Sphinx's Princess (31 page)

More puzzled than before, I went to examine the fallen
canopy. As I lifted one corner of it, a hand darted out of the shadows and clasped mine.

“Ah!” My cry of surprise was answered with an urgent shushing noise from under the folds of cloth. Amenophis huddled against the wall, motioning frantically for me to be quiet. I ducked under the makeshift shelter and crouched beside him.
“So you’re
my writing lesson,” I said, so very glad to see him.

He wasn’t in the mood for humor. “I have something important to say to you, Nefertiti. I—I’m afraid to, but if I don’t say it now … We can’t see or write to each other again until Father and Mother come back. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know that Thutmose is going to be worse than ever, now that Pharaoh’s left him in charge,” I said. “But surely a message or two—it wouldn’t have to be in writing. If we asked Sitamun to carry word …”

“No. Nothing. We shouldn’t even be meeting now, but I don’t know how long Father and Mother will be away and I couldn’t let there be a long, unexplained silence between us, especially when I—”

“Why must there be
any
silence?” My fierce whisper cut off his words. “Thutmose is frightening, and I’m not looking forward to living under his rule, but I refuse to be afraid of him. He spends so much time with the Amun priests, but he lives as if he’s given himself to Set, body and spirit. What is
wrong
with him?”

“What would you do, Nefertiti, if all your life you’d been told that there was only one prize you had to win? And I mean that you
had
to, because if you didn’t, you’d be
nothing. Less than nothing! How would you feel if every day you were told how wonderful your life was going to be when you finally reached that goal but no one ever asked you if it was
what you
wanted?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I know that feeling,” I said dryly. “Why do you keep making excuses for him? He’s hurt you more than once, and it’s obvious that he scorns you. Why do you stand for that? Wait, don’t answer.” I held up one hand. “You’re going to say ‘Because he’s my brother,’ aren’t you?”

“No, Nefertiti,” Amenophis replied softly. “Because my brother is afraid of me and it breaks my heart. He can’t even look at me without believing that my only desire is to take everything away from him. His fear and bitterness and jealousy are a sickness that’s eating away at him. When we die, we all must face Ammut, the Devourer of Souls, but Thutmose fights her every day of his life and I—I’m scared he’s losing the battle. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to see him well again. I want my brother to be my brother, and to love me as I love him.”

Amenophis’s words touched me deeply. His love and compassion for Thutmose were sincere.
I would feel the same way if it were Bit-Bit who treated me like Thutmose treats him
, I thought.
It
is
a sickness. I couldn’t hate her for that.

I gave Amenophis a quick, strong hug. “All right,” I said. “Let’s stay apart. We won’t do or say anything to feed Thutmose’s fears. Because it means so much to you, I promise that I’ll do everything I can to reassure him that he has nothing to fear from you. Don’t worry, I won’t say it
that
way.” I smiled. “It
would
be wonderful if the two of us could
soothe his mind. And who knows? Maybe there’s a different person under all that jealousy, someone I could like enough to marry.”

“You would—you would want to marry him?” Amenophis’s voice in the shadows was troubled.

“After all I’ve seen of him, I doubt I could ever
want
to marry him, but since I’ll
have
to, someday, I’m going to try to become more like you and hope for the best.”

“That’s not what I’d call—” The rest was lost. When I asked him to repeat what he’d just said, he was his cheerful self when he replied: “Perhaps you ought to marry Thutmose right away. Once he’s certain that no one else can have you, he won’t be so touchy about our friendship and we’ll be able to see each other freely.” He must have seen the look of alarm on my face, despite how dark it was under the tumbled canopy, because he swiftly said, “I’m joking, I’m joking!”

