Sphinx's Princess (6 page)

“And how will Queen Tiye find out any of this?” Henenu spoke calmly in the face of Father’s fury. “
You
certainly won’t tell her, and I hope you don’t think I would do it. I never should have gone behind your back to teach Nefertiti, but I can’t say I regret giving her lessons. Your
daughter has her mother’s gift for words. If I didn’t nurture that gift, then I
would
be dishonoring her mother’s memory.”

“Even if that same ‘gift’ killed her mother?” Father had never spoken so bitterly before, or so fiercely.

“Killed her?” I echoed.

Father turned and stared as if he were seeing me for the first time. “Nefertiti, leave us,” he said quietly. “Take your sister with you. This is between Henenu and me.”

I didn’t move.

“Are you deaf?” Father’s voice filled the room. “I told you to leave!”

“I …” I hugged Bit-Bit closer. She was cold as deep water. I could feel her shoulders quivering as she tried to smother her sobs. My heart ached, knowing how terrified she must be, and how much I, too, had frightened her earlier. I knew I should get her out of this room, away from all the shouting, all the anger. But I couldn’t do it. Not yet, not now. “How did her—her gift kill her?” I asked, forcing myself to meet Father’s blazing eyes. “I won’t go until you tell me.”

“You’re my child and you’ll do as I say!” Father strode toward me as if to drive me off like a sheep, easily scared, easily mastered. He was startled when he almost knocked me down because I wouldn’t move even one finger’s width out of his way.

I stood nose to nose with him, and with Bit-Bit burying her head against my shoulder, I told him: “I want to know. You never mention her, except when we feed her
ka
, and as soon as we’re done, it’s as if she never lived. When I used to ask about her, you made me feel like I’d done something
bad because you looked so hurt! But it’s not fair. I
should
know about her. I’m her child, too!”

Father sucked his breath in through clenched teeth. He stepped back, retreating to one of the chairs. “Her child,” he said. “Yes, you are her daughter. If you only knew how much you remind me of her, Nefertiti. She wasn’t like other women. Her family came to the Black Land from the kingdom of the Mitanni, far to the northeast where the Tigris River flows. You have her face, so narrow, so delicate, her pale golden-brown skin, and her eyes—” He crumpled in his seat like an old man.

“Father …” Pity twisted my heart. I couldn’t bear to see him in such pain. Suddenly my deep desire to know about my mother didn’t seem worth the price. “You don’t have to tell me now, but someday …”

He shook his head. “Let me speak, Nefertiti. If I don’t tell you about her now, I won’t be able to do it again. You’re right, she shouldn’t be a secret to you. She was my wife, your mother, and she loved us both very much. She was a scribe, as Henenu says. It amazed me, when I first met her in Pharaoh’s court and found out why she was there. She was so beautiful, I was sure she must be one of the most favored dancing girls or one of the king’s junior wives, but a scribe? I didn’t think women could learn so many symbols, so many words, so many meanings. I know
I
never could!” His laughter was short and fragile.

“So I fell in love with my pretty scribe, and I did many foolish things to make her notice me. I used to tease her by calling her Seshat, the goddess She-who-writes. I must have made a good offering to Hathor, because my Seshat came to
love me, too. We were very happy. When we learned we were going to have a baby, we were certain that the gods loved us as much as we loved one another.” He closed his eyes. “We were wrong.”

Bit-Bit stopped shivering. My little sister crept forward and took Father’s right hand in both of her own. “Father?” He opened his eyes again. “Father, do you love
my
mother that much, too?”

He gave her a weak smile, then gently tugged her braided youth-lock the way he used to tug mine. “Very much, Bit-Bit. In fact, I’d like to give her an armful of flowers to wear in her hair this evening. Would you go into the garden and pick them for me? Take your time.” Reassured, Bit-Bit nodded solemnly and padded out of the room.

Father sat up straighter in his chair and watched her go. “My little gazelle, so easily frightened,” he said fondly. “She doesn’t need to hear the rest of this.” He looked at me sharply. “I wanted to spare you as well, but …”

“I
want
to know,” I repeated.

