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Besu.
    “Thank you, Lady Satiah.”
    Satiah smiled in spite of the hollow pain in her middle. She thought longingly of the bread and cheese she’d had at mid-day, pushed the thought away again roughly. It does you no good to dwell on your hunger. The gods will provide. They always do.
    “There is a jar of goat’s milk for him there on the table, for his night feedings.”
    “Good. You have done well, Besu, as always. The gods blessed me when I found you.”
    “I’ve…I’ve taken the liberty of bringing you some honey cakes from home, Lady Sa tiah. I hope I didn’t overstep….”
    Satiah laughed with pleasure. “You are so kind. I am grateful. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    Besu took her leave, and Satiah unwrapped the bit of oiled linen to expose the cold, sticky cakes. She at them slowly, savoring the sweetness and the coarse graininess of the crumbs. She lay on her narrow bed with her son propped against her chest, and felt the cadence of her heart thrumming through his tiny body, echoing along his small, plump limbs.
    “Son of t he gods,” she whispered, and kissed the top of his warm, soft head. “Son of all the gods. One day we will make our way home, and then, I promise you, the throne will be yours.”
    The taste of that certainty was sweeter than the honey.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    “… O R AT LEAST, THAT’S WHAT his nurses tell me.” Meryet set her wine cup back on the table. It clicked faintly against the polished ebony wood, and at the sound, Thutmose’s eyes snapped out of their unfocused blear. He stared at the cup; the sharpness of its details shocked him, the brilliance of the blue scarabs dancing around its rim leaping forward with accusing ferocity. He had been staring into the distance, had hardly heard a word of his wife’s conversation. He struggled to recall, through his fog of vague worry, what Meryet had been saying.
    “Er…standing already? That boy’s a strong one.”
    Meryet frowned at him. “I told you he’s standing minutes ago, Thutmose. I was speaking of his words. He will begin talking soon – real words – that’s what the nurses say. It’s early, for both standing and talking. He is blessed by the gods.” She said this last with the annoyed air of having repeated herself.
    Thutmose passed a hand across his face as if he might wipe the tension away. “I’m sorry, Meryet. I didn’t mean to let my thoughts wander. We rarely spend time together these days, I’ve been so preoccupied. I do want to hear all your news.”
    They paused awkwardly while the servants entered with the supper trays. A fragrant roast of goose, sprouting a tail of herbs singed from the clay oven, steamed on a golden platter. Bowls of sauces and stewed fruits joined it, and long, thick cores of lettuce drizzled with spiced honey – a dish appropriate for an evening of lovemaking, with its well-known ability to enflame the desires. Thutmose stared mournfully at the lettuce. He was so weary he doubted he could manage to undress his wife, never mind give a more taxing performance.
    When the servants withdrew again, Meryet leaned in to slice a portion of the goose. “It’s Kadesh, isn’t it?”
    “What’s that, now?”
    “Kadesh. It’s why you’re so distracted.” She laid the meat in his bowl, ladled a thick red sauce over the pale flesh. She did not look up at him.
    “Yes,” he admitted with a sigh. “Amun’s eyes, Meryet, the scrolls keep coming, and it gets worse all the time.”
    “It can’ t be as bad as you think.”
    “It may be worse than I think.”
    “Read a scroll to me. Let me hear it for myself.” She sounded practical, business-like as she chose the plumpest stewed fruits for Thutmose’s bowl.
    She was so unflappable, this Great Royal Wife who was hardly more than a girl. Not for the first time, Thutmose wondered what good deed he had ever done, that the gods had seen fit to reward him with Meryet. She was thoughtful, confident, wiser than a priestess and stronger