about my mother, but she never refused to answer them. "And when she died," I asked, even though I already knew the answer, "who did she cry out for?"
Merit's face grew solemn. "Your father. And--"
I turned, forgetting about the cone of incense. "And?"
"And her sister," she admitted.
My eyes widened. "You've never said that before!"
"Because it's nothing you needed to know," Merit said quickly.
"But was she truly a heretic, as they say?"
"My lady--"
I saw that Merit was going to put off my question, and I shook my head firmly. "I was named for Nefertiti. My mother couldn't have believed that her sister was a heretic."
No one spoke the name of Nefertiti in the palace, and Merit pressed her lips together to keep from reprimanding me. She unfolded her hands and her gaze grew distant. "It was not so much the Pharaoh-Queen herself, as her husband."
"Akhenaten?"
Merit shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. He banished the gods. He destroyed the temples of Amun and replaced the statues of Ra with ones of himself."
"And my aunt?"
"She filled the streets with her image."
"In place of the gods?"
"Yes."
"But then where have they gone? I have never even seen a likeness of them."
"Of course not!" Merit stood. "Everything that belonged to your aunt was destroyed."
"Even my mother's name," I said and looked back at the shrine. Incense drifted across the face of the feline goddess. When she died, Horemheb had taken everything. "It's as though I've been born with no akhu, " I said. "No ancestors at all. Did you know that in the edduba," I confided, "students don't learn about Nefertiti's reign, or the reign of Pharaoh Ay, or Tutankhamun?"
Merit nodded. "Yes. Horemheb erased their names from the scrolls."
"He took their lives. He ruled for four years, but they teach us that he ruled for dozens and dozens. I know better. Ramesses knows better. But what will my children be taught? For them, my family will never have existed."
Each year, on the Feast of Wag, Egyptians visit the mortuary temples of their ancestors. But there was nowhere for me to honor my own mother's ka or the ka of my father with incense or a bowl of oil. Even their tombs had been hidden in the hills of Thebes, safe from the Aten priests and Horemheb's vengeance. "Who will remember them, Merit? Who? "
Merit placed her palm on my shoulder. "You."
"And when I'm gone?"
"Make sure you are never gone from the people's memory. And those who know of your fame will search out your past and find Pharaoh Ay and Queen Mutnodjmet."
"Otherwise they will be erased."
"And Horemheb will have succeeded."
CHAPTER THREE
THE WAY A CAT LISTENS
THE HIGH PRIESTS divined that Ramesses should marry on the twelfth of Thoth. They had chosen it as the most auspicious day in the season of Akhet, and when I walked from the palace to the Temple of Amun, the lake was already crowded with vessels bringing food and gifts for the celebration.
Inside the temple I kept to myself, and not even Tutor Oba could find fault with me when the priests were finished. "What's the matter, Princess? No one to entertain now that Pharaoh Ramesses and Asha are gone?"
I looked up into Tutor Oba's wrinkled face. His skin was like papyrus; every part of it was lined. Even around his nose there were creases. I suppose he was only fifty, but he seemed to me to be as old as the cracking paint in my chamber.
"Yes, everybody has left me," I said.
Tutor Oba laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound.
"Everybody has left you!" he repeated. "Everybody." He looked around him at the two hundred students who were following him to the edduba. "Tutor Paser tells me you are a very good student, and now I wonder if he means in acting or in languages. Perhaps in a few years, we'll be seeing you in one of Pharaoh's performances!"
I walked the rest of the way to the edduba in silence. Behind me, I could still hear Tutor Oba's grating laugh, and inside the class I was too angry to care when Paser announced, "Today, we will begin
Merit's face grew solemn. "Your father. And--"
I turned, forgetting about the cone of incense. "And?"
"And her sister," she admitted.
My eyes widened. "You've never said that before!"
"Because it's nothing you needed to know," Merit said quickly.
"But was she truly a heretic, as they say?"
"My lady--"
I saw that Merit was going to put off my question, and I shook my head firmly. "I was named for Nefertiti. My mother couldn't have believed that her sister was a heretic."
No one spoke the name of Nefertiti in the palace, and Merit pressed her lips together to keep from reprimanding me. She unfolded her hands and her gaze grew distant. "It was not so much the Pharaoh-Queen herself, as her husband."
"Akhenaten?"
Merit shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. He banished the gods. He destroyed the temples of Amun and replaced the statues of Ra with ones of himself."
"And my aunt?"
"She filled the streets with her image."
"In place of the gods?"
"Yes."
"But then where have they gone? I have never even seen a likeness of them."
"Of course not!" Merit stood. "Everything that belonged to your aunt was destroyed."
"Even my mother's name," I said and looked back at the shrine. Incense drifted across the face of the feline goddess. When she died, Horemheb had taken everything. "It's as though I've been born with no akhu, " I said. "No ancestors at all. Did you know that in the edduba," I confided, "students don't learn about Nefertiti's reign, or the reign of Pharaoh Ay, or Tutankhamun?"
Merit nodded. "Yes. Horemheb erased their names from the scrolls."
"He took their lives. He ruled for four years, but they teach us that he ruled for dozens and dozens. I know better. Ramesses knows better. But what will my children be taught? For them, my family will never have existed."
Each year, on the Feast of Wag, Egyptians visit the mortuary temples of their ancestors. But there was nowhere for me to honor my own mother's ka or the ka of my father with incense or a bowl of oil. Even their tombs had been hidden in the hills of Thebes, safe from the Aten priests and Horemheb's vengeance. "Who will remember them, Merit? Who? "
Merit placed her palm on my shoulder. "You."
"And when I'm gone?"
"Make sure you are never gone from the people's memory. And those who know of your fame will search out your past and find Pharaoh Ay and Queen Mutnodjmet."
"Otherwise they will be erased."
"And Horemheb will have succeeded."
CHAPTER THREE
THE WAY A CAT LISTENS
THE HIGH PRIESTS divined that Ramesses should marry on the twelfth of Thoth. They had chosen it as the most auspicious day in the season of Akhet, and when I walked from the palace to the Temple of Amun, the lake was already crowded with vessels bringing food and gifts for the celebration.
Inside the temple I kept to myself, and not even Tutor Oba could find fault with me when the priests were finished. "What's the matter, Princess? No one to entertain now that Pharaoh Ramesses and Asha are gone?"
I looked up into Tutor Oba's wrinkled face. His skin was like papyrus; every part of it was lined. Even around his nose there were creases. I suppose he was only fifty, but he seemed to me to be as old as the cracking paint in my chamber.
"Yes, everybody has left me," I said.
Tutor Oba laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound.
"Everybody has left you!" he repeated. "Everybody." He looked around him at the two hundred students who were following him to the edduba. "Tutor Paser tells me you are a very good student, and now I wonder if he means in acting or in languages. Perhaps in a few years, we'll be seeing you in one of Pharaoh's performances!"
I walked the rest of the way to the edduba in silence. Behind me, I could still hear Tutor Oba's grating laugh, and inside the class I was too angry to care when Paser announced, "Today, we will begin
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