“So you said.” He shrugged and went on: “Your mother’s beauty caught my eye, but I fell in love with her because she was kind and funny and
smart
. My sister Tiye is also beautiful, but
sly
, not smart, the mistress of plots and schemes. Even though plenty of other women in Pharaoh’s house were prettier and more talented, she had the cunning to make Pharaoh fall deeply in love with her and name her his Great Royal Wife. Another woman would be content with that, but Tiye knows it’s not enough to reach the stars; you must
stay
there.”

“That’s no easy thing,” Henenu put in. “Queen Tiye always has many rivals among Pharaoh’s other women. She knows she needs eyes and ears everywhere in the king’s household to guard against conspiracies.”

“Sometimes I wonder if my sister sees conspiracies that aren’t even there,” Father muttered.

“Was she—was my mother one of Queen Tiye’s spies?” I asked. Already my imagination leaped to craft a tale of how one of the queen’s enemies took my mother’s life while trying to discover Tiye’s secrets.

Father shook his head. “She used your mother’s skill to help her spies do their work. The softest whisper can be overheard, but a written word is a better way to hold onto secrets. She made sure all her spies had some scribal training. But that means she needed someone to translate her orders and their reports into writing.”

“Why didn’t she learn how to read and write herself?” I asked.

“I suppose she would have, if there were fewer symbols to memorize,” Henenu said.

“Besides, why bother learning how to use a tool when you can force someone else to
be
your tool?” Father said bitterly. “It didn’t take long for Tiye to use your mother. My sister doesn’t trust anyone outside of the family, so when she heard I’d married a skilled scribe, she praised the gods for giving her the perfect gift. My Seshat had to be ready at any time of the day or night to serve the queen. Even when she was expecting your birth and needed her rest, she had to rush to Tiye’s side whenever she was summoned. It
weakened her, and when we were commanded to accompany the king and queen on their journey to visit Khufu’s Horizon—”

“The great pyramid?” I put in. “But—but you told me that Mother was the one who wanted to go!”

“Ah, so you remember that story?” Father’s smile was thin and sad. “You were so small, so frightened by bad dreams. I had to tell you something that would comfort you, even if it meant twisting the truth. May Ma’at forgive me.”

I remembered what Henenu had said to me not so long ago about the power, beauty, and danger of the truth. I walked across the floor to put my arms around Father’s shoulders and kiss his forehead. “I know she will,” I said. “But please, tell me the truth now.”

“The truth is brief and ugly. One night during our journey when your mother was hurrying to answer Tiye’s summons, she missed her footing and took a hard fall. The accident brought on your early birth. My Seshat was terrified that you wouldn’t survive. How she smiled when you were first laid in her arms and she gave you your name! But then she closed her eyes, and—” His voice caught. “We never should have traveled. I should have stood up to my sister and told her to find someone else to take Seshat’s place, but in those days, both your mother and I were afraid of her.”

“And now?” I asked.

“I won’t lie to you again: I still am,” Father replied. “I’m not proud of it.”

“You shouldn’t be ashamed, either,” Henenu said. “Pharaoh adores her and the passing years have brought
her more and more power. Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid of Queen Tiye.” He turned to me. “When your mother died, Tiye lost a valuable strand in her web of secrets. At last, one of her own daughters mastered the scribal arts, but the queen finds Princess Sitamun to be a poor substitute for your mother. The princess has a life and a mind of her own and isn’t willing to drop everything else the instant Queen Tiye demands her help. The queen can’t bully her as effectively as she could bully—”

“—me.” I finished the thought for him. “If she knew I could read and write, she’d use me the way she used my mother.”

“You see, Henenu?” My father glared at the dwarf. “Even the child recognizes the danger she’s in, thanks to your lessons!”

“What danger?” Henenu countered. “Until today, she and I were the only two people under the sky who knew about them. You’re wary of your sister—good!—but you’ve let it get out of hand. She’s controlling your life as successfully as though you’d never left the court.
And
the lives of your daughters! What next, Ay? Will you seal the girls inside your house with bricks to guarantee that Queen Tiye can never touch them?”

Father pushed himself out of the chair so violently that it crashed backward to the floor. “If I do, it’s my house and they are my daughters!” he shouted. “And you won’t see any of them again!”

