smaller temple while the astonished court of Pi-Ramesses followed behind. At that moment I knew what it must feel like to be a beetle in a human’s world. Everything around us made me feel small. Two images of Ramesses and two of myself gazed across the Nile, our colossal legs taller than anything the gods had yet created, and when we stood beneath the entrance, Ramesses indicated the words that had been carved into the stone.

For my queen Nefertari, beloved of Mut, for whose sake the sun shines in Nubia every day.

“For you,” Ramesses said.

After nineteen years I could lay down libations in my own mortuary temple to my akhu. It was a temple that would last until eternity, and as we entered the cool recesses of the hall, I was too overcome to speak. On every wall the artists had depicted me smiling, raising my arms to the goddess Hathor, and offering incense to the goddess Mut. Statues of my ancestors were carved in granite, and when Ramesses explained how long men had toiled in the desert for this, I let tears roll down my cheeks and ruin my kohl. I touched the limestone statue of my mother, Queen Mutnodjmet, together with my father, General Nakhtmin, and felt for the first time that I had come home. Only Nefertiti had ever possessed her own temple as queen. When I looked across the hall and saw her eyes gazing back into mine, I realized then how much we were alike. “Ramesses,” I whispered, “where did you get—”

“I sent Penre to Amarna to search for their likenesses.”

The ache in my throat made it painful to swallow. “But what will the people think?”

“This temple belongs to you. Not to the courtiers of Avaris or the viziers of Pi-Ramesses. And for as long as there is an Egypt,” he promised, “your akhu will stand with mine.” He led Amunher and Prehir by the hand into the second temple’s innermost chamber, and Penre instructed the courtiers to step back.

Ramesses grinned at me. “This will only ever happen twice a year. Are you ready?”

I didn’t know what to be ready for. Then, through the cool shadows of the early morning, shafts of light crept slowly across the floor of the inner sanctum, and the statues of Ramesses, Ra, and Amun shone in sudden illumination. Only the statue of Ptah, the god of the Underworld, remained in darkness, and cries of wonder echoed through the halls.

“It’s magnificent,” Merit murmured.

Ramesses searched my face for my reaction. These were our mortuary temples, side by side, together for eternity. On every wall in Ramesses’s temple, my image was as tall as his own. There were scenes of us hunting in the marshes with Asha, images of us using throwsticks to catch waterfowl on the river, and on the largest wall, artisans had re-created the Battle of Kadesh.

“The gods will never forget this,” I told him.

“But does it please you?”

I smiled through my tears. “More than you’ll ever know. And someday, when our children are old enough to understand, we will bring them back here to meet their akhu and they will know that they have never been alone in Egypt.”

“Neither have you,” he said, and when he held me in his arms, and I looked from Merit to Woserit and my beautiful sons, I knew that it was so.

HISTORICAL NOTE

RAMESSES II is one of the most well-known and widely written-about kings of ancient Egypt. A copy of his Treaty of Kadesh, written in cuneiform and discovered in the village of Hattusas, hangs in the United Nations building in New York as the world’s earliest example of an international peace treaty. It is also believed that Ramesses is the Pharaoh responsible for some of the most visited sites in Egypt: Nefertari’s tomb, the Ramesseum, much of Pi-Ramesses, Luxor, the Hypostyle Hall at Karnak, and the stunning mortuary temples in Nubia (or modern-day Abu Simbel). Because he outlasted most of his children and lived into his nineties, entire generations grew up and died never having known a different Pharaoh. To them, Ramesses must have seemed like the eternal king. When his mummy was recovered in 1881, Egyptologists were able to determine that he had once stood five feet seven inches tall, had flaming red hair, and a prominent nose that his sons would also inherit. Yet many holes exist in the available knowledge of Egypt’s Nineteenth Dynasty, and while I tried to adhere to known family trees, events, and personalities, I bridged those many gaps in history in the most creative way I knew how, which makes this book, first and foremost, a work of fiction. I regret that not every important person from Ramesses’s life could make an appearance in this novel, but the characters of Seti, Tuya, Rahotep, Paser, and many others are all based on historical personages, and to them I have tried to remain faithful.

Historically, Ramesses is remembered as a great warrior and prolific builder, although his most famous battle—the Battle of Kadesh—ended not in victory, but in a truce. Yet in images from his temple in Abu Simbel, he can be seen racing into this war on his chariot, his horse’s reins tied around him as he lays waste to the Hittites in what he depicted as a glorious triumph. Ramesses was a master at public relations, and on his frequently updated Walls of Proclamation he would depict his latest conquest, whether or not it was technically a success. Nefertari is thought to have accompanied him to this famous battle, and at sixteen years old she was made Chief Wife over Iset.

