Now Father got to his feet, still holding me in his arms, and carried me to the statue of Isis. “Hail, Isis, lady of life, light-giver of heaven, queen of the earth, lady of the words of power!” he cried. “Have mercy on your servant, Ay, for he has been a great fool. O Isis, this is my sweet daughter, my only child, my Nefertiti, my greatest treasure. Banish her evil dreams and send them to haunt me instead as punishment for my stupidity. For this, I promise you many rich gifts. O Isis, hear my prayer!”
I was astonished to hear such words coming from my father’s mouth. How could he call himself a fool and stupid? Didn’t he know his own power? I had no time to ponder such disturbing thoughts: As soon as he ended his plea, Father bowed to the image, then turned and marched off. His brisk pace jounced me roughly all the way to the edge of the raised bank where our property looked down on the green rushes and reeds bordering the Nile. Here Father lifted me so high that I was nearly sitting on his shoulder, then pointed upstream and asked, “Do you know what lies in that direction, my Nefertiti?”
What a question! Even if I was only four years old, I knew the answer well enough. It was part of a game that Father and I played, when he wasn’t busy with whatever grown-up business filled his days. “The gates of the Nile,” I replied. “The birthplace of the holy river. And—and—” I wanted Father to be proud of how clever I was. “—and that’s where Pharaoh lives, too!” I cried in triumph, then quickly added: “May-Amun-bless-and-protect-the-living-Horusson-of-Ra-lord-of-the … lord-of-the … um … I forgot.”
Father chuckled. “Good enough. But do you know what wonderful birthplace lies there?” He pointed down the shimmering river. I shook my head. “Yours, my darling.”
“I thought I was born here,” I said, my eyes darting toward our house.
“You would have been, but then, as now, I served Pharaoh, and in those days it was Pharaoh’s pleasure that I travel with him when he sailed down the river to view the great monuments and tombs of his ancestors. Ah, what wonders!” He lowered me so that I could put my arms around his neck. “There is one above all that steals your breath away, a pyramid of such size that it’s like seeing a mountain. We call it Khufu’s Horizon, because it is the place from which the soul of that Pharaoh rose to sail the heavens with the other gods. Its sides are sheathed in slabs of the finest white limestone, and the crowning stone is covered in a mix of gold and silver. When Ra’s sunlight strikes it, it dazzles the eyes!”
“Oh! Can I see it, Father?” I asked, pressing my cheek to his. “Will you take me there with you? Please?”
He looked at me wistfully. “That was almost exactly what your mother said. You are very much like her, my dear, just as beautiful, just as charming. I couldn’t tell her no, though I tried. I reminded her that it was almost time for her to give birth, but she argued that it wouldn’t happen for at least thirty days. Then she reminded me that we’d be traveling with Pharaoh and his Great Royal Wife, Queen Tiye. ‘Tiye, who is your own sister!’ your mother said to me. ‘You know she’ll see to it that nothing happens to me or the child.’” He sighed.
I felt strange. This was the first time I’d heard Father speak about my mother for so long. I knew she had died very soon after I was born. That was why Mery—whose own husband and baby had also died—came to be my nursemaid. The three of us often went to Mother’s tomb to leave offerings of food and drink for her ka, the part of her soul that remained in this world. Apart from those solemn occasions, Father seldom spoke of her at all, and he looked so sad when leaving the offerings that I didn’t want to add to his grief by asking about her.
He looked even sadder now.
“It’s all right, Father,” I said, hugging him. “You don’t have to talk anymore. I’ll go to sleep. And I won’t have any more bad dreams, I promise!” I knew the promise was empty, that the monstrous, man-faced lions would come back for me the next night, and the next, but all I cared about at that moment was easing his spirit. “Please don’t be unhappy.”
Father patted my head. Like all children, I had it shaved clean except for the youth-lock, a single braided strand of hair trailing down beside my right ear. The warmth of his hand was comforting. “Are you trying to protect me, dearest? Only four years old and already you’re such a brave girl. Your mother named you The-beautiful-woman-has-come, but perhaps you should have been called The-beautiful-warrior.”
I hung my head. “I’m not brave, Father,” I said. “If I were, I wouldn’t wake you up every night. I could fight my bad dreams myself. I’m sorry.”
His smile, bright even in the moonlight, lifted my heart. “Don’t you see, my sweet bird? Being brave doesn’t mean always having to fight alone. You have me, and Mery, and as you grow older, you’ll have friends who’ll stand up for you, too. But on the night you were born, you were given a guardian who’s stronger than all of us put together.”
“Stronger than a lion?” I asked timidly.
“Part lion,” Father replied. “Part lion and part man—the creature we call a sphinx, just like those in your dreams—except this one is mightier than all of them. His face is the face of Pharaoh—not our lord, but a Pharaoh who ruled the Black Land in ancient times. So you see, he is lion, man, and god. He ascended to Ra so long ago that his divine powers are more than a match for any bad dream. And he is your protector, my Nefertiti.”