Sphinx's Queen (24 page)

Nava gulped for breath, then began to chew on the fruit, all the while staring at Henenu like an owlet. I led her to the one chair in the room and coaxed her to sit in my lap.

“Ah, this is good.” The scribe knelt on the floor once more. The papyrus holding the glad news about Nava’s sister had rolled itself back up in the recent uproar, so Henenu smoothed it out and slapped his thick thighs with satisfaction. “If I live forever, I’ll never get tired of looking at this scrap of beaten reeds and ink,” he said. “And I’ll never get tired of remembering how it came to me. When you two fled Thebes, I missed you very much, you know. It was just Princess Sitamun and me at lessons, while you were gone. She’s an intelligent young woman and a good scholar, but she knows so much already that our lessons were only practice, practice, practice, writing the words she’d already learned. It wasn’t as much fun as teaching you new things, but it did give me some extra time to pursue a matter that had been on my mind. Your sister had a reputation for being a very talented girl, true, Nava?”

Nava nodded. “Mahala was the best music-maker in our master’s house; he said so himself. She played the double-flute so well that he used to send her to the homes of important people to entertain their guests when they had parties.”

“For a price, no doubt,” I said.

“Oh, no doubt about that at all,” Henenu responded. “We three are all from Akhmin, so we know what a good place that is for gossip, right, girls? Well, maybe you’re too young to know about such things, Nava, but trust me, it’s true. Our people love to talk. Rumors thrive like rats in a grain jar. Luckily, so does news. Ever since I heard about your sister’s fate, little one, something about the whole business didn’t sit right with me. She was a
valuable
slave, and the high priest of Isis has a reputation in Akhmin for being a man who doesn’t part with his treasures easily.”

I agreed. “I was horrified when I first heard what he’d done with her, but afterward, when the shock dulled, I had a hard time believing it. The high priest wanted to punish me and my family—Father rejected that man’s proposal for me to marry his son—but if he really ordered Mahala’s death, he’d be punishing himself worse.”

“Apparently he saw it that way, too,” Henenu remarked. “I wanted to settle my doubts about this one way or the other, so I wrote to my family and asked them to keep their eyes and ears open, to seek out the biggest busybodies in Akhmin, and to ask discreet questions. Shortly before you came back to Thebes, I had my answer.” He tapped the papyrus. “The high priest of Isis had
not
thrown away what he could sell for a good price. He owed a large debt to one of his colleagues, a servant of the creator-god Ptah at Memphis. Mahala was that payment.”

“Memphis!” I often had heard Father speak of that city, once the foremost in the Black Land until our rulers turned their favor to Thebes. My parents had sailed past Memphis when they accompanied Pharaoh Amenhotep and Aunt Tiye on their northward pilgrimage to visit those monuments. It was my mother’s last voyage. “That’s so far away!”

“Yes, far enough from Akhmin to make it seem as if Mahala truly had vanished from the land of the living. But as my mother always says, a gossiping tongue is long enough to reach from the earth to the moon.” He made a wry face. “And she ought to know. She was the first to hear this.” He tapped the unscrolled papyrus again. “Nava, be glad: Your sister is still playing her music in this world.”

Nava beamed, her face now streaming with tears of joy. She clapped her hands and exclaimed something in a language I didn’t understand. Even if the words were foreign to me, I would have wagered my life that she was saying a prayer of thanksgiving to the One she worshipped.

I gave her a hug and set her on her feet as I stood up. “Dear one, do you remember the casket where my best jewels are kept?” I asked her. “I want you to bring it to me, please.” She looked puzzled, but obeyed.

“Nefertiti, if you’re thinking of giving me a reward for this news, I assure you, it’s not necessary. This news
is
my reward,” Henenu said gravely.

“I’m not giving you a reward, my friend,” I replied as Nava returned with the gilded and painted wooden box. “I’m giving you a task.” I opened the lid and took out the pieces, one by one. Each was exquisite, a gift for the girl who had come here to become crown princess of the Black Land, and someday queen.

That girl was gone. Why should her jewels remain?

I placed the box in the scribe’s hands and knelt before him, my hands raised as if praying to one of the gods. “I beg of you, Henenu, take all this and use it to travel north to Memphis. Bring Nava with you. Find the priest of Ptah who owns her sister and buy the girl her freedom. Leave at once—tonight, if you can, or before dawn tomorrow. Please.”