Like Nefertiti, it is unknown whether Nefertari ever produced twins, but I used this plot element to forge a link between Nefertari and the infamous Heretic Queen. Historically, it is unknown exactly how Nefertari was related to Nefertiti. In order for Nefertari to have been the daughter of Mutnodjmet, Horemheb’s time as Pharaoh would had to have been much shorter than the improbable fifty-nine years that he claimed. After destroying Nefertiti’s city of Amarna and usurping Ay’s mortuary temple at Medinet Habu, Horemheb erased Nefertiti and her family from the walls of Egypt, then added their years of rule onto his own. The Egyptian historian Manetho records Horemheb’s real reign as being only a few short years. If this was the case, then Nefertari could indeed have been the daughter of Mutnodjmet. But all of this is simply conjecture.

What is known for certain about Nefertari, however, is that she and Ramesses were a love match. Buildings and poetry remain today as testaments to this, and in one of Ramesses’s more famous poems he calls Nefertari “the one for whom the sun shines.” His poetry to her can be found from Luxor to Abu Simbel. On a letter to Queen Puduhepa of the Hittites, Nefertari’s name appears at the bottom, and it is clear that she played a distinctive role in Egypt’s foreign affairs. She bore Ramesses at least six children, yet none of them lived long enough to become Pharaoh after him. In fact, it was Iset’s son Merenptah who succeeded Ramesses on the throne. But even though the novel depicts Iset as a disloyal princess, as with so much else, it is impossible to know who she really was in life. Liberties were taken in ascribing Pharaoh Seti’s death to poison, given that he died from unknown causes at around forty years of age. And while many of the Eighteenth Dynasty’s mummies have never been positively identified, including the mummies of Pharaoh Ay and Queen Ankhesenamun, I chose to ascribe their sudden disappearance from the records to fire.

Readers familiar with ancient Egypt will also notice that some of the historical names have been changed. For example, Luxor and Thebes are both modern appellations, but are far more recognizable than their ancient names of Ipet resyt and Waset. And for reasons of simplicity, I chose to use Iset rather than Isetnofret, as well as Amunher instead of the long and much more unwieldy Amunhirkhepeshef. Of course, the most obvious change of all is from Moses to Ahmoses. Readers looking for the biblical Moses within this story will be disappointed. Outside of the Old Testament, there is no archaeological evidence that supports Ahmoses’s existence in Egypt. What is known for certain is that a group of people called the Habiru existed in Egypt at that time, although whether they were related to the Hebrews of the Bible has never been proven. With such scant historical evidence, and given that I was attempting to portray events as they might have been, I chose to create the character of Ahmoses. I mention in the novel the myth of Sargon, in which a high priestess places her forbidden child in a basket, then leaves him on the river to be discovered by a water bearer to the king. This myth predates the biblical Moses by a thousand years, just as Hammurabi’s Code, a set of laws supposedly given to the Babylonian king by the sun god Shamash on the top of a mountain, predates Moses by half a millennium. I wanted these myths to be a part of the novel because the Egyptians would have been familiar with them, just as the Babylonians would have been familiar with Egypt’s most important legends.

Yet for every historical gap I had to bridge, there were many facts that I included that might otherwise seem fictional. For instance, Ramesses really did fight the Sherden pirates, and the Trojan War is thought to have taken place during Egypt’s Nineteenth Dynasty. During the famous Battle of Kadesh, spies were captured who gave information about the waiting Hittite army, and the subsequent death of Emperor Muwatallis really did result in his son’s flight to Ramesses’s court in search of aid. If the world of the ancient Egyptians seems shockingly contemporary in some ways, that’s because they used a variety of things most of us would consider quite modern: cradles, beds, linens, perfume, face cream, and stools that folded to save space. And although the invention that Penre discovers in Meryra’s tomb seems unlikely, it is the first recorded instance of a shaduf anywhere in Egypt.

As for Queen Nefertari herself, she enjoyed at least twenty-five years of rule at Ramesses’s side. In Abu Simbel, Ramesses built her a mortuary temple next to his, and twice a year the rising sun illuminates the statues just as it does in the novel. When Nefertari died, she was buried in QV66 in the Valley of the Queens, and her tomb is the largest and most spectacular of any ever found in the necropolis. On a wall of her burial chamber, Ramesses summed up his love for her as such: “My love is unique and none can rival her . . . Just by passing, she has stolen away my heart.”

