Sphinx's Queen (21 page)

Amenophis and I didn’t see one another for the rest of the voyage. He was kept confined in the curtained shelter in the middle of the deck, and I was forbidden to enter it. I didn’t mind too much—it was better to be able to stroll around the ship at liberty and watch the changing sights of the shore slip by—but I felt bad for him, pent up in such close quarters. The chamber held every comfort—the best food and drink, soft cushions, game boards to pass the time—but not freedom.

I saw Thutmose frequently. It was impossible to avoid him. The royal ship was big, but not that big. Whenever I caught sight of him, I held my ground. I’m sure he would have enjoyed our encounters more if the sight of him made me run, shudder, sneer, turn my head away sharply, any kind of reaction, but I refused to let him think he had the least effect on me. I looked at him the way I’d look at a palm tree on the riverbank, my eyes merely acknowledging that, yes, there it was, and that was as much attention as it deserved. At first he wore a nasty grin each time our eyes met, but it quickly withered when I let him understand that he was nothing to me now. Soon
he
was the one who ran or looked away if we chanced to cross each other’s path.

When the royal vessel docked at Thebes, a suitable welcome awaited us. I think that the priests of Hathor must have sent runners or chariot drivers ahead to the south the instant that Pharaoh’s ship left Dendera. The god-on-earth was greeted by a procession of musicians, dancers, fan-bearers, priests of many gods in all their ceremonial finery, and, of course, his highest-ranking counselors, including the vizier. Pharaoh and his Great Royal Wife walked from the ship to the palace in splendor over a carpet of flower petals. A canopy was held above their heads by four Nubian servants carrying the jeweled and gilded poles. I was still on board the ship, and from the height of the deck, I could see that the top of the canopy was decorated with a brilliant picture of Horus in the form of a hawk with outspread wings of blue, red, and gold. The two princes followed their parents, their heads shielded by painted cloth sunshades. Thutmose was carrying Ta-Miu. The little cat who had caused so much trouble had been restored to her former owner back in Dendera, before we left the temple of Hathor. I was surprised at how much I missed her.

There was no such courtesy as a formal welcome nor such comfort as a sunshade for Nava and me when it was our turn to debark. On Pharaoh’s orders—more likely the orders of Aunt Tiye—the vessel’s master kept us on board until the royal procession was out of sight, then turned us over to the four guardsmen who’d been waiting for his summons. They looked bored and they smelled as if they’d been passing the time with a jug of beer. As we walked up the road to the palace, they traded crude jokes and used language that a child of Nava’s age had no business hearing.

“That will be enough of
that,”
I told them crisply after the man to my left finished an extremely vulgar story with an even worse gesture. “If you can’t keep your tongue out of the dung heap, don’t speak at all.”

“So
you
say,” the man replied with a grunt worthy of any pig. “I’ll talk how I like, when I like, where I like. You may look like a fine lady, but we heard all about
you
. What’s worse, a little rough talk or spewing lies? And in Hathor’s house, too! I’m bringing my kids with me to the Palace of Ma’at when you head there to try blabbing your way around
that
goddess. Her feather won’t balance out a deceitful heart, no matter how pretty a face goes with it; you wait and see. I want my kids to be there and witness what Ma’at does to you. My wife says fire’ll shoot right out of the earth and burn you alive. I figure it’ll just be the earth splitting open under you and dropping you into a pit of snakes or scorpions or … well,
something
nasty.”

“Maybe I’ll just get turned to salt,” I said, and gave Nava a wink that made her giggle. The guard scratched his head in puzzlement the rest of the way to the palace.

I was given my old rooms in the women’s quarters, but my former servants were gone. In their place were two scared, skinny, self-conscious girls who didn’t look much older than me. They refused to give me their names and avoided speaking to me at all unless it was absolutely necessary. I presumed that Aunt Tiye had handpicked them because they were the two palace servants who would serve me the worst. They were the clumsiest girls I’d ever seen. They tripped over their own feet, dropped things, and stepped on the hem of any garment they carried.

I didn’t mind having servants who were not much better than having
no
servants. Nava and I were used to taking care of ourselves. The girls discovered that they had fewer and fewer chores to do and promptly took advantage of it. When they weren’t breaking, tearing, or losing things, they were sleeping in corners or—so Nava told me—stealing off to the kitchen to flirt with the younger cooks.

