Queen of the Heavens Page 14

  “You’re hurting me,” I protested.

  Before the pain became unbearable, Sety dropped my hand and stood up.

  “What’s wrong?” he said tersely. “Our son is dead. How dare you let him die?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sety turned his back on me and walked away. “You say you’re a healer. You say you converse with the Neters. You claim Isis tells you how to make people well, yet you couldn’t save my son?”

  For a moment I was speechless, my tongue frozen in disbelief. I could not comprehend that the man I loved, the man with whom I had shared so many intimate moments, would condemn me for the tragedy that had befallen us. We had had our differences, but any ill feelings toward each other eventually vanished in the embrace of love. Sety could be unpredictable and temperamental, but until now I had never known him to be hateful.

  “What demon inside you makes you speak this way?” I asked.

  “Demon in me?” Sety shouted. “How dare you ask such a question? It was you who let my son die.”

  “You can’t blame me for what happened. I was in no condition to heal anyone,” I protested in as loud a voice as I could manage.

  “Why did you not call on Isis to bring life to him, or has she left you?”

  “Isis is still with me,” I responded indignantly.

  “Was she ever with you,” Sety countered as he turned again toward me, “or did you lie about her in order to become a Princess, or is it you who are possessed by a demon that makes you think you talk with Isis?”

  My last bit of strength had vanished. Sety’s blistering words stung my whole body, like a sandstorm in the desert. I turned on my side so I did not have to look at my husband.

  “You ask too much of me. You ask too much of Isis,” I said, my voice now barely audible. “I’ll bear you another son, but I can’t be faulted for the death of this one.”

  I could feel Sety’s glare piercing the back of my head. “We’ll see about that. In the meantime, I’ll grieve for the son you allowed to die.”

  Sety bounded from the room. Within moments, Mother returned, sat on the bed next to me and touched my shoulder.

  “Mother, what’s wrong with my husband? He blames me for our child’s death,” I said through tears as I turned toward her.

  Mother took me in her arms and stroked my hair. “I know. I heard.”

  “Why would he say such things to me?”

  Mother was silent for a time, then spoke in a soothing voice. “The tragedy was as much a shock to him as to you. He had such great expectations. Give him time, and give him another child, and all will be well.”

  Mother’s words provided no comfort. All would not be well. I had trusted Sety. We had explored the pleasures of love together in the most intimate detail. I had laughed and felt joy with him as we prepared for the birth of our child. Now, as I faced the most trying time of my life when I needed my husband the most, Sety responded not with love and compassion, but with cruelty.

  “He doesn’t love me,” I said through my tears. “If Sety loved me he would be with me.”

  Mother hugged me tighter. “Your father and I have been angry with each other many times, sometimes with good reason, sometimes not, but our love has endured. People grieve in different ways, Tuya. Let Sety grieve in his. Always know that I love you and will be with you.”

  Mother was good to her word. She stayed by my side, comforting me, wiping my brow and feeding me. In the morning, she would rub my forehead with an oil made from marjoram to help ease my grief. In the evening, she would light incense made from sandalwood to help me sleep. When Mother needed sleep herself, Nebet would tend to my needs.

  My heart was empty but my breasts were full. When the pain in my swollen breasts became severe, Nebet would massage them and catch the milk in an earthen jar. Then she would bind my breasts tightly to my body with linen strips to stem the flow of the nourishment meant for my dead son. One evening as she did so, I imagined myself as a corpse in the hands of an embalmer finishing the task of preparing my body for the tomb.

  “I wish the linen wraps were for my mummy,” I said to Nebet.

  “It’s not yet time for you to face Osiris’ Judgment, My Lady. You still have much to do in this lifetime.”

  “What of my son? He had much to do, but was not allowed to do it. My son would have lived a noble life for I would not have permitted the dark forces to enter him. By what measure will Osiris judge him now?”

  “I don’t know. You must ask the priests.”

  “The priests,” I said, dismissing Nebet’s suggestion with a wave of my hand. “They have no answers either.”

