From the moment I crossed the threshold, I saw riches. I knew that my own family was one of the most prosperous in Akhmin, but next to the splendors of the high priest’s house, we lived in a mud hut. The walls were painted with the same brilliance as the outer temple walls, the wooden columns supporting the ceiling so bright with gold that they shone even in the dim light of the oil lamps. And the lamps themselves! They were everywhere. Their sweet scent made me realize that they must be burning costly perfumed oil. Chests and tables and chairs shimmered with fantastic patterns of rare and costly woods from distant Punt and the lands of the Nubians, beyond the birthplace of the sacred river. Some flaunted exquisitely carved legs decorated with gold, ivory, coral, and turquoise.
Ikeni brought me to a doorway. The room beyond was small but even more brightly lit than the rest of the house. “Father?” Ikeni clapped his hands twice. “Someone important is here to see you.” He took me by the elbow before I could object to his touch a second time and steered me inside.
The high priest sat in a splendid, high-backed chair, the gilded legs carved to look like lions’ paws. There was one table to his left, laden with several small, ornate wooden boxes and many papyrus scrolls. The remains of a meal—a platter of discarded goose bones, half a pomegranate, a mostly eaten lump of bread—lay on the smaller table to his left. He was in the act of refilling his cup with wine when he saw me. He was so startled that he jerked his hand, staining his white linen kilt with red. For a few heartbeats, he looked confused and even a little afraid.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. He glared at Ikeni. “Why have you brought her? If her father finds out, he’ll use your stupidity to destroy me!”
“But Father, it’s all right,” Ikeni said, eager to restore peace. “I didn’t bring her. She came here by herself.” He laid his hands on my shoulders.
“She did what?” The high priest’s eyes narrowed with mistrust.
I shrugged free of Ikeni’s hold and stepped forward, bowed, and raised my hands in a sign of reverence. “My lord, I’ve come here by myself, of my own free will. My father and mother don’t know anything about this. In the name of Isis, whom you love and serve, the lady of life, I ask for—”
“We’re going to be married after all!” Ikeni blurted. “No one I know will ever have such a beautiful wife. Isn’t it wonderful?”
The high priest looked from me to his son and back again. Our eyes met, and for an instant we recognized that we shared the same opinion of Ikeni’s … wisdom.
“Most wonderful,” he said dryly. “Ikeni, leave us.”
Ikeni looked hurt and bewildered. “But she said she’d marry me! Shouldn’t I be here for—?”
“Go.” The high priest didn’t need to raise his voice; his son hunched his shoulders as if protecting himself from a blow and slunk out of the room. When he was gone, the high priest turned to me. “Should I believe him?” he asked. “Do you want to marry my son after all?”
I shook my head. “That’s not why I’m here.”
This time his smile was almost sincere. “Good. I’d hate to think I misjudged your intelligence, Nefertiti. Not every girl in Akhmin knows how to read and write.” Shock showed plainly in my face, making him laugh. “Don’t gape like that. Of course I know. The gods have ears.”
“More likely the servants have tongues,” I muttered. It would only have taken one eavesdropper during Father’s argument with Henenu to shatter my “secret.”
That made him laugh even more. “You are a sharp one. My own wife—may Osiris cherish her as I did—was also a woman of great wisdom. I wouldn’t be where I am today without her by my side. And yet, as smart as you are, you’ve come to my house by night, alone. No one would call that wise. Whatever has brought you here must be very important indeed.”
I bowed to him a second time. “Lord, it is. I’ve come to ask for the life of the slave girl who saved mine.”
“Ah, Mahala the flute player? She was born in this house to one of my Habiru women. They say that those who are slaves from birth give you less trouble. So much for that theory, eh?” He smirked. “Her people don’t know our gods, so the will of Hapy meant nothing to her, but the fact remains that she publicly defied her master. If such things go unpunished and other slaves hear of it, where will it end? I made the only righteous decision.”
“A decision you can change,” I said. “A decision you must change.”
“Hmph! Strong words. And why must I? You look as grave as if the fate of all Pharaoh’s realm depends on my obeying you!”
I lowered my eyes. “Lord, I have—I have had an evil dream.” I told him my old vision of the lions, the way it had been before I dreamed of the Great Sphinx and defeated them. Many of the gods’ priests understood the art of telling the future from dreams, and no one could possibly interpret my long-ago dream as a good omen. I never said that the dream was an ancient one, or that its fearful monsters were no longer a threat, or that it had nothing to do with the slave girl’s fate. I had scattered a handful of truths in the high priest’s lap and hoped he’d string them together in the way I desired. I felt a stab of guilt for my deceit and tried to comfort myself by thinking: This is different from an outright lie. And is it wrong to mislead a man who spoke greater falsehoods in the god Hapy’s name? But I was still ashamed.
When I finished my story, the high priest looked suitably concerned. “What a terrible dream. My dear child, not even the most famous of Pharaoh’s dream-readers could find a flicker of hope in such a dreadful message from the gods. How can I ignore it? If that’s what moved you to come here so secretly, it must be a true vision. And if I spare the slave girl’s life, all will be well?”
I knew he was talking about averting bad omens, but when I answered, “Yes, all will be well,” I meant that an innocent life would be saved.