The Egyptian Royals Collection (71 page)

“Mother of Horus, wife of Ra, creator of Egypt, I bring to you the oil of life.”

The priestesses raised their palms again, and Woserit washed her hands in a bowl of water. Then she disappeared down the smoky hall.

“That’s it?” I asked.

Aloli grinned at me. “In the morning, the altar is crowned with oil, and in the evening the High Priestess brings bread and wine.”

“But all of that, just for some oil?”

Aloli’s smile vanished. “These are the ways of Hathor,” she said sternly. “Every morning and evening they must be performed to invoke her pleasure. Would you risk her wrath by not paying her obeisance?”

I shook my head. “No, of course not.”

“Hathor’s rites may be simple, but nothing is more important to Egypt’s survival.”

I was surprised by Aloli’s sudden seriousness. We walked across much of the temple in silence. When we reached the entrance, I ventured, “So what do we do now?”

The jovial Aloli returned. “Didn’t the High Priestess tell you? Now we clean!”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “You mean, with oil and brushes?”

“And linen and lemons.” She stopped walking. “Haven’t you ever cleaned?”

“My sandals,” I said. “When there was mud on them after a hunt.”

“But never a floor, or a table, or a mosaic?” She saw my face and realized. “You have never cleaned in your life, have you?”

I shook my head.

“It’s not difficult,” she promised brightly. “The priestesses do it every day before their afternoon meal.” She took off her robe and bundled it under her arm. Beneath, she wore the same blue sheath that I’d been given. “We will clean the hall leading out into the groves. The men come through with mud on their sandals and dirt in their kilts. Every priestess has her own hall, and this one is mine!”

She strode ahead and I followed. I didn’t understand why she was so merry until she opened the doors leading onto the groves. As she bent over to clean, the barrel-chested grove workers watched as her sheath moved slowly up her thighs. She made no effort to move herself from their view. I squatted over the tiles at the other end of the hall and arranged my sheath over my knees. I dabbed a piece of linen into a bowl of water, then leaned over and wiped it gently across the floor.

“It will go easier if you are on your knees.” Aloli laughed. “Don’t worry, no one will be watching you. They’re all watching me.”

WHEN THE
piercing sound of trumpets sent the workers heading to their homes beyond the temple, Aloli handed me my robe. An eternity of scrubbing, over at last.

We entered the Great Hall with its towering mosaics of Hathor, the scent of roasted duck in steaming bowls of pomegranate sauce filled the lively chamber. Row upon row of polished cedar tables were taken up by priestesses who had already taken their seats.

“Where do we sit?”

“Next to the High Priestess.”

I could see Woserit’s crown above the heads of even the tallest women, and when she saw us, she gave a small nod. I sat on Woserit’s right, and Aloli sat to her left. As I reached for my bowl, Woserit said sharply, “I hope you don’t snatch your food like that in the palace.”

I looked around me, in fear that everyone had heard her rebuke, but the other priestesses were deep in conversation.

“You don’t grab for your bowl like a monkey,” Woserit said. “You start by rolling up your sleeve.” She illustrated, taking her left hand and delicately holding up the sleeve of her right while reaching for the soup. Then she let her sleeve fall into place as she brought the bowl to her mouth. When she had taken a sip, she didn’t let her lips linger on the bowl as I might have. She replaced her bowl the same way she had taken it. I imitated what she had done, and she nodded. “Better. Now let me see you take the duck.”

The other women had rolled up their sleeves and were taking the meat in both hands and eagerly picking it apart. When I began to do the same, Woserit’s look grew dark.

“That is fine for a common priestess, but you are a
princess.
” She lifted her sleeve as she had done before, then held the meat between her forefinger and thumb and nibbled on it slowly, using a linen she kept in her left hand to wipe her mouth should the pomegranate paste dribble. “I’m shocked you’ve never learned this before, sitting at the table beneath the dais for seven years. But then I suppose that you and Ramesses never paid attention to anything besides yourselves.”

I hid my shame by lowering my head, then took the leg of the duck in my right hand, just as she had done. She passed me her linen, and when I used it to keep sauce from falling on my robe, her gaze softened. “The next time you come into the Great Hall,” she said, “I expect you to bring a table linen with you. Have Merit make it from an old sheath.”

I nodded. “And sit straight. And raise your head. None of this is your own personal failing, Nefertari. You are here to learn and that’s what you’re doing.”

WHEN THE
meal was over. I followed Aloli through the halls to the eastern sanctuary. “I think I will like it here,” I lied.

Aloli marched ahead, and her long robes swished back and forth. “The cleaning and the rituals, you’ll get used to them,” she promised. “And while we’re practicing harp,” she gloated, “the other priestesses will be out greeting pilgrims.”

I stopped walking. “I’m the
only
one practicing harp?”

“The entire temple can’t play, can it?” Aloli turned around. “Only a few priestesses have the talent. I’m one of them.”