  Isis, I knew, could answer my question, but Isis was nowhere to be found. In the small hours of the morning I would awaken, frightened and confused, and cry out to Isis for help. My pleas were met with silence and I grew angry at the Queen of the Heavens for abandoning me. Still, three times a day at least I would pray to her for help and ask her questions about the future. As her silence continued, my anger and frustration increased.

  Sety is right, I thought. Isis has left me. Or maybe I am possessed by a demon. Was Isis ever with me?

  One day Mother ordered a servant to make sweet pastries stuffed with figs that I had loved so much as a child. I took a bite of one not because I sought sustenance, but because I wanted to please Mother.

  To my surprise, the taste brought back memories of childhood. I was sitting by the lotus pond at my home, playing with Neferaba the cat, feeling carefree and happy. I thought fondly of Maya, and even of the gruff old Pentu as he taught me how to read and write. I smelled the sweet scent of the lotus blossoms and heard the frogs and cicadas croaking and chattering back and forth in languages I did not understand. Such serenity, I thought. Will I ever know it again?

  I finished the pastry.

  “Have another. You need to eat more solid food,” Mother said while sitting on the side of my bed.

  “Not now.” I turned toward the woman who had given me life. She took me in her arms and I cried, secure in her embrace.

  “I want to go back home to you and Father,” I said after my tears had begun to subside. “I don’t want to be a Princess. I want to be a child again.”

  “If I could make this happen I would, Tuya, but it cannot be. Even the gods can’t turn back time.”

  Mother left the pastries by my bedside. Later that day, I ate them all, not so much because I savored their taste, but because they made me think of happier times.

  As the days passed, I grew a bit stronger, but my thoughts continued to play havoc with me.

  Will Sety’s hate infect others? I wondered. Will Ramesses hate me because his grandson died? What about Lord Harenhab? Will the Pharaoh despise me for failing to produce an heir? What will be left of my life, and of Mother’s and Father’s lives, if Ramesses and Harenhab turn on me as my husband has?

  The questions tormented me, and I dreaded the day I would have to face either Ramesses or the Pharaoh.

  That day arrived soon. The next afternoon Nebet rushed into my room. “My Lady. Ramesses has arrived and he insists on seeing you.”

  I sat up in bed with a start. “No. Tell him no. I can’t see Ramesses looking the way I do, in night clothes, with no jewelry or makeup.”

  “Nonsense, Tuya,” Ramesses said as he entered the room. “You’re a member of the family. There’s no need for protocol.”

  He sat down on a stool next to the bed and took my hand. “How are you feeling, my dear? I’ve been worried about you.”

  Ramesses’ comment came as a great relief. I realized I had been tormenting myself for no reason, and I was at a loss for words.

  “I’m sorry about the death of your grandson,” I said after some moments. “I grieve deeply, but I’m getting stronger.”

  “The grief will last for a while, but you’ll bear me other grandchildren.”

  “I’m also angry at my absent husband. You visit me, but Sety is nowhere to be seen,” I said, a bit surpri
sed at my boldness in criticizing Sety to his father.

  “He’s in Heliopolis, meeting with the priests to discuss erecting another obelisk. He’ll also be seeing to some of our eastern defenses,” Ramesses said. “I sent him away from here with the hopes that his anger would subside. I know he’s being difficult. I’ve spoken to him about his behavior.”

  “I’d like to speak to him about it, too. Mother says he’s grieving in his own way.”

  “Perhaps he is, Tuya. When you’re up and about the three of us will meet and resolve this problem.”

  The three of us? I said to myself. Ramesses may be heir to the throne, but even with all his power he can’t restore the love between a husband and wife. I held my tongue. Perhaps there was something Ramesses could do, although I knew not what.

  “In ten days time Sety should be back in Memphis,” Ramesses continued. “We’ll meet then. In the meantime, let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  “I will,” I replied.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Ramesses said as he rose to leave. He reached into a pouch at his waist and took out a small, cylindrical container made of leather. “This is from Lord Harenhab. Though I’m now his heir, he still uses me as his messenger as he did when I first met him years ago.”