“So soon?” Henenu’s eyebrows shot up. “But, Nefertiti, tomorrow is—”

“Please,”
I repeated, and looked meaningfully from him to Nava and back. The scribe was a wise man. He understood my unspoken plea:
Don’t let her be here tomorrow when I stand before the goddess of truth in the house of lies. If the worst happens, I don’t want it to poison her new happiness. Remember what you asked me only a short while ago? “Haven’t
you
ever wanted to shield someone you love?” I want to shield her, Henenu, more than anything and with all my heart!

The scribe rose from the ground and stowed his precious papyrus. “Well, my little friend, it is a long way to Memphis, but it won’t get any shorter if we stand around here. Run and bring anything you might want for the journey, and we’ll begin nosing about the palace and the city for news of any ships heading north. I know a couple of clever young scribes-in-training who won’t mind helping their old teacher with this. You and I will be on the river by dawn.”

“I—I don’t want to leave Nefertiti,” Nava protested.

“Don’t you want to see your sister as soon as you can?” I asked.

She looked miserable. “But
you’re
my sister, too. You said so.”

“And I meant it. You will always be a sister to me, Nava.” I kissed her brow. “I love you. Nothing will ever change that. But Mahala needs you more than I do now. You were all the family she had. She wasn’t even given the chance to tell you good-bye. How long has it been since she had any news about what became of you? Her new master wouldn’t know and her old one didn’t care. Go to her, Nava. The moment she sees you again will be an even greater joy and blessing to her than the moment you tell her she’s going to be free.”

There were more tears between Nava and me and many more hugs and kisses before she gathered up her few possessions and left with Henenu. I went into the courtyard and looked at the sky. Although no one was with me, the presence of all those who cared about me, loved me, missed me, surrounded me like a cloak of starlight. The fragrant shadows whispered with the ghostly echoes of Father calling me his little kitten, Mery proudly telling the neighbors what a fine dancer I’d become, Bit-Bit’s giggles, Henenu’s praises, Sitamun’s friendly advice, Nava’s song, and Amenophis’s tender words of love. I was by myself, but I was not alone.

Let tomorrow come. I was at peace.

I don’t know when my maids returned that night. I was in my bed, sleeping deeply. I woke up to find myself covered with at least eight of Sitamun’s badly laundered and pleated gowns. I suppose they wanted to make sure that I couldn’t miss the evidence that they’d actually accomplished the task I’d given them the day before.

I got out of bed and took one of my own dresses from the storage chest against the wall. It was a simple, old-fashioned thing, the linen clean and unpleated. I started to look for my jewelry, then remembered that I’d given all of it to Henenu and Nava, to redeem her sister. The only piece that remained was a strand of blue clay beads that had been overlooked in a corner of the chest. The string was frayed, but I tied it around my neck anyway, all the while laughing at my own vanity.

You’re going out to greet what might be your last day alive, but you just
couldn’t
show yourself without some pretty trinket!

Hush
, I told myself.
It’s not for me; it’s out of respect for the goddess
.

After all you’ve learned, do you still
believe
there’s a goddess of truth and justice? Or a god of wisdom? Or of love? Or are they all just empty images that dishonorable mortals use to deceive and control others?

I don’t know. But I do know that even if all the gods and goddesses were to vanish from the Black Land tomorrow, I would still want to believe in truth and justice, wisdom and love. There is something greater than me in this world—a source of life, a comfort in darkness, a light that doesn’t fail. I can’t prove it by pointing to a statue and saying, “There. That’s where it lives. That’s what holds the light.” But I feel it; right or wrong, I feel it and I am grateful. Does it matter if I lift my hands before the statues of Ma’at and Thoth and Isis or if I lift my heart before Nava’s faceless, bodiless, homeless god, as long as I give thanks somehow?

Thanks!
The bitter voice of doubt inside me was back.
If you can give thanks for anything after today, it will be a miracle
.

I don’t need miracles
, I thought.
I need justice
.

One of my maids came stumbling into the room, wiping sleep from her eyes and yawning like a hippo. “Oh, you’re dressed,” she said. “I guess you don’t need me for anything.”

“You can bring me some breakfast,” I said. “And have your friend gather flowers for me. I want a wreath of blue lotus for my hair.”

