“Nefertiti, if you eat much more, you’ll be too sick to dance.”
“And then I’ll never get married,” I said, with a playful glance at my sister. She made a honey-smeared face at me.
“What kind of nonsense is that?” Father asked pleasantly.
“Oh, Bit-Bit thinks that as soon as I dance, you’ll be buried under a mountain of marriage offers for me,” I replied, giggling.
But Father didn’t laugh with me—he scowled—and Mery shifted uneasily in her chair. When their eyes met, they exchanged a look that sent prickles rushing up the nape of my neck.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“If I don’t start getting you ready for the dance, you’re going to be late, that’s what’s wrong,” Mery said briskly, rising from her place and taking me by the wrist. “You have to wash and perfume yourself, then I have to paint your face, help you into your dress, put on your jewelry …”
I jerked my hand free. “What is wrong?”
This time, Father did laugh. “What have I always said about this one, Mery? When she’s determined to know something, my little kitten is too smart to be deceived and too alert to be distracted.” He looked at me with a rueful smile. “Your sister has the gift of prophecy as well as song. I’ve already had to hear one marriage proposal for you.”
I was astounded. “Someone asked to marry me? Who?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “You will not marry him. I sent him away.”
Bit-Bit groaned dramatically. “Father, how could you? What if Nefertiti’s in love with him?”
Father pursed his lips. “Bit-Bit, a good marriage begins with the man asking the woman, not her father. Now, Nefertiti, are you in love with anyone?” I shook my head, still stunned. “Then you don’t have to worry about this. I promise you, when you find the right young man, one who will recognize what a treasure the gods have given to him, one who treats you like his second self and cherishes you for who you are, I won’t stand in your way.” He chuckled. “And if you love him that much as well, I’ll get out of your way before I’m trampled into the dust. Now go with your mother and get ready.”
With Mery’s help I was soon ready to leave the house for the temple of Isis. Bit-Bit watched the whole process avidly, sometimes helping, sometimes getting underfoot. She held the alabaster jar of perfumed skin cream while Mery applied it to my arms and legs, to keep them soft and glowing in spite of the strong sun, and happily ran to fetch the smaller ivory container of red ocher mixed with fat, for staining my lips. But when Mery painted my eyelids green with powdered malachite, sacred to Hathor, Bit-Bit clamored so loudly to have her eyelids painted too that her mother lost more time arguing with her than she gained by not doing it.
After much wrangling, Mery decreed, “Come here and I’ll outline your eyes with kohl just like Nefertiti’s, but that’s all.”
Bit-Bit wasn’t satisfied. “That’s nothing special. You do that for me every day!”
“And I always will. It protects you from the evil eye and the demons of the Red Land. I’ll do more when it’s your special day. Today belongs to your sister.”
While Mery drew an elegant black line all around Bit-Bit’s eyes, I combed my hair and put on her best bracelets, earrings, and necklace. They were extremely heavy, but I’d practiced my dance at home while wearing them, so I was used to their weight.
When it was time for Mery to place her jeweled wig on my head, we hit a wall. I no longer had my head shaved like a child’s, so the bulky wig wouldn’t sit securely. “I don’t know why you insist on keeping your hair,” Mery said. “It’s easier to stay clean without it.”
“I like it,” I replied. “I wash it every day. And I never liked how itchy my scalp felt every time you shaved it.”
“Hmph. Children.” Mery snorted, but she found another gold collar in her jewelry chest and anchored it to my hair with slender bone pins. “It almost looks like it was made to be a crown,” she said, pleased with the effect. “Just make sure you don’t lose it when you dance!”
I left the house alone, hurrying to the temple of Isis ahead of the rest of my family. The other dancers were already gathered in the shade of the wall that faced the river. There were nine of us, all daughters of the most important families in Akhmin. Our musicians were there as well, four girls who were temple slaves. One held a small tambourine that would help us keep our steps to the music’s beat. One played the double flute, and two were harpers, including the littlest one of the group. She couldn’t have been more than seven years old, yet her skilled fingers made the harp sing sweetly.
As I approached the other dancers, the oldest gave me a disdainful look. “Well, look who decided to show up: our little princess. What’s that on your head? It looks like a collar. What are you, stupid?” She laughed raucously.
“Don’t pick on Nefertiti,” another girl spoke up. “She doesn’t have to be smart; she’s beee-yooo-teee-ful.” She drew out the word until it was twisted and ugly.
A third cackled: “So what? The high priest’s son would have asked to marry her even if she looked like a squashed dung beetle. His father made him do it. Anything to tie a rope around the jackal’s jaws.”
So that’s where my marriage offer came from, I thought. And as for the jackal … “You’d better not be talking about my father,” I said, closing in on the girl.
“Or what will you do about it?” she taunted. “Hit me? Then I won’t be able to dance, and Isis will be angry. Even if your father is Pharaoh’s pet, he won’t be able to save you from punishment for blasphemy.” She grinned brazenly.