We entered the eastern sanctuary. Tiles of highly polished blue and gold covered the walls, tracing images of the goddess Hathor teaching mortals how to play and sing.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Aloli asked, as she walked to a small platform where two harps had been positioned next to a pair of stools. “Why don’t you begin?”

I shook my head firmly at I sat. “No. Please. I’d like to hear you first.”

Aloli arranged herself on the wooden stool, then tilted the harp so that it was resting on her shoulder. She sat straight as a reed, the way I had been taught, with her elbows bent out like an ibis about to take flight. Then she positioned her fingers on the strings and an astonishing melody filled the chamber. She closed her eyes and in the echoing strains of her music she was the most beautiful, elegant woman in Egypt. The song resounded in the empty room, first slow, then swift and passionate. Not even Iset or Henuttawy could play the harp with her skill. When her fingers came to rest, I remembered to breathe. “I will never play like that,” I said, with awe.

“Remember, you are fourteen and I am seventeen. It will come with practice.”

“But I practiced every day at the edduba,” I protested.

“In a group, or alone?”

I thought of my music lessons with Asha and Ramesses and flushed at how little we’d ever accomplished. “In a group.”

“Here, there’ll be no one to distract you,” she promised. “You may not be playing in Pharaoh’s military procession tomorrow, but—”

I stood from my stool so swiftly that it fell. “What do you mean? What procession?”

“Egypt is going to war. There’s to be a procession when the army marches through Thebes. News arrived last night.” Aloli frowned. “Why, my lady?”

“Paser never told me! I have to bid Ramesses farewell! I have to tell Asha!”

“But you’re in the temple now. Priestesses in training don’t leave for a year.”

“I’m not a priestess in training!”

Aloli stood up her harp. “I thought you were here to take the High Priestess’s place?”

“No. I am here to stay away from Ramesses. Woserit thinks I can learn how to behave like a queen, and that Ramesses will take me as Chief Wife.”

Aloli’s eyes grew as wide as lotus blossoms. “So that is why I am tutoring you,” she whispered. “With the flute or the lyre, you’re one of a group. With the harp, you are alone onstage, commanding an audience with your skill. And if you can command the Great Hall by yourself with the harp, why not the Audience Chamber with Pharaoh?”

I knew at once that Aloli was right. This was why Woserit had brought us together. “But I am going to that military procession,” I said, not to be dissuaded.

Aloli looked uneasy. “I don’t think the High Priestess will allow it.”

I said nothing more about the procession. We began our lessons, but all I could think about was war, and as soon as our time together was finished, I asked her where I could find the High Priestess. “I can take you to her,” Aloli said. “But she will not be happy to be disturbed. This is her time for writing letters.”

I followed Aloli through the halls of the temple to a pair of heavy wooden doors. “The Per Medjat,” she said.

“She writes in the library?”

“Every afternoon before she sails to the palace.” I hesitated in front of the doors, and Aloli slowly backed away. “You can knock,” she said tentatively, “but do not expect her to answer.” I raised my fist and rapped on the door. When there was silence, I banged again. One of the heavy doors swung open.

“What are you doing here?” Woserit demanded. She had taken off the crown of Hathor, and her hands were stained with sand and ink.

“I have come to make an urgent request,” I said. Woserit looked to Aloli and made no sign of inviting either of us in. “I am guessing she has told you about the procession?”

“Yes,” I said desperately, “and I have come to ask you whether I may attend.”

“Of course not.”

“But—”

“Do you remember when I said there will be times you don’t understand my advice, but that you would need to take it regardless? And do you remember agreeing to that?”

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Then I expect I won’t have to hear about this again.”

She shut the door. I turned to face Aloli, and I couldn’t keep the tears from my eyes. “If I was his wife, I could be going to war with him.”

“War?” Aloli exclaimed. “You’re a woman!”

“What does it matter? I could be his translator.”

Aloli put her arm around my shoulders. “In a year, my lady, you can see him as often as you choose. It’s not as long as you think.”

“But he will think I am angry with him,” I protested. “He won’t believe that I am forbidden from seeing him because I’m a priestess in training. I’m a princess—there’s nothing a princess is forbidden.”

“Except this. You have given the High Priestess your word.”

“But she doesn’t understand!” I exclaimed.

“When I was in the Temple of Isis, I thought of running away to my mother to tell her how terrible it was. Or of seeing my uncles and begging one of them to take me in. But I didn’t, because if I was caught, I would be banished from the priesthood forever.”

“But isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Of course not! I only wanted to escape from Henuttawy.”

“Then how did you manage?”

“I didn’t. The High Priestess of Hathor did. Woserit heard me perform during a Festival of Opet, and when she came to offer me her compliments, she saw how miserable I was. So she arranged to purchase me from Henuttawy.”

I sucked in my breath. “She bought you like a slave?”

“Henuttawy wouldn’t give me up otherwise.”

“And what did she pay?”