Sphinx's Queen (6 page)

The two of them laughed over that and the harsh mood was broken.

I watched them secure their boat and build a small fire using whatever they could scrounge that would burn. I stayed where I was, hidden in a stand of dead reeds. Hapy had withdrawn his waters from them and left me thankful for a hiding place where I could wait out the night. I was close enough to the hunters’ fire to discourage any wild beasts from bothering me. As for encountering any crawling things—insects, lizards, or serpents—I’d have to pray to Isis for protection and take my chances. I was too afraid to risk letting them see me, though when they began to eat their modest evening meal of bread and cheese, my empty stomach complained stridently that some risks were worth taking. I fought back the aching emptiness, folded my arms around me, and squatted down in my nest of reeds.

I didn’t think I’d fall asleep where I sat. I honestly expected that my fears and sorrows wouldn’t let me nod off, especially after that who-knows-how-long slumber I’d had earlier that day after crying myself into collapse. But in spite of all that, fatigue stole over me, body and mind, and sleep followed.

I awoke to the sound of a loud crash and found myself flat on my back in the dead reeds, staring up at the moon and stars. When I’d fallen asleep, I’d
really
fallen, toppling backward, rattling and crushing the plants around me. Before I could take a breath, I heard the old man shout out, “What’s that? Who’s there?” and saw shadowy hands shove aside the few reeds left standing.

“Well, look at this, Uncle!” The young man’s expression was hard to read in the dark, but it seemed he could see me well enough. His hands shot out and grabbed my wrists, yanking me to my feet and hauling me out of the reeds to the side of the fading fire. “You might know where the ducks nest, but I’ve caught something better.” He laughed. I hoped it was a friendly laugh; it
had
to be!

“Who is that?” The older man squinted at me. Even in such faint light, I could see the thick white film covering his left eye, though the other one looked as keen as he’d claimed. “Who are you, girl? What’s happened to you? You look as if you’ve been fighting jackals bare-handed!”

I glanced down at my ragged dress, my scraped and filthy arms and legs. I could only imagine what my face and hair must look like after all that had happened to me that day. “I—I—” I bit my lip. “I was on the river and a hippo destroyed my boat.” It wasn’t exactly a lie; it was only part of the truth.
May Ma’at forgive me
.

“You look it,” the older man said, clicking his tongue in sympathy. “When did it happen?”

“This morning. I’ve been walking ever since. I’m trying to get to Dendera.” I clasped my hands, hoping fiercely that the next words out of the older man’s mouth would be an offer to take me there.

Instead, I heard “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?” from the nephew. He chucked me under the chin with his roughly callused hand and grinned before he kissed me so hard that our teeth clacked together.

I didn’t think about what I did next; I just did it. I made a fist and punched him so hard in the center of his chest that his head made a loud
thunk!
when it hit the ground. When I heard that, I spun on my heel and dashed away.

I didn’t get far. The older man’s right eye
was
clear and good: He caught me before I’d gone ten strides. He might have been wrinkled, with gray stubble covering his cheeks, but he had a lifetime of hard work behind him, and it had left him strong. He ignored my kicking feet and flailing fists, seized me around the waist, toted me back to the fireside over one brawny, scarred shoulder, and dumped me between a covered basket and a sagging waterskin.

“Are you looking for that hippo to finish the job of killing you?” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement as he stared down at me. “Or would you rather step on a cobra in the dark and do it that way? Now listen, girl, you’re safe with me. Safe with
us
, or I’ll know the reason why.” He gave his nephew a short, sharp glare. The younger man was sitting up, rubbing the back of his head and looking sheepish. “You’ll forgive the lad: He can’t help it; he’s a jackass. Me, I
break
jackasses. Understand?”

I nodded slowly. “Thank you, sir.”

“ ‘Sir’?” His laugh was as loud as that cursed hippo’s bellow. “Who
are
you, with such fine manners?” He dropped to one knee and grabbed my hands, studying the palms. “Hmm. Soft enough, under all these hurts. Funny
here
, though.” He ran one fingertip over the toughened spots on my right hand. They’d come from long practice with reed pens and brushes as I worked to master the scribe’s art. “Whatever work you do to earn your bread, it’s nothing
too
hard. Care to tell me?”