The only time that those two managed to act like real servants instead of failed jugglers was when Princess Sitamun came to visit me. I sent the girls to fetch refreshments, all of which promptly landed on the floor when one tripped over the doorsill and the other let the wine flask slip through her hands.

My friend surged to her feet and gave the slip-fingered girls such a harsh tongue-lashing that it seemed as though sweet-natured Sitamun had shed her skin, revealing Aunt Tiye at her most scathing. The maids squealed in distress, raced away to bring us more food and drink, then dashed off to hide in some dusty corner until my guest was gone.

“Whew! I didn’t know you had that in you, Sitamun,” I said, with nothing but admiration for the plainspoken princess.

Sitamun pursed her lips primly and raised one eyebrow. “Hmph! If you don’t tell servants what to do in a way that says
or else
, they’ll sit around all day eating dates and spitting the pits in your eye.”

“They don’t do that,” Nava said. “They don’t do
anything
. We take care of ourselves.”

“What? That’s not acceptable! Nefertiti, I know that you’re being kept here as a prisoner until Ma’at’s high priest says the goddess is ready to hear your plea, but you’re of noble birth! A princess! You shouldn’t be doing servants’ work.”

I laughed. “I’m only linked to the nobility because of Aunt Tiye, not by birth, and if you ask her, she’ll tell you that I’m the fool who threw away my one chance to
become
a princess! So I guess I’d better get used to doing my own work, because once my trial before Ma’at is over, your mother’s going to send me home on the fastest ship she can find.”

“Then I know someone who’ll be on that ship with you,” Sitamun said with a subtle smile. “He’s told me everything. I’m very happy for you both.”

I lowered my eyes. “Even if—even
when
—I’m free again, what’s going to become of him and me? Your mother hates me for not living my life according to her choices. She’ll have Amenophis walled up alive before she’ll let us be together.”

“Then you’d better learn how to use a chisel.”

Even Nava laughed at Sitamun’s joke. “I don’t care if those girls don’t help us,” the Habiru child announced. “I like it better this way, with them hiding from their chores all the time. It keeps them away from us, and that means they can’t go tale-bearing about who comes to visit and what they say.”

“What a smart little girl,” Sitamun said. She handed Nava a plump fig as a reward. “Tell me, O daughter of Thoth the wise, how would you make sure that those two stayed far away from these rooms for a long time?”

Nava chewed the fig while she thought this over. At last she replied, “Can I have another fig?” Sitamun passed her the entire plate. Between bites, the child said, “I’d give them a big, complicated job to do, but it would have to be something they couldn’t do in these rooms, or even in the women’s quarters.”

“Laundry!” Sitamun exclaimed. “Do you have any pleated linen sheaths, Nefertiti?”

“I had at least two,” I said. “I haven’t bothered to see if they’re still where I stored them.”

“Never mind if they’re not; I’ll send you a basketful of mine, and you can pretend they’re yours. Do you know how long it takes to wash and bleach and repleat those things? Your maids will be gone for half a day!”

“A whole day,” Nava said. “Half a day to do the work, half a day to do whatever they want, but they’ll
tell
you they were working the whole time.” She ate the last fig contentedly. “They’ll think they fooled you. It will make them very happy.”

Sitamun leaned her head closer to mine and grinned. “Oh,
do
let’s make them happy, Nefertiti.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you up to, Sitamun?”

She only smiled.

The basket containing Sitamun’s badly wrinkled linen sheath dresses arrived in my quarters the following morning, and I turned it over to my maids. I never said the dresses were mine, just that they needed to be washed and the pleats refreshed.

“This will take us a long time, mistress,” one of them said.

“A long, long time,” the other added.

“Take the whole day, if you like,” I said casually. “I don’t think I’ll need you for anything else until tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, we’ll be done before that,” the first one said.

“Maybe.”
The second one moved close to her companion, and I thought I saw her pinch her. “We want to do a
good
job, don’t we?”

“Oh. Oh, yes!” The first maid bobbed her head like a bird banging a snail on a rock. They both had the most ridiculous smiles on their faces.