“Umm … I don’t think she knows how to make a wreath. Me neither.”

“What a surprise,” I said with a half-smile.

At least the girls were capable of fetching me a hearty meal and of filling a basket with flowers. I wove my own wreath and had one of them hold the mirror when I placed it on my hair. The braids little Nava had made for me were still neat and shining, so all I needed to do to complete my preparations was paint my eyes and put on sandals. Then I went out into the courtyard to wait.

A group of four guards came to escort me to the Palace of Ma’at. None of them wanted to look me in the eyes. My step was light as we marched through the palace halls and out into the streets of Thebes. At one point, the leader of my armed escort asked if I felt equal to the walk to the temple or if I wanted to ride there in a chariot.

“Only if I can drive it myself,” I said, and did my best not to laugh at his shocked expression.

So we walked. The sun was still low in the east, and the sacred river was the deep blue of lapis lazuli. One of the necklaces I’d given to Nava was gold set with those precious stones, one of my favorites. I pictured her and Henenu, already on the river, sailing north to Memphis. A kind breeze brought me the green scent of reeds and tassel-topped papyrus plants, and I said a quiet prayer for their safe journey.

“My lady, don’t you worry; it’ll be all right,” one of my guards mumbled so quietly that I almost didn’t hear him. “Someone like you, so beautiful, you’d never do any of that stuff they’re saying you did.”

“How ugly do I have to be to be guilty?” I whispered back, joking. He turned red and clamped his mouth shut. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” I apologized in hushed tones. “Thank you for wishing me well.” He remained silent.

I had glimpsed the Palace of Ma’at before this day, but I had never really
seen
it. Karnak teemed with temples. In the past, before Thutmose revealed his true nature, he’d taken me to view the sacred city. My eyes were filled with the sight of so many different buildings, statues, and monuments that they all became a jumble in my mind. If anyone had asked me, “Did you see the Palace of Ma’at?” it would be like showing me a field of wheat and asking me if I’d noticed one particular grain.

Now I took note of it, gazing up and to either side as we entered the temple grounds. The way to the Palace of Ma’at was flanked by two sets of pylons—those gigantic paired walls whose only purpose was to remind the worshipper of mountains. Their faces were decorated with towering images of the rulers who had ordered their construction and the gods who blessed such devout pharaohs.

“They say the temple was built by that outrageous woman Hatshepsut.”
My mind whispered the memory of Thutmose’s words when he’d pointed out this place in passing.
“After her husband died, but before his heir was old enough to rule the Black Land, she dared to declare herself pharaoh! She dressed like a man while she held the crook and flail and scepter and tied on a false chin-beard when she wore the crown. Can you imagine that?”
I remember how he’d preened when he added,
“It didn’t last; I am named for the pharaoh who followed her unnatural rule. He restored the way things are supposed to be and erased her name and image from all the monuments.”

Erased, but not forgotten
, I thought as we walked between the second set of pylons. I’d heard others speak of her—Hatshepsut, daughter of one pharaoh, wife of another, a woman with the fearlessness to ask why
shouldn’t
she govern her own land just because she wasn’t born a man. They said that she’d ruled wisely and well. Her reign brought peace and prosperity to the Black Land. The Thutmose who succeeded her brought war. I imagined her carved and painted story glowing beneath the layers of concealing plaster and the clumsy chisel blows that a petty, vindictive king had used so futilely, trying to unmake the existence of a heroic woman.

Walk with me, O Queen, O Pharaoh!
I prayed. Lend me your courage.

We left the pylons behind as we came into the main temple building. I saw a courtyard filled with people—nobles, court officials, representatives of the other gods, their wives and the slaves and servants attending them. To one side stood a platform shaded with an elaborately painted and fringed canopy. I turned to face it and bowed low to Pharaoh, his Great Royal Wife, and the sons and daughters she had given him. I couldn’t think of her as Aunt Tiye in that moment, nor could I look up and see Sitamun as my friend, Thutmose as my enemy, Amenophis as my beloved. They had all come so splendidly arrayed, so dazzling and so dignified that they seemed to belong to some other world. There was also such an air of solemnity, grandeur, and significance lying over the house of the goddess that for a moment I forgot what I’d been told about the trickery at play within these walls. I could almost believe that when I testified to my innocence, it
would
be Ma’at herself who answered.