The farmer smiled widely. “I have not given anything in writing.”
“Then it is your well to use,” I said firmly, “and she will have to live with it until you’ve signed away your deed or your son finds his own land.”
The old man’s face was a picture of shock. I took up my reed pen and wrote the verdict on the bottom of his papyrus. When I handed him the scroll, he watched me with a guarded look. “You . . . you are not like they say.”
Every day will be like this, I thought. Every morning for the rest of my life I will be treated as the Heretic’s niece. If I don’t change their opinion of me, I will never escape it. My back stiffened as a third petitioner made his way to me. He held out a scroll and I read the contents quickly.
“Give me the whole story,” I said, but the young man shook his head.
“I ask to see Pharaoh, who speak my language, but Vizier Paser send me you,” he stumbled in a heavy accent.
“And is there something wrong with me?” I demanded in Hurrian.
The foreigner stepped back. “You speak Hurrian,” he whispered.
“Well, what have you come for?” I demanded.
For every petitioner who watched me with mistrust, there was another from Babylon, Assyria, or Nubia whose language I could speak. Before the day was finished I could see the interested glances that courtiers made in my direction. I sat straighter on my throne. Even without the signature at the bottom of each scroll, I could guess where each petition had come from. Foreigners from kingdoms whose languages I could speak were sent by Paser. The angriest and most contentious men were from Rahotep.
When a trumpet sounded in the distance, there was a sudden shifting in the room. A table was brought and placed at the base of the dais, and servants began positioning chairs with large arms and padded cushions.
I turned to Ramesses. “What are they preparing for?”
“Obviously, we’re done with petitions,” Iset replied.
Ramesses ignored her and said quietly, “At noon we finish and move on to private business.”
The remaining petitioners were led away, and from a small door on the side of the room a group of women entered the chamber. Although Henuttawy and Woserit were among them, they never looked at each other. Like a pair of horses wearing blinders, I thought. As they seated themselves around the table, Ramesses struck his crook against the dais.
“We are ready to begin the business of the court,” he declared. “Bring in the architect Penre.”
The doors of the Audience Chamber were thrown open and Penre appeared. He was a strapping man, with a lean jaw and a straight nose that would have been too large on any other man’s face. His long kilt was banded with yellow, and his golden pectoral had been a gift from Pharaoh Seti. He looked more like a warrior than an architect to me. “Your Majesties.” He bowed efficiently, then wasted no time unfurling his scroll. “You have requested an undertaking that no other architect has ever accomplished. A courtyard in the Temple of Luxor, with obelisks so tall that the gods themselves can touch them. So I have drawn for Your Highness one vision of what might be built.” He offered up a scroll and produced another two from the bag that hung at his side. These, he gave to myself and Iset.
I unfurled the papyrus and saw that the changes to Luxor that Penre had drawn were magnificent. Dark limestone pillars rose from pink sands, decorated with reliefs and hieroglyphics.
“What is this?” Iset demanded haughtily. She looked at Ramesses. “I thought your first act would be to build on to the palace.”
Ramesses shook his head, and the nemes head cloth brushed against his wide shoulders. “You heard my father request that we rebuild the Temple of Luxor.”
“But we’re living in the palace, not the temple,” Iset whined. “And what about a birthing pavilion for our heir?”
Ramesses sighed. “There is a pavilion already built. The people must see that Pharaoh’s first project is for Amun, not us.”
“We all know what happened when another Pharaoh built only for himself,” Rahotep reminded.
Iset glanced at the bottom of the dais to where Henuttawy was sitting. “Then perhaps we should rebuild the Temple of Isis?”
Ramesses didn’t understand her persistence. “The Temple of Isis was rebuilt by my grandfather!”
“That was many years ago. And since then Hathor’s temple has been made new. Don’t