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and black marble paving under her feet scorched through her soft sandals. Amunhotep sat motionless, crook, flail, and scimitar in his lap, sweat gathering under the rim of the Double Crown and trickling unchecked down his temples. Tiye thought he might be dozing. Directly before her, cool, dark water lapped seductively against the steps. Across the river, the noise from Thebes was subdued, smothered in the heat, the thousands lining the east bank seeming to merge into one shimmering mirage. Around her, Pharaoh’s court waited in their glistening wigs and dazzling white linen, flicking their jeweled whisks idly and exchanging desultory conversation. Tiye felt sick and faint. Off to her left, Ptahhotep, Si-Mut, and the other priests from Karnak stood bunched under their own canopy, thin streams of incense clouding them and adding to their discomfort. The harem wives, Gilupkhipa among them, sat off to the right in the grass under the shadow of the palace wall, their servants moving among them with cool drinks and dishes of sweetmeats, their cats and monkeys darting among them.
    At last a lookout shouted, and Tiye raised her eyes, slitting them against the glare. Aten Gleams , homing after its trip to Memphis, had turned into the canal and was beating carefully to the steps, sail furled, oars dipping and rising in a ponderous rhythm. Now that it had passed beyond the inquisitive eyes of the Theban populace, the silk curtains of the cabin had been looped back. The court musicians rolled their drums and began to tinkle and pluck. The boat jostled the steps, the imperial flags limp, its wet, sun-burnished golden sides reflecting yellow on the paving. Slaves rushed to run out the ramp, a stir was visible in the shadow of the cabin, and Tadukhipa emerged. As soon as she left the shelter of the cabin, the women with her raised a canopy over her head, a curious, stiff curved structure of white satin topped by the grinning head of some barbaric god. Amunhotep, wheezing with the effort, struggled to his feet, gathered up the symbols of his kingship, and waited.
    Tiye studied the princess. She had a tiny, swarthy face with darting black eyes topped by a soft cap of gold cloth whose tassels swung to her neck. Little brocade slippers were on her feet, hardly visible beneath a heavy skirt of many garish colors fringed in gold, and a loose shawl of the same material hid all but her arms. Six other boats had come to a halt, disgorging a chattering flock of gaudy women, the princess’s retinue.
    Tadukhipa minced forward, knelt to kiss her husband’s feet, hesitated, gave a timid yet interested glance at Tiye, and then kissed her feet also. Despite her small swaying canopy she was obviously instantly sickened by the heat beating up at her, and Tiye saw sweat break out on her face.
    Amunhotep nodded frigidly at his herald. “In the name of Amun the Almighty and Aten the All-Beautiful, I, Nebmaatra Hek-Waset, god of this land, welcome you, Tadukhipa, princess of Mitanni and daughter of my friend and brother the Lord Tushratta, to Thebes,” the man shouted, his staff of office held out before him. “May this marriage be a sign of the good relations between us.”
    Amunhotep rose. Then, leaning down, he lifted Tadukhipa to her feet, a gesture that cost him much. Tiye had risen with him. All at once she felt his elbow slide along her arm, and knowing instantly what he wanted, she unobtrusively took his weight upon herself.
    “My father sends his heartfelt greetings,” Tadukhipa said haltingly in a heavily accented Egyptian. “He places me with complete confidence in your august hands. He also sends the goddess Ishtar to you because he weeps over your illness. Ishtar is pleased to visit again the land she loves.” Turning, she crooked a finger at the slave behind her, and a black pall slid from the object he was holding, revealing a small golden statue. The assembly bowed. Tadukhipa passed it to Amunhotep with trembling hands.
    He does not