“Sweet Isis, it’s a joke I’m sick of,” I said. “I’ve had my fill of people who see me as nothing more than a
marriage
waiting to happen. And what a marriage! Never a single word said about love, only power, and never any power of my own. The high priest of Isis in Akhmin, your mother, your brother, they’re all alike, all wanting me to marry so that
they
can get what they desire. I’m tired of being the paddle that the baker uses to pull hot bread out of the oven. When do
I
get to taste the bread? If it were up to me, I’d steal your chariot and drive it so far from here that no one would know me. Then maybe I could
make
something worthwhile of my life, whether I married or not!”

“Nefertiti, your life here is already—” Amenophis began, but his speech was interrupted when the edge of our makeshift refuge was thrown aside. Sitamun stood over us.

“You have to leave, Amenophis,” she ordered, face and body taut with anxiety. “You told me that you only wanted to say a few words of farewell to Nefertiti. I wouldn’t have arranged this if I knew you’d take
this
long or make so much noise about it.” She stared at me meaningfully. “Now go!”

He unfolded his long legs and left without another word. I was still so angry that I wasn’t even sorry to see him leave me. With Sitamun’s help I reattached the canopy, dropped cross-legged to the floor, and turned my thoughts away from everything except my writing. When Henenu at last called an end to our session, he remarked at how much progress I’d made.

“Let’s see if you can be as industrious next time I see you,
without
raising a storm first.” He spoke playfully and nodded toward the rehung sunshade. “We thought it was in danger of filling like a sail and blowing away.”

I blushed. “I thought I was whispering.”

“You whisper loudly, but not loudly enough to carry beyond this rooftop, thank the gods,” Sitamun said.

Days passed and I regretted that Amenophis and I had parted so unpleasantly.
If I’m unhappy about my future, I should put my mind to
changing
it, not complaining about it
, I thought.
I lashed out at the best friend I have.

I wished there were a way I could let him know how much I regretted my snappishness, but how? We had promised to keep our distance, for Thutmose’s sake: no meetings,
however secret; no notes, however carefully passed along; not one thing that his ailing mind could pounce on as “proof.”

I suppose I could ask Sitamun to tell Amenophis that I’m sorry. Just one whisper and after that, nothing more. She wouldn’t even have to bring me back an answer. O Isis, I miss him!

I made my request the next time we shared a lesson with Henenu. Sitamun looked very doubtful, but I coaxed and wheedled until she agreed. “You could wait until my parents return from Dendera,” she said primly. “They won’t be gone forever, and Amenophis has probably forgotten all about the way you scolded him.”

“But I remember it,” I said.

“Remember what, Nefertiti?” Thutmose’s smiling face popped into sight. He reached the topmost step and joined us on the rooftop. Henenu and Nava fell to their hands and knees. He accepted their display of respect as his due, but when Sitamun and I bowed to him he said, “Please, this isn’t the royal court. We’re all family here. That’s not necessary.” He looked so relaxed and spoke so amiably that it was startling.

“Really, brother?” Sitamun arched one brow. “You had a different attitude when we bid farewell to Mother and Father. From the look on your face then, I think you would’ve ordered your guards to arrest any of us who broke ranks and left before you dismissed us.”

“That was days ago, with the priests and nobles watching. They had to see evidence that I was going to be a strong ruler in Father’s absence. If I couldn’t get them to take me seriously, I’d be betraying the trust Father placed in me by
making me regent in his absence.” His smile never wavered. “I apologize if I was rough with you, and I intend to atone for it. Tonight we’ll have a special dinner, just the family. Will you come?” He was looking at me.

An invitation or a command in disguise?
Whichever it was, I wasn’t about to test it. I remembered my promise to Amenophis.
Thutmose looks genuinely happy. He has what he’s always wanted, even if it’s only temporary. If he’s found serenity, ruling in his father’s place, I’ll do all I can to keep him content—

I recalled the sharp pain of his fingers digging into my arm that day on the dock and the intense, intimidating way he’d demanded “respect.”

—but I don’t trust him.

Thutmose’s family dinner lacked nothing. The eight of us shared one of the finest banquets that Pharaoh’s cooks could produce. As we entered the room where oil lamps leaped and flickered, Thutmose himself placed flower garlands around our necks and set cones of perfumed wax on top of our heads. As the evening wore on, the wax melted and the room filled with the dizzying scent of blossoms and spices.