Either they’re madly in love with the idea of doing laundry or they’ve got plans
, I thought, trying not to smile back.
Half the day making a mess of those dresses, the other half—and part of the night, I’m sure—seeing those boys they like from the kitchens
. I felt the ache of envy.
Even maidservants are luckier than Amenophis and me. They’re free to see their sweethearts
.

Later that same morning, after the maids were gone, I received word from the Palace of Ma’at that my trial before the goddess would take place the following day. I felt my stomach sink while I listened to the royal messenger who brought the news. I knew I was innocent, but I had spent enough time in Aunt Tiye’s world to know that much too often, innocence was not enough. Her son Thutmose had been raised in that unhealthy atmosphere of intrigue, and he’d learned all its wicked lessons. With the skill of a master potter at his wheel, he’d transformed the raw clay of my words and the evidence that should have cleared my name into the twisted shape of fresh accusations.

Nava sensed my unease. The little girl became especially attentive since the messenger’s announcement, always at my elbow, always trying to cheer me or distract me. She filled the day with lively chatter, fetched me special treats from the kitchen, braided and rebraided my hair, and got me involved in a storytelling contest, all to keep me from thinking about what awaited me.

Now that we were back in the palace, she’d been able to lay her hands on the harp she’d left behind. When the day began to fade into the starry glory of night, it was a comfort to sit beside her in the courtyard outside my rooms and listen to her sweet, clear voice raised in song while her fingers drew melody from the strings. Music holds its own magic. Soon its spell laid hold of me, and I was able to put all thought of the next day’s trial out of my mind. While Nava sang and played, I stood up, left my worries in my wake, and began to dance.

Oh, how long had it been since the last time I’d enjoyed the rapture of dancing? Too long, much too long. I’d forgotten how good it felt.
This must be what it’s like to fly
, I thought, my bare feet scarcely touching the ground. I spread my arms like a hawk’s wings, turned my face to the stars, closed my eyes, and let my imagination send me soaring over green fields and towering golden cliffs, white cities, and the eternal blue miracle of the sacred river. I wished that Nava would play her harp and sing her songs forever. I prayed to Isis and Hathor to let me dance forever.

A foolish, beautiful prayer, a prayer I knew would have to go unanswered. It was better that way: My feet moved swiftly in the dance, but was I dancing or trying to run away?

I stopped. Nava noticed and dropped her hands from the harp strings. “Don’t you like this song? I know others I could play for you instead.”

“It’s all right, Nava,” I told her. “You’re a wonderful musician, but I’m done with dancing for today. Another time.”

“Are you sure?” She looked worried. “I want you to be happy!”

I knelt beside her on the floor and put my arms around her as comfortably as her harp would allow. “I am happy, Nava. I’m just a bit concerned about tomorrow, but that’s natural. It doesn’t touch my happiness.”

The child began to cry. “I wish I could be happy,” she said. “But all I can do is think about what might happen to you tomorrow and then I—” She sobbed.

“Shhh, hush, little one, cast away those thoughts. Doesn’t your god defend truth, too? If we pray together, then the One and Ma’at will both be on my side.”

Nava sniffled and shook her head. “There can’t be both of them together. The One … is the
One
. Please don’t hit me, Nefertiti; it’s true.”

I was taken aback. “Why would I hit you for saying something like that, Nava?”

“He
used to,” she replied, looking at her knees. “My old master, the priest of Isis. He did it every time he heard Mahala and me singing praise songs for the One. He got so mad! He’d turn red all over his bald head and call us ugly names and he’d beat us. He said he didn’t care what kind of useless gods his slaves prayed to, but we should do it quietly, where
real
people wouldn’t have to overhear such nonsense. He was angry because some of our prayers and songs say that the One created everything and watches over everything and that we don’t need any other gods.”

“I see.
Not
the sort of thing a priest of Isis wants to hear in his goddess’s own house. Maybe he was afraid that if enough people overheard you, they’d start thinking that they should worship the One as well. Instead of going to the temple of Hathor to pray for health and the temple of Thoth to pray for wisdom and the temple of Bast to pray for love, they’d only have to go to one place and make one offering. It would certainly be more efficient.” I was joking, trying to distract the child from unhappy memories, but she took me seriously.