Maybe he really is a god on earth, I thought. I admit that I’d never truly believed that about Pharaoh. I felt guilty for my doubts, and I never dared to mention them to anyone. They came to me when I saw how wan and wasted Pharaoh looked. Gods were supposed to be powerful, greater than we mortals could ever hope to be or even to imagine, and yet …
And yet when I’d looked into Pharaoh’s face, I’d seen nothing but a badly weakened, ailing man.
That year, the sacred river rose to the perfect level—deep enough to enrich the farthest fields but not so deep that Hapy’s waters could wash away the people’s homes. It was an unmistakable sign that Pharaoh Amenhotep continued to enjoy the favor of the gods. The Pharaoh and his land were bonded in ways that ordinary people could never hope to understand. (So we were told many, many times.) Pharaoh’s health was the same as the health of the Black Land, and the other way around, so nearly all of the Theban priesthoods lifted their voices in hymns of praise for Pharaoh’s strength and songs of thanksgiving for his influence with the gods.
Only the priests of Amun kept all of their praises for the god they served, parading images of Amun through the streets daily. Nava, Sitamun, and I liked to watch their processions from one of the palace rooftops. More than once we recognized Thutmose in their midst.
“Why is he with them?” I asked.
Sitamun shrugged. “He told Father that he had a dream where Amun personally demanded that he serve him as faithfully and frequently as he could. Father wasn’t happy.
He’s been trying his best to curb the priests’ sway over his kingdom, and now they’ve got his oldest son under their influence.”
Or the other way around, I thought, remembering what Thutmose had told me about making the powerful Amun priests his allies.
“Anyway, whether Father likes it or not, he can’t interfere. It’s impossible to argue with the commands of a god.”
Even where you’re supposed to be a god yourself? I wondered.
The Inundation celebration in Thebes went on for many more days than they had in Akhmin. Pharaoh made an appearance as part of both the solemn rituals and the merry festivities every day, in addition to entertaining his most highly placed nobles and important foreign guests each night. From my place with the other princesses, I saw how intently Aunt Tiye watched his every move. None of the guests would have been able to tell how nervous she was, but I was close enough to see it and to sense the tension leaping through her whole body if a piece of bread slipped form Pharaoh’s hand, if his wine goblet trembled, or if his laugh seemed to end with an unusually hoarse sound.
Aunt Tiye wasn’t the only one of Pharaoh’s wives who attended the Inundation banquets. He often invited a selection of his junior wives who were of royal birth, and sometimes even a few who weren’t but whose beauty blazed like the sun. Aunt Tiye’s face showed no emotion throughout those dinners, but her eyes reminded me of a dagger’s edge, glittering in the dark.
One night, after the last feast to welcome the new season, I was walking by myself back through the women’s quarters when my sandal broke. I kicked it off and tried to slip my foot out of the other one, but my gown got in the way. It was a gift from Aunt Tiye, sent to me just that morning with a “suggestion” to wear it to the banquet. It turned out to be a poor fit, much too big, and the excess fabric tangled around my legs. I stumbled off to lean against a wall so that I could use both hands to remove my second sandal, and I left my little clay lamp on the floor next to my broken one, to make sure I didn’t accidentally set that accursed gown—and me!—on fire. Just as I pulled the unbroken sandal from my foot, a wayward breeze whisked past and blew out the lamp. I was left hugging the wall in the dark.
Well, this will teach me to have a servant escort me back to my rooms, I thought sourly. Now what? Do I blunder home in the dark? I looked to the sky. It was a moonless night and thin clouds blurred the stars. If I keep one hand on the wall, I can probably feel my way back without falling into one of the garden pools. Oh, it would be so much easier if I could get another lamp! I don’t see any lights burning nearby, but maybe someone is still awake in the next courtyard. I edged slowly along the wall, looking for a speck of light, a sign of life.
I heard the two women’s voices before I saw the light of a lamp shining behind a mat-hung doorway. One sounded familiar but only vaguely so. The other was strange to me. I moved toward the glow, about to announce my presence, when the indistinct murmur of their voices suddenly sharpened into words that turned me to stone where I stood.
“—how can you guarantee that my son will be crowned once Pharaoh’s dead?” That was the voice I didn’t know, shrill and nervous. “I hear that Prince Thutmose is protected by the priests of Amun, and as for that mother of his …! Ugh. She frightens me.”
“You jump when you see a mouse.” The voice I half-recognized was soft, caressing, and heavy with contempt. “I haven’t been wasting my time. I’ve made … a friend who’ll help us, a powerful nobleman whose wealth and connections can buy us more than enough armed men to defend your son’s claim if the queen or any of her pups try to make trouble. The priests of Amun are no fools. They flock to the strongest player in this game.”
“Well …” The first voice sounded uncertain. “And you’re positive you can get Pharaoh to name my boy crown prince instead of Thutmose?”
I heard a gusty sigh of exasperation, and then: “You wouldn’t question me if you could have seen the way the old man was looking at me tonight. He’s been my captive since the day I became his bride, and I won’t be asking him for anything alarming.”