The little refuge of peace and relative safety was sheltered by stone columns and walls covered with grapevines. Where vines didn't climb across the stonework, paintings in bright colours decorated the wall.

Iset placed her son down on the seat, in the shade, away from prying eyes, and for a brief pause felt the burden upon her shoulders lift. She sighed, and took a few deep, slow breaths. Although the fear had not left her, her heart which had hitherto been racing, began to calm. Never had she hated being a royal wife as she had done these past few days. If she had married an artisan or a scribe, she would not have had to worry about what would happen on the death of her husband. She would not have had to worry whether someone was about to slip poison in to her child's food, or if a knife was waiting in the shadows, poised and ready to strike.

These thoughts were not the idle worries of a mother who felt vulnerable and alone in the world. In fact, Iset had overheard a conversation that had almost made her fall down dead on hearing it. Never before had such terrifying anxiety gripped her heart so tight that it could stop it.

Iset had been leaving one of the apartments of Hatshepsut, who had summoned her to tell her the news of the pharaoh's death. The conversation had been short, for the Great Royal Wife had many things to do and prepare for. The embalming of a pharaoh and the subsequent funeral were duties that could not be taken lightly.

As she had made her way back to the main palace complex where the lesser wives were housed, Iset decided that she wanted to go and see her son, who was in the nursery with his half-sister, Neferure. But just as she was about to turn the corner, voices, hushed and urgent, speaking words that she could hear clearly at this close proximity, floated on the air towards her.

'And what about the...other?' the voice whispered. It belonged to a minor wife who had fallen out of favour with the pharaoh long before Iset had arrived at the palace.

The voice that answered her was younger. Another wife whose company had not been required by the now dead Thutmose II. 'You've heard the histories, just as I have. A royal prince can disappear...and so too can his mother.'

Iset gulped. They were talking about her son. They were talking about her. This was it, she realised. It had begun.

And Iset had not been able to rest easy since.