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?”
Bit-Bit burrowed her face against my chest. I felt her small body shiver. “Bit-Bit, everything’s all right between us. Why are you crying now?” I asked a little impatiently.
“You’re not mad at me, but what about Anat?”
“Anat?” I was bewildered. “Who’s Anat?”
Bit-Bit ignored my question. “You won’t punish her, will you? You mustn’t blame her for letting me run back into the garden. She’s very old, and her bones hurt her all the time now, and …”
And then I knew who Anat was. She was the old slave I’d told to keep Bit-Bit busy during my lessons with Henenu. I hadn’t thought about her at all until this moment, and now I realized that I’d never known her name. Yet here was my little sister, crying because she didn’t want any harm to come to the old woman.
A woman, I thought. An old woman with her own name and her own troubles. A woman, not a thing.
We’d always had slaves in our house, the way we’d always had food and clothing and furniture. They were simply … there, like Mery’s care or Father’s love. Why would I ever stop to question something I took for granted?
I didn’t, I thought. But I should.
I promised Bit-Bit that I wouldn’t let anyone punish Anat. She was comforted, although she still insisted on sharing my bed for the rest of the night. “I do have bad dreams,” she admitted.
“I know what that’s like,” I whispered back, but she was already asleep, her thumb in her mouth.
I rested poorly, scarcely sleeping. Long before the divine Aten sun-disk showed himself on the horizon, I slipped away from my sleeping sister, threw on my dress, and padded through the house to the kitchen. Our slaves and servants were already awake and working hard. I found Anat making bread for our breakfast, scooping dough out of a big bowl and forming it into loaves for baking. When she caught sight of me, she flinched.
She must think I’m going to punish her for letting Bit-Bit get away from her yesterday, I thought. No servants ever fear me. And why should they? They’re free to come and go as they please, free to complain to Father or Mery if I even raise my voice to them! Our cook is so valued that I think he has the authority to hit me if I interfere with anything in this kitchen. Even though I had to bribe her to keep Bit-Bit out of my way when I had my lessons with Henenu, she’s still afraid of my displeasure.
“Anat—” I began, approaching her. It was the first time I’d bothered to use her name. She refused to meet my eyes, so I said, “Look at me, Anat.” Though I spoke gently, it was still an order to a slave. She had to obey. “I just wanted to tell you that everything’s all right. I’m not upset that you lost track of Bit-Bit yesterday.”
She lowered her eyelids. “My young mistress is gracious,” she murmured. I heard relief in her voice, but no true gratitude.
And why should she be grateful to me? Even if it’s not my fault that she’s a slave, she’s still my family’s property. Who could ever be thankful for that?
“Anat—” It was still a strange new thing, calling her by name. “Anat, can I help you make the bread?”
“As my young mistress wishes.” The old woman shrugged and waved her hands over the dough before going back to her task.
I helped myself to a handful of the sticky, floury mass. I tried to make a loaf that looked like the neat, identical shapes that came from the old woman’s hands, but I couldn’t get the raw dough off my fingers. In the time it took me to make one lopsided loaf, Anat had turned out five perfect ones.
“I’m sorry, it’s a mess,” I said, smiling at her. “Can you show me how you do it?”
She didn’t smile back. “If my young mistress commands, I will stop my work and show you now. But the master will be wanting his breakfast soon.”