Amenophis chose a seat as far from his brother as possible, and equally far from me. That didn’t last long. Thutmose was in high spirits, laughing and joking with his sisters. When he noticed where his brother had placed himself, he made a great show of indignation.

“Amenophis, why are you all the way over there? Did I forget to bathe or is it you? Come on, sit here, beside me. We’ve had our quarrels, but I want tonight to be a gateway
to better times.” He wouldn’t let it go until Amenophis, with much reluctance, took the chair at Thutmose’s right side.

Sitamun was seated to her oldest brother’s left, and I had the stool next to hers. While Thutmose heaped Amenophis’s plate with the best portions from every platter on the table, I was able to whisper to my friend, “Do you believe this?”

Sitamun shrugged and whispered back, “I want to.”

As the meal progressed, Thutmose’s unusual good humor was contagious. I think that all of his family felt the same way as Sitamun—they
wanted
to believe that their Father’s decision to hand over part of his authority to Thutmose—even for a little while—had had a magical effect on their normally cold and distrustful brother. Smiles and laughter were everywhere, all formality and reserve vanished, helped into oblivion by the never-ending streams of wine that poured into our cups.

While we ate and drank, a group of musicians struck up one merry tune after another for our entertainment. Professional dancers leaped, spun, kicked, even did handsprings, their tattooed arms and legs flashing in the lamplight, their belts tinkling. We soon joined the sound of our hands clapping to the crisp beat of the tambourines, the clack of castanets, and the jangle of the sistrums.

At a sign from Thutmose, one of the dancers holding a sistrum adorned with Hathor’s face thrust that ankh-shaped rattle into my hands and encouraged me to play along. Others were urging the rest of the royal princesses to accept their instruments, too. The music wrapped itself
around us, the rhythm flooded our bodies, the wine made our heads reel. Before I knew it, I was whirling across the floor with Sitamun and her sisters. The dance’s captivating spell possessed me and I came within a breath of stripping away my pleated linen gown because it held me back from matching the dancers’ most spectacular steps. Because I was the only one who’d chosen not to wear a wig, my hair came undone from the long plait down my back. Joyously I tossed my sistrum to Amenophis, who was closest, reached up, and unbraided my hair completely until it was spinning around me like a cloak. We finished our improvised dance amid cheers and much applause from everyone—Thutmose, Amenophis, the hired dancers, the musicians, even the servants. I returned to my seat flushed and tired but feeling as if I’d just been given a priceless gift from the gods.

A lute player plucked a more languid, dreamy melody as the feast continued. Servants waving huge fans of blue-and red-dyed ostrich plumes stirred sweet breezes through the air. Thutmose leaned toward me in front of Sitamun and offered me a plate of little cakes studded with dates drenched in honey and garnished with a sprinkling of rose petals. As I reached for them, Ta-Miu appeared out of nowhere, leaping onto the table as if she owned it.

“Oh, that cat!” Sitamun exclaimed. Her sisters shrieked with delight to see the elegant animal daintily weaving her way among the golden plates and goblets, sometimes stopping to tap one delicate paw against a precious glass vessel filled with wine until it edged its way toward the rim of the table.

“Stop that,” I said with mock severity, seizing the cat
and cradling her to my chest. “You’re going to smash something if you’re not careful, Ta-Miu.” I got a loud, resentful meow for an answer.

“Watch out, Nefertiti!” Sitamun’s youngest sister exclaimed, giggling. “Ta-Miu is a sacred animal and she knows it. It’s almost the feast of Bast, so you mustn’t offend one of the cat-goddess’s children or you’ll be punished.”

“It’s true,” another of the princesses said eagerly. “Remember when we were all little and they caught that Phoenician merchant trying to smuggle a chest filled with cats out of Thebes? The priests said he’d committed blasphemy and he was
executed.”