He sounded kind, but I was afraid to say more in case I said too much. “My name is Nefertiti” was all I answered. And then, because the pain in my stomach forced the plaintive words from my lips, I added, “I’m so hungry!”

“Well, of course you are, girl! Here, get something in your belly.” He stuck his hand into one of the baskets and put a small, round loaf of bread in my hands. I gobbled it as if I were a starving dog, nearly choking on the crumbs.

“Easy! Take it easy, girl! You could use a drink with that.” He fetched the big waterskin and helped me hold it while I drank. It didn’t taste like pure water, and I said so when I thanked him for it.

He chuckled and turned to the younger man. “How about that, Idu? She’s a clever one—no fooling her.” He winked at me. “There’s some beer in that. A man likes his beer, but it’s too thick to carry in this”—he slapped the waterskin—“unless you skim it carefully first and water it down. My wife used to be skilled at doing that, but she’s gone now, gone for years. I’ve had to fend for myself for too long.” He hung his head, looking miserable.

I patted his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, girl; you’ve got a good heart.” He put one arm around me and squeezed my shoulders. It was a little too tight for a simple, friendly gesture. I felt uneasy, but before I could say anything or shrug free, he let me go. “All right, you’ve eaten my bread, and Idu here will tell you that I never give something for nothing.”

“That’s
true,” the younger man grumbled. “Half the ducks that my throwing stick brought down—”

“Hush, boy. The girl knows a joke when she hears one; don’t spoil it with your sour-faced muttering.” He turned from his nephew to me. “How about
now
you tell us who you are? We’ll call it fair exchange for that bread you devoured.”

“My name … my name is Nefertiti,” I said. I prayed that I wouldn’t have to tell him too much more than that.
This man might believe in my innocence, take pity on me, and help me reach Dendera, or he could drag me to Thebes, imagining the reward Thutmose and the Amun priests would give to get me back. May Ma’at shield and forgive me, I won’t lie, but I can’t tell him the whole truth
.

“A good name—it suits you. But I find it hard to believe that such a lovely girl with such a pretty name would be sailing the river on her own. You haven’t got the hands for it.” He focused his good eye closely on me.
“Were
you traveling alone?”

I burst into tears. I couldn’t help it. The older man’s question was a magician’s spell that called up the ghosts of Amenophis and Nava. Their beloved faces smiled wistfully at me from the starry arch of the night sky. The bread I’d just eaten became a burning stone in my belly as I sobbed and sobbed. “My friends—” I said at last, rubbing roughly at my tear-wet face with the heel of my hand. “I was traveling with them, a young man and a little girl. We were trying to reach Dendera—” I broke down again.

“Why? Was your little one sick? I’ve heard great things about the healing powers of Hathor’s shrine. Ah, what a shame, losing your husband and daughter like—”

“For the love of Amun, Uncle, stop
jabbering,”
Idu yelled. “Can’t you see you’re making it worse for her with all your prying? If she’s lost her family—”

“My
friends,”
I said, making the effort to speak through my tears. “They were my friends. He isn’t—wasn’t—my husband, and she was—was—” I lost the battle and wept, my forehead pressed against my updrawn knees.

“Hmph!
Whose
jabbering set her off this time, eh?” I heard the older man say.

“I—I’m sorry,” Idu replied in a small voice. “But did you hear what she said? A young man, a little girl? Didn’t we—”

A slap rang out sharply. I raised my head to see the older man on his feet, glowering at Idu. The young man cupped his cheek and stared back at his uncle in shock. It was obvious what had just happened between them. “You shut your mouth or you’ll
walk
home!” the older man raged. “Don’t forget who owns the boat! Maybe the same hippo that killed this poor girl’s friends can finish the job on you.”

“But—”

The older man darted to the beached boat and came back swiftly, brandishing the knobbed throwing stick hunters used to bring down wildfowl in flight. He brandished it at his nephew. “I can still see well enough to use this on
you.”

Idu made a face but didn’t press matters. “Yes, Uncle. Sorry, Uncle.” He moved away into the shadows beyond the fading fire, where he squatted with his back to us.

