Sphinx's Princess

I dropped my cloak, took a running start, and leaped for the top of the wall. Dancing gave me strong legs, but my arms were weak. I barely made it, clinging to the edge until I found the strength to haul myself up. The top of the wall was comfortably wide, so once I was up, I pressed myself flat against the mud brick surface and peered at what lay on the other side.

 

“Thank you, O Isis,” I whispered, seeing the high priest’s house. “And now … be with me.” I took a deep breath, swung my feet over to the garden side of the wall, and lowered myself from my perch as far as I could before I had to let go and drop to the ground below.

 

I didn’t land well. My left foot twisted under me, sending such sharp pain through me that I had to bite my lower lip to keep from crying out. It hurt to walk, but I could walk, so I thanked Isis again and turned my throbbing steps toward the priest’s house.

 

Clusters of white-flowered jasmine budded and bloomed on both sides of the open doorway. I slipped into the space between the sweet-scented plants and the house wall, thinking about what I ought to do next. I needed to find the high priest; I didn’t want anyone else to find me. I strained my ears to catch any sounds, anything that would tell me if the people inside were still awake or had finished their celebration and gone to bed. Somewhere a child was wailing, but the pitiful sound seemed to come from farther away. I clenched my hands, fervently hoping that the house slept. I intended to find my way to the high priest’s room and then—

 

And then—in the name of Ma’at who guards the truth—I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do then, only that I had to do something to save the slave girl. If talk wouldn’t sway the high priest, maybe I could bargain with him. It didn’t matter that the few pieces of jewelry I owned were nothing next to the temple treasures. The gods love justice, I thought as I crouched in the shelter of the jasmine plants. The gods love justice and I’m here to see that justice is done. The gods will help me.

 

“Who’s there?” A hand closed on my arm. Someone yanked me out of my hiding place and spun me around. I found myself facing a tall young man who looked almost as terrified as I felt. He didn’t wear a wig to cover his shaved head, so I guessed he must be one of the temple priests. “Who are you?” he demanded in a shaking voice. “You’re not one of our servants. You …” His forehead creased as he peered at me more closely in the moonlight. “Immortal gods have mercy,” he breathed. “You’re Ay’s daughter Nefertiti.”

 

I didn’t respond at once. I was breathless and shaking with dread. And then, a wonderful thing happened to me: I realized that because I’d been caught, because this young man knew who I was, I had nothing left to lose. My fear fled and a great sense of calm settled over me like the warm folds of my abandoned cloak. If it can’t get any worse, it can only get better, I thought. I stopped trembling and drew myself up to my full height. I pictured a statue of Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess of war, and gave my captor the same bold, commanding stare.

 

“I am,” I replied coldly. “You will let go of my arm at once.”

 

To my surprise, it worked! The young man released his grasp but stood close enough so that he would be able to grab me again if I ran. He didn’t know that I had no such intention. With a nervous little bow, he said, “What—what are you doing here?”

 

“I have business with the high priest,” I told him, still speaking with the self-assurance I’d borrowed from the goddess. “It doesn’t concern you.”

 

“But—but if you have business with Father, why were you hiding in the bushes?”

 

Father? “Are you the high priest’s son?”

 

He nodded earnestly. “My name is Ikeni. My father wanted us to marry, but Ay turned him down.” He looked dejected. “I wish he’d have said yes. You’re very beautiful.” All at once, his expression brightened. “Nefertiti, whatever your business is tonight with Father, if I help you with it, will you go home and persuade Ay that we should marry after all? There’s some bad feeling between our families. Our marriage would smooth all that away.”

 

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Ikeni was a good-looking young man, strong and healthy, but when he spoke, nonsense poured from his lips. If not for the condemned slave girl’s brave rescue, his father’s command would have let me drown! How could he call something like that “some bad feeling between our families”? He’d probably call outright murder “just a little misunderstanding.” I was in no hurry to marry, but I did know that when I chose a husband, he wouldn’t be a handsome fool like Ikeni.

 

But a handsome fool who can help me, I thought. I offered him my warmest smile and chose my words with care. I didn’t want to lie. Lies would weigh down my heart when the time came for me to be judged in the next world, and a heavy heart was doomed. “The sooner I speak with your father, the sooner I can go home and speak with mine.”

 

I never said I’d speak to Father about marriage, but Ikeni heard what he wanted to hear. I saw a spark of hope flash in his eyes. “I’ll take you to see him at once!” he cried.

 

I made a swift, silencing gesture. “Secretly,” I said, keeping my own voice low. “No one must know I’m here.”

 

“Why not? If we’re betrothed—”

 

“Father would be angry.” And that was certainly true!

 

“Oh.” Ikeni nodded and led me into the high priest’s house.