  “He means no disrespect, I’m sure.”

  “None is assumed,” Ramesses said, then left the room.

  I pulled from the container a small papyrus scroll and spread it flat against my upraised knees.

  “Tuya, my dear,” the Pharaoh wrote, “you have been on my mind and in my prayers. The death of a child brings great pain. Grieve, but do not be consumed by your grief, for times of sadness are always balanced by times of joy. Such is the way of the Cosmos. Remember, when life seems darkest we must trust in the divine the most.”

  Immediately I began to cry, but these were not the tears of grief that I had been shedding in days past. The Pharaoh didn’t chastise me for the death of an heir, either, as I feared he might. Instead, he wrote me a personal note of advice that touched me deeply. I held the papyrus scroll to my heart. For the first time since the terrible day on which my child died, I felt neither grief nor anger, but hope and even a touch of bliss.

  How foolish of me to have chosen to despair. I’m not some concubine to be discarded like worn and soiled linen. I’m a Princess of Egypt, charged by the Neters to bear an heir to the throne and I’ll not fail in my duty.

  That night, for the first time since my child’s death, I slept soundly and awoke refreshed. When Mother entered my room the next morning, accompanied by a servant holding yet another bowl of broth, she was surprised to see me sitting in a chair.

  “You look well, Tuya. There’s a certain glow about you I haven’t seen in some time.”

  “I feel much better, Mother. I don’t want broth. I want something more filling. Lamb and bread will do.”

  “Bring Tuya what she asks for,” Mother told the servant.

  “After breakfast I’ll have a bath and put on jewelry and makeup. I don’t want to look like a corpse any longer. I want to look like the beautiful woman that I am.”

  “My, my,” Mother said. “Now you’re acting like the daughter I remember. What happened? Did Isis visit you during the night and speak sense to you?”

  “No, but I’m following her advice from some several days ago. The darkness is an illusion. It can’t hurt me unless I choose to despair, and I’ve chosen not to despair. The gods have selected me to be the mother of the greatest Pharaoh who will ever walk the Earth. No one, not even my husband, will prevent me from fulfilling my destiny.”

  XVIII

  Soon after my husband’s return to Thebes, a note arrived from Ramesses asking me to come to his quarters at the palace two days hence to take a midday meal with Sety and himself.

  I greeted the news with a mixture of apprehension and resolve. A part of me wanted to see my husband, but another part was repelled by the thought. Would Sety’s anger keep us apart? Would my own anger serve as a wedge to prevent us from again experiencing the love and passion we had once enjoyed? I did not know, but I vowed to find out, and to control my own anger so I might play my role well in the Divine Pageant.

  On the morning of the meeting, Nebet bathed me in water scented with jasmine and applied green paint around my eyes with special care. I wore a new dress, and pleated frock and overskirt held in place with a saffron sash.

  For the occasion, I chose also to wear the exquisite necklace Sety gave me on the day we became husband and wife. Earrings of gold and amethyst dangled nearly to my shoulders and I adorned my arms with silver bracelets. I looked at myself in a mirror of polished brass and was surprised to see that in the weeks since my son’s death I had changed. My beauty was the same, but my visage now held the confidence of a fully mature woman.

  A detail of soldiers awaited me in the courtyard.

  “Good morning, My Lady,” a handsome, muscular officer of the Royal Guard said to me as I walked outside. “It will be my pleasure to escort you to the palace.”

  I smiled at the officer, who was about Sety’s age, and wondered if my husband would be as polite. “Thank you,” I said, as he took my hand and assisted me into a chariot. I felt a twinge of excitement being touched by such a handsome man, but I kept my eyes forward and did my best to ignore the sensation. I was a Princess, and my place in the Divine Pageant was to be with a man who was no less than a Prince, even if he didn’t love me.

  The officer climbed into the chariot and took the reins. With six soldiers marching at a quick pace in front and six behind, the column moved through the grounds of the estate, past small farms and into the dusty streets of Memphis.