GLOSSARY

Aaru: After death, it was believed that a person’s soul entered into the underworld (Duat), where their heart was weighed against Ma’at’s feather of truth. If the heart weighed the same as the feather, the soul was allowed to pass into Aaru, eternal reed fields located somewhere in the eastern sky.

Abi: An affectionate term for father.

Adze: A tool composed of a long wooden handle and blade. A miniature version of the adze was used in the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony, which was supposed to give mummified Pharaohs back their five senses.

Akhu: A person’s ancestors; an immortal soul.

Alabaster: A hard, white marblelike mineral mined in Alabastron, a village in Egypt.

Ammit: The god of karmic retribution who was often depicted with the body of a lion and the head of a crocodile. During passage through the Afterlife, if a person’s heart weighed more than Ma’at’s feather of truth, Ammit would eat their soul and condemn them to oblivion.

Amun: King of the gods and the creator of all things.

Ankh: A symbol of life, resembling a looped cross.

Anubis: The guardian of the dead, who weighed deceased hearts on the scales of justice to determine whether they should continue their journey. He was often depicted as having the head of a jackal, since jackals were seen to lurk near the Valley of the Kings, where the dead resided.

Apep: An evil demon in the form of a snake.

Aten: A sun disc worshipped during the reign of Akhenaten.

Bastet (or Bast): The goddess of the sun and moon. She was also a war goddess, depicted as a lion or a cat.

Bes: The dwarf-god of fertility and childbirth.

Canopic jars: Four burial jars in which a person’s most important organs (liver, lungs, stomach, intestines) were kept for the Afterlife. Each jar was carved with one of the heads of Horus’s four sons.

Cartouche: A circular symbol with a horizontal bar at the bottom in which a royal name was written.

Crook and flail: Pharaoh held these implements as a symbol of royalty, and to remind the people of his role as shepherd (crook) and provider (flail, used for threshing grain).

Cuneiform: A pictographic language inscribed on clay tablets. First used by the Sumerians, it was later adopted by the Hittites.

Deben: Rings of gold, silver, or copper that had fixed weights and were used as units of currency.

Des: An ancient Egyptian measure of volume that is roughly equivalent to 1 pint or 0.5 liters.

Deshret crown: A red crown symbolizing Lower Egypt. The tall, white crown that symbolized Upper Egypt was the hedjet.

Duat: The Underworld where the sun god Ra travels every night in order to do battle with the snake Apep. Ra’s victory and subsequent return to the skies each morning brings about the return of daylight.

Faience: A glazed blue or green ceramic used in small beads or amulets.

Feast of Wag: On the eighteenth day of Thoth, it was believed that a person’s ancestors returned in spirit form to their mortuary temples on earth. This day was used to honor one’s ancestors by bringing them food and incense.

Habiru: A little-known tribe living in the Fertile Crescent, whose existence was recorded by Egyptians, Hittites, and Sumerians.

Hammurabi’s Code: One of the earliest known examples of written laws, dating back to 1750 BC. They were written in cuneiform on a stele that depicted the Babylonian sun god Shamash. The stele was discovered in 1901 and can now be viewed in the Louvre Museum. Hammurabi, a Babylonian king, believed that the gods had chosen him to deliver these laws to his people.

Hathor: The goddess of joy, motherhood, and love. She was often depicted as a cow.

Horus: The falcon-headed god of the sun and sky.

Ibis: A wading bird with a long, curved bill.

Isis: The goddess of beauty and magic, she was also revered as a wife and mother.

Ka: A person’s spirit or soul, which was created at the time of one’s birth.

Khepresh crown: A blue ceremonial crown of war.

Khnum: A god who was often depicted as a ram-headed man sitting at a potter’s wheel. It was believed that Khnum would take his clay creations and place them in a mother’s womb, thereby creating life.

Kohl: A mascara and eye shadow made from mixing soot and oil.

Ma’at: The goddess of justice and truth, Ma’at was often depicted as a woman with wings (or a woman wearing a crown with one feather). During the Afterlife, a person’s heart would be weighed against one of her feathers to determine whether they were worthy of passing into the Blessed Land. The word Ma’at came to stand for the principles of justice, order, and propriety that every Egyptian was responsible for upholding.

Mawat: Mother.

Menat: A necklace associated with the goddess Hathor. The menat consisted of a beaded string to which a small pectoral was attached. This pectoral was worn on the chest, while a decorative counterweight dangled on the wearer’s back.

