“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.