“Father, no!” I cried, grabbing his arm. “He’s your friend and he’s done nothing wrong. Don’t send him away because of me.”

“This isn’t your choice, Nefertiti,” Father said. I’d never heard him use such a cold voice to me.

Maybe I couldn’t choose whether or not Father banished his boyhood friend forever, but I could make a different choice. I knelt on the stone before Father and stretched out my arms as if I were praying. “I swear by Ma’at and Isis, by the goddess Seshat and by my mother’s spirit, if Henenu stays welcome in our home, I will never have another lesson from him. Never!” I bowed forward until my palms and my forehead touched the ground.

I lay there like that for some time, nothing but stillness in my ears. I couldn’t even hear Father and Henenu breathing. At last, the faint brush of a footfall broke the silence and I heard my father’s weary voice say, “Get up, little kitten. You’ll ruin your dress and Mery will blame me.”

Slowly I raised my forehead from the floor. “So … you’ll forgive him?” I looked from Father to Henenu. The scribe’s expression was gloomy but resigned.

Father’s familiar smile brightened his face. “Why should I forgive him when, as you say, he’s done nothing wrong.” He turned to Henenu. “It’s you who should forgive me, my friend.” I watched, lighthearted, as the two men embraced and began trading jokes as though nothing had ever come between them.

Henenu dined with our family that evening. He and Father drank a lot of beer and acted like rowdy boys. Mery wore the flowers Bit-Bit had picked in the garden earlier that day and looked as beautiful and serene as Isis, even when Henenu and Father got into a loud contest to see which of them could do a better imitation of a baboon’s
scream. Finally she tried to put an end to their nonsense by smoothly suggesting that Bit-Bit and I entertain everyone with a dance.

While Mery sang and the men clapped their hands, my sister and I danced. Bit-Bit forgot the steps three or four times, but as soon as I heard the music, it became a part of me and told my feet where to go, my arms how to gesture. I loved to dance, but that night my dancing was more than a pleasure: It was a refuge. It gave me a place to hide from the thought of everything I’d given up by making that promise to Father.

As I spun and leaped across the floor, I saw how happy he looked, laughing with his friend, and it made me smile.
I did the right thing
, I told myself.
Why do I need to know how to read and write anyway? I’m only going to get married and have babies and keep a pretty house here in Akhmin because—because that’s all I
want
to do! It is! It is!
And I danced faster before I had the chance to doubt it.

When we finished our dance, Mery declared it was time for us to go to bed. We said good night to the grown-ups and I took an oil lamp to light our way through the house, leading Bit-Bit by the hand.

In our bedroom, I put out the light and curled up on my side, but I couldn’t sleep. My head was filled with words, the dancing symbols from all of the lessons Henenu had ever taught me. There were proverbs and songs and stories and bits of history. One day, when he knew he was going to be gone from Akhmin for a long time, he had given me a piece of papyrus with the tale of a woman named Hatshepsut for my practice text. As I worked at copying the lines, I
marveled at her story, the tale of a king’s daughter who climbed the steps of the throne and ruled the Black Land not as queen, but as Pharaoh! I thought it was nothing more than a wonderful fantasy, but when Henenu returned to Akhmin, he told me it was all true. Hatshepsut
had
governed as Pharaoh for many years, bringing peace and prosperity to her people.

I want to know if there are other stories like hers
, I thought bitterly.
I want to read about the great kings and queens, the adventures of the gods and goddesses, the beautiful songs! And I don’t want to have to wait for someone else to tell me the stories. I want to find them for myself, whenever
I
want them
. I held my fist to my mouth.
But I can’t. Not anymore. I promised
.

“Sister?” Bit-Bit’s voice trembled in the dark. I felt my mattress sag as she climbed into bed beside me and cuddled against my back. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Bad dreams?” I asked.

“No.” She put one arm around me and whispered: “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Father got mad ’cause of what you were doing in the garden. It was scary. He yelled at Henenu, and sometimes when he yelled at Henenu, it was like he was really yelling at you.” I heard her sniffle in the dark. “He never would have gone into the garden if he hadn’t found me crying in the house. So it’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”

I turned toward her and hugged my little sister. “No, it’s not,” I said. “It was my fault for yelling at you and making you cry. Forgive me?”