  The smell of cooking fires made from dung assaulted my nostrils, as did the dank odor of the goats and lambs that scurried through the streets. People stopped what they were doing in their homes and shops and looked at me in awe.

  My eyes caught those of a slave woman about my age. She would have traded places with me in an instant, thinking my royal life to be one of luxurious contentment. She could not know that threads of gold can bind people as tightly as ropes of hemp.

  As we passed through the palace gates, the sweet scent of jasmine and narcissus replaced the acrid odors of the streets. Gardeners tended the finely manicured foliage with loving care. Artists decorated the brick walls of buildings with brightly colored patterns and pictures of the gods. Stonemasons with powerful yet gentle hands chiseled statues out of granite. The talents of all these people came together to create a place of beauty surpassed in perfection only by the abode of the Neters. The surroundings of the palace lifted my spirits, but they could not completely eliminate my sense of dread at the meeting ahead.

  We stopped between two sphinxes before the portico of Ramesses’ villa. The handsome officer escorted me through a columned hall to Ramesses’ quarters. A guard standing by the door announced my arrival.

  I took a deep breath, straightened my back, held my head high and walked through the doorway. My breath left me as I looked at Sety, who stood stone-like next to Ramesses by a small table on a terrace overlooking the royal gardens. The drooping branches of a willow swayed in a gentle breeze, and chrysanthemums added a touch of yellow to the foliage.

  Inside, a statue of Sekhmet stood in one corner of a room that was decorated with fine linen tapestries and exquisite furniture. A statue of Isis stood in another corner.

  A good omen, I thought. Isis is present.

  “Tuya,” Ramesses said, as he walked over to me. “You look beautiful, and much healthier than the last time I saw you. What an amazing transformation. The royal physician must have known what he was doing.”

  I smiled at my father-in-law. “The physician was quite talented,” I said, “but my recovery has more to do with my thoughts and my desires than with his tonics and remedies.”

  “Of course,” Ramesses said. “Nothing has more to do with good health than a good outlook.” Ramesses took my hand and led me toward the ter
race. “Princess Tuya, I’d like to introduce you to Prince Sety, your husband.”

  I smiled at Ramesses’ attempt at levity, but Sety remained impassive.

  “You look well, Sety,” I said, staring directly into his eyes.

  “As do you, Tuya,” he replied, looking back at me.

  My husband, bare-chested, was adorned in copper and gold bracelets. Despite our troubles, I wanted to embrace him and express my love. Passion still stirred inside me for this man, but did passion for me still stir in Sety? I could not tell, so I restrained myself.

  “Sit down,” Ramesses said. As soon as we did so, servants brought chalices of beer and plates of bread and fish.

  “Eat and drink heartily, my children,” Ramesses said. “The food is delicious and the beer is potent. Let us enjoy our time together.”

  Ramesses was right. The food was superb, and the beer was strong, but the mood was oppressive.

  “I’ve missed you,” I said to Sety.

  “I’ve been very busy,” Sety replied.

  Too busy to be with your ailing wife? I wanted to say, but restrained myself.

  “I leave next week for Abydos,” Sety continued. “Lord Harenhab has ordered the building of a new irrigation system there and I want to make certain the engineers know what they’re doing.”

  “Make certain you continue on to Thebes,” Ramesses said. “The Pharaoh wants to build a grand hall of columns at the Great Temple of Amun that would replace the open courtyard. Talk to the priests about it and see if it’s feasible.”

  “I want to spend time with you before you leave,” I said to Sety, but he didn’t respond.

  As we dined, we continued to talk about the irrigation plan and the addition to the temple, as well as the state of the rice crop and the condition of the granite quarries near Aswan. Rather, my husband and Ramesses talked about such things. I remained silent, deferring to Ramesses’ judgment of when to broach the subject of Sety’s and my estrangement. The time came after we had consumed all of the food and beer before us and were sipping licorice tea.

  “Let us not avoid the reason we’re here,” Ramesses said. “The two of you suffered a tragedy with the loss of your son, but it’s now time to move forward with your lives.”