As soon as Idu backed down, his uncle’s attitude changed radically. He dropped the throwing stick and went over to speak with his nephew. I couldn’t hear exactly what passed between them, but I did catch the older man’s coaxing, persuasive tone. At first Idu objected—a voice raised in anger is unmistakable—but his uncle’s went from cajolery to something far darker, judging from the way he almost growled. Was he threatening him? If so, it was effective. For the second time that night, Idu surrendered; he let his beaming uncle bring him back to the fireside.

“There, we’re all friends again,” the older man declared, well satisfied that things had worked out his way. “Nefertiti, I promise that I won’t trouble you with any more questions tonight, and Idu promises he truly won’t bother you with any more of his unwanted … attention. How does that sound?” I nodded. “Good, good. Now
your
part of the bargain is to promise that you won’t shed any more tears until morning, all right?”

“I’ll—I’ll try.”

“No, you have to give your word. We’ll help you honor it. No more questions
and
we’ll keep your mind on other things. I know some fine songs, and Idu’s mother taught him plenty of stories. We’ll stay merry until we fall asleep, and in the morning, we’ll see to it that you get where you’re going safely.”

I thanked him and Idu sincerely. “It’s a bargain; you have my word.”

We seemed to be at peace with one another, but I could still sense the tension between Idu and his uncle. It was there even when the older man began bawling a harvest song so badly that it was clear he was clowning. He followed it with a comical song about why the baboon had a red behind, and this time he carried the tune beautifully, letting the words and not his performance make us laugh. True, Idu was laughing, but it didn’t sound natural. I wondered why.

After his uncle was finished with the baboon song, Idu told a few stories about the adventures of the gods and about brave princes who were dogged by dreadful curses. They were stories familiar to every child I’d ever known, but a familiar tale can still be entertaining if it’s told well.

Idu did
not
tell his stories well. His heart wasn’t in the task, and he spoke in a monotonous way that reminded me of an ox’s plodding steps.

When he was done with his third tale and about to begin a fourth, I spoke up. “Let me tell one now, please. All I’ve done since I’ve met you kind people is take and take. I want to make you a gift, even if it’s just a story.” With that, I began to tell them one of the tales that I’d made up myself, many years ago, to amuse my little sister, Bit-Bit. It was called “The Princess Who Danced on the Moon,” and when I came to the part where the handsome prince sees the princess singing and dancing, I got to my feet and acted out her part, clapping my hands and lifting my voice, caught up in the enchantment of my own words.

When I finished, Idu’s uncle cheered his approval. “Ah, Idu, you should learn the way to tell a tale from this girl! Nefertiti, I’d rather listen to one of your stories than ten of his. Now I know why you’re headed for Dendera: You’re going to serve the goddess as a singer and dancer in her holy temple. Am I right?”

“It would be the greatest honor to dance for Hathor,” I replied, choosing my words with the greatest care. “I doubt it’s one I deserve.”

“Nonsense! The goddess would be lucky to have you. Anyone, god or mortal, would call you a little treasure.” His good eye twinkled, and he grinned so wide that I could see every badly worn-down and broken tooth left in his mouth.

“Stolen,” Idu muttered so low that I only caught that single word.

“What did you say, boy?” The older man’s grin vanished.

“I’m tired,” Idu said in a sullen voice. “I’ve had enough songs and stories. I want to sleep.”

“Hmm, not a bad idea. We’ll make an early start in the morning.”

We all stretched out on the ground and soon slept.

My dreams were vague and confused. The sacred river swirled through them, becoming plumes of smoke one moment, bundled serpents the next. I was calling out something to someone, but I couldn’t hear my own voice, only the distant sound of a harp playing a melancholy, wandering tune.
Nava’s harp …
I tried to run toward the sound, but the smoke and the serpents and the sacred river tangled my feet. I opened my mouth to scream as I fell, but I couldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t—

“Shhh. Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” Idu lay on top of me, one hand covering my mouth. His face was concealed by the darkness. I squirmed wildly and made a smothered, squealing sound; he only tightened his grip, pressing the insides of my cheeks painfully against my teeth. “Stop that. You have to believe me—I
won’t
hurt you, Nefertiti. I swear it. May Ammut eat my heart if I’m lying. Listen, there’s something important I need to tell you, something you have to know, but I don’t want Uncle to hear me. Promise you’ll be quiet?”