Min: The god of fertility and harvest thought to be responsible for the flooding of the Nile. Depicted as a man holding an erect phallus in one hand and a flail in the other, his black skin was supposed to reflect the dark sediment common during the Nile’s inundation.

Miw: Cat.

Montu: The hawk-headed god of war.

Mortuary temple: A temple that was often separate from the tomb of the deceased and built to commemorate a person’s life.

Mut: The goddess of motherhood and female partner of Amun. She was often depicted with the head of a cat.

Naos: An ancient Greek term used by Egyptologists when referring to a type of shrine containing the image of a god or goddess.

Ne’arin: A tribe whose existence was recorded by the Egyptians and who were given credit for helping Ramesses during the Battle of Kadesh.

Nemes crown: A royal crown made of a headcloth that was striped blue and gold. It is the crown depicted on Tutankhamun’s sarcophagus.

Opet Festival: The largest festival in Thebes. During this celebration, a statue of Amun was carried by boat from the Temple of Amun in Karnak to the Temple of Amun in Luxor.

Osiris: The husband of the goddess Isis and the judge of the dead. He was murdered by his brother, Set, who scattered pieces of his body across Egypt. When Isis gathered his body parts together, she resurrected him, and he became the symbol of eternal life. Osiris was often depicted as a bearded man dressed in mummy wrappings.

Papyrus: A type of reed plentiful on the Nile that could be dried and smoothed, then used for writing.

Per Medjat: Library.

Pschent crown: The red and white double crown symbolizing both Upper and Lower Egypt.

Ptah: The god of builders and artists.

Pylon: A stone gate or entryway often accompanied by statues on either side.

Ra: The god of the sun, often depicted as a hawk.

Renpet: An entire year, according to the Egyptian calendar, which comprised 365 days (twelve months of thirty days each, with an extra five days added to the end).

Sarcophagus: A stone tomb or coffin, often covered in gold.

Sekhmet: The lion-headed goddess of war and destruction.

Senet: Considered to be the world’s first board game, Senet later became a religious symbol and was often depicted in tombs.

Senit: Little girl.

Seshed: A circlet crown with a single uraeus.

Set: The god of storms, chaos, and evil who killed his brother Osiris. When he was not depicted with the head of an unknown animal, he was depicted as having red hair.

Shamash: The Babylonian and Assyrian sun god.

Shasu: Nomads who appeared in Egypt as early as 1400 BC.

Shedeh: A favorite Egyptian drink made from either pomegranates or grapes.

Shen: A symbol of eternity in the form of a looped rope. The cartouche is an elongated version of a shen ring.

Sistrum: A small bronze (or brass) instrument made from a handle and a U-shaped frame on which small discs were placed. When shaken, the instrument made a loud, tinny noise.

Tawaret: The goddess of childbirth, who was often depicted as a hippopotamus.

Thoth: The god of scribes and the author of the famous Book of the Dead. He was credited with inventing both writing and speech and was often depicted as an ibis-headed god.

Uraeus: The cobra crown that symbolized kingship. The cobra was depicted with its hood flared and was thought to be able to spit fire into the eyes of the wearer’s enemies.

Ushabti: Small figurines placed in tombs as servants, which could be called upon in the Afterlife to do manual labor for the deceased.

Vizier: An adviser to the royal family.

CALENDAR

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

HAVING ALREADY PUBLISHED my first novel in which I thanked everyone from my seventh-grade teacher to my next-door neighbor, I am going to use these acknowledgments for the people who contributed specifically to the creation of The Heretic Queen. As always, I am deeply indebted to my mother, Carol Moran, who has supported me in every meaning of the word with her generosity and incredible spirit. My husband has been my champion from the very beginning, editing my work from first to last, and with his red hair I like to think of him as my very own Ramesses (minus the rashness and harem, of course). And without the hard work of New York’s finest editor Allison McCabe, who insisted that there be an iwiw somewhere in the book, The Heretic Queen as it is written would never exist. To Danny Baror, Dyana Messina, Donna Passannante, Heather Proulx, my copy editor Laurie McGee, and Cindy Berman, thank you for being part of The Heretic Queen’s journey to publication. And to my wonderful agent, Anna Ghosh, who made sure my third novel, Cleopatra’s Daughter, had a home with Crown, thank you very, very much.

ALSO BY MICHELLE MORAN

Nefertiti

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2008 by Michelle Moran

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Crown Publishers, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.