feathers stirred the perfumed air around her so that even from the table beneath the dais it was possible to smell her lavender and lotus blossom.
"Why don't we hear from the future Queen of Egypt?" she suggested, and the entire court looked to Iset, who rose gracefully from her chair.
"As Your Highnesses wish."
Iset made a pretty bow and slowly crossed the chamber. As she approached the harp that had been placed beneath the dais, Ramesses smiled. He watched her arrange herself before the instrument, pressing the carved wooden shoulder between her breasts, and as the lilting notes echoed across the hall, a vizier behind me murmured, "Beautiful. Exceptionally beautiful."
"The music or the girl?" Vizier Anemro asked.
The men at the table all snickered.
ON THE eve of Ramesses's marriage to Iset, Tutor Paser called me aside while the other students ran home. He stood at the front of the classroom, surrounded by baskets of papyrus and fresh reed pens. In the soft light of the afternoon, I realized he was not as old as I had often imagined him to be. His dark hair was pulled into a looser braid, and his eyes seemed kinder than they had ever been. But when he motioned for me to sit in the chair across from him, tears of shame blurred my vision before he even said a word.
"Despite the fact that your nurse allows you to run around the palace like a wild child of Set," he began, "you have always been the best student in this edduba. But in the past ten days you've missed six times, and today the translations you completed could have been done by a laborer in one of Pharaoh's tombs."
I lowered my head. "I will do better," I promised.
"Merit tells me you don't practice your languages anymore. That you are distracted. Is this because of Ramesses's marriage to Iset?"
I raised my eyes and wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. "Without Ramesses here, no one wants to be near me! All of the students in the edduba pretended to be kind to me because of Ramesses. Now that he's gone they call me a Heretic Princess."
Paser leaned forward, frowning. "Who has called you this?"
"Iset," I whispered.
"That is only one person."
"But the rest of them think it! I know they do. And in the Great Hall, when the High Priest sits at our table beneath the dais . . ."
"I would not concern myself with what Rahotep thinks. You know that his father was the High Priest of Amun--"
"And when my aunt became queen, she and Pharaoh Akhenaten had him killed. I know that. So Iset is against me, and the High Priest is against me, and even Queen Tuya . . ." I choked back a sob. "They are all against me because of my family. Why did my mother name me for a heretic?" I cried.
Paser shifted uncomfortably. "She could never have known the hatred that people would still have for her sister twenty-five years later."
He stood and offered me his hand. "Nefertari, you must continue to study your Hittite and Shasu. Whatever happens with Pharaoh Ramesses and Asha, you must excel in this edduba. It will be the only way to find a place for yourself in the palace."
"As what?" I asked desperately. "A woman can't be a vizier."
"No," Paser said. "But you are a princess. With your command of languages there are a dozen different futures for you. As a High Priestess, or a High Priestess's scribe, possibly even as an emissary."Paser reached into a basket and produced several scrolls. "Letters from King Muwatallis to Pharaoh Seti. Work you missed while you were in the palace pretending to be sick."
I'm sure my cheeks turned a brilliant scarlet, but as I left, I reminded myself of the truth in Paser's words. I am a princess. I am the daughter and niece and granddaughter of queens. There are many possible futures for me.
When I returned to the courtyard of the palace, a large pavilion of white cloth had been erected where Ramesses's most important marriage guests would feast. Hundreds of servants scurried like ants, rushing from the Great Hall into the tent with chairs
"Why don't we hear from the future Queen of Egypt?" she suggested, and the entire court looked to Iset, who rose gracefully from her chair.
"As Your Highnesses wish."
Iset made a pretty bow and slowly crossed the chamber. As she approached the harp that had been placed beneath the dais, Ramesses smiled. He watched her arrange herself before the instrument, pressing the carved wooden shoulder between her breasts, and as the lilting notes echoed across the hall, a vizier behind me murmured, "Beautiful. Exceptionally beautiful."
"The music or the girl?" Vizier Anemro asked.
The men at the table all snickered.
ON THE eve of Ramesses's marriage to Iset, Tutor Paser called me aside while the other students ran home. He stood at the front of the classroom, surrounded by baskets of papyrus and fresh reed pens. In the soft light of the afternoon, I realized he was not as old as I had often imagined him to be. His dark hair was pulled into a looser braid, and his eyes seemed kinder than they had ever been. But when he motioned for me to sit in the chair across from him, tears of shame blurred my vision before he even said a word.
"Despite the fact that your nurse allows you to run around the palace like a wild child of Set," he began, "you have always been the best student in this edduba. But in the past ten days you've missed six times, and today the translations you completed could have been done by a laborer in one of Pharaoh's tombs."
I lowered my head. "I will do better," I promised.
"Merit tells me you don't practice your languages anymore. That you are distracted. Is this because of Ramesses's marriage to Iset?"
I raised my eyes and wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. "Without Ramesses here, no one wants to be near me! All of the students in the edduba pretended to be kind to me because of Ramesses. Now that he's gone they call me a Heretic Princess."
Paser leaned forward, frowning. "Who has called you this?"
"Iset," I whispered.
"That is only one person."
"But the rest of them think it! I know they do. And in the Great Hall, when the High Priest sits at our table beneath the dais . . ."
"I would not concern myself with what Rahotep thinks. You know that his father was the High Priest of Amun--"
"And when my aunt became queen, she and Pharaoh Akhenaten had him killed. I know that. So Iset is against me, and the High Priest is against me, and even Queen Tuya . . ." I choked back a sob. "They are all against me because of my family. Why did my mother name me for a heretic?" I cried.
Paser shifted uncomfortably. "She could never have known the hatred that people would still have for her sister twenty-five years later."
He stood and offered me his hand. "Nefertari, you must continue to study your Hittite and Shasu. Whatever happens with Pharaoh Ramesses and Asha, you must excel in this edduba. It will be the only way to find a place for yourself in the palace."
"As what?" I asked desperately. "A woman can't be a vizier."
"No," Paser said. "But you are a princess. With your command of languages there are a dozen different futures for you. As a High Priestess, or a High Priestess's scribe, possibly even as an emissary."Paser reached into a basket and produced several scrolls. "Letters from King Muwatallis to Pharaoh Seti. Work you missed while you were in the palace pretending to be sick."
I'm sure my cheeks turned a brilliant scarlet, but as I left, I reminded myself of the truth in Paser's words. I am a princess. I am the daughter and niece and granddaughter of queens. There are many possible futures for me.
When I returned to the courtyard of the palace, a large pavilion of white cloth had been erected where Ramesses's most important marriage guests would feast. Hundreds of servants scurried like ants, rushing from the Great Hall into the tent with chairs
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