I concentrated on backtracking a path based on the different wall paintings Amenophis and I had passed the other day, but my memory failed when Berett and I reached a series of rooms where swarms of men, young and old, trotted by looking very serious and self-important or sat cross-legged, reading or copying heaps of papyrus scrolls.
“Scribes!” I cried in delight. “Maybe Henenu’s nearby. I’m sorry I can’t find that garden, Berett, but we ought to be able to find him.” She didn’t need to speak to let me know that she thought this was a brilliant idea.
It took me three tries before I could get one of the scribes to agree that I was important enough for him to stop his work and answer my question. “Ah yes, Henenu, I know him well. At this hour he’ll be with his students. Follow me.” He led us to a room where our old friend sat supervising rows of very young boys as they practiced writing, copying texts onto pieces of broken pottery. When Henenu saw us, he let out a shout of joy so loud that several of his pupils made a mess of their lessons.
“My dear friends, you’ve found me! This is a blessing. How did you sleep? Are your rooms comfortable? What did you think of—?” He bit off the end of his question and cast a wary eye over his students. “Perhaps we ought to go elsewhere to talk.”
He told the boys that he’d be gone a short while, gave them orders to copy a page of tax records, and warned them against acting up until he came back. We hadn’t taken five steps out of the classroom before we heard the sounds of laughter, crude noises, and scuffling.
Henenu sighed. “Boys. Sometimes I think the only difference between my pupils and donkeys is that if you beat a donkey for misbehaving, he won’t do it again.” Still complaining, he walked down the hall ahead of us, peering into every room we passed until he found one that was unoccupied. It was lined with many storage chests and baskets full of poetry fragments. Plopping down on the floor, he let out a deep breath and said, “Now I can speak freely. What did you think of the prince?”
“Which one?” I asked with a wry grin, and told him about my odd introduction to Thutmose’s gangly younger brother. “The weirdest thing is, Aunt Tiye never mentioned him once,” I finished. “If he hadn’t been at dinner last night, I never would have known she’s got two sons.”
“The queen …” Henenu clasped his hands in his lap and didn’t look at me directly. “The queen has put so much of herself into grooming Prince Thutmose to follow in his father’s footsteps that she may—she must be forgiven for overlooking her second-born son.” Lifting his plump chin, he added: “You haven’t answered my question, Lady Nefertiti. What do you think of Prince Thutmose?”
“I think that it’s too soon to judge him,” I replied, keeping my tone as neutral as my words.
I would have done better to speak normally. By trying to say nothing, I’d said too much. Henenu was a smart man and a longtime resident of the royal palace, with ears attuned to what you didn’t say as well as what you did. “You don’t like him,” he stated.
“Oh, Henenu, he’s such a cold person,” I cried.
“Hmm, yes, that’s Prince Thutmose. I’ve known him since he was born. He was a merry child, but then the queen began teaching him that a future Pharaoh must always be dignified, as befits a god on earth. It didn’t matter that his own father, as much of a god as our prince will ever be, is one of the best-humored men I’ve known; Queen Tiye insisted on training all the joy out of him. The only time we get a glimpse of the old Prince Thutmose is when he plays with his cat, Ta-Miu. She must be a sorceress in disguise; she owns the secret for making him happy.”
“Is that so?” It was an empty question. Henenu wouldn’t lie to me. I felt a deep pity for Thutmose, and sorry that I’d judged him so hastily, after only one conversation. “Well … he might be a warmer person once I get to know him. Perhaps I could talk to Ta-Miu and find out how she does it,” I joked, wanting to lighten my mood.
“Ah, you know how to talk to cats?” Henenu teased back.
“Not yet, but I’ve got more than enough time to learn. Three years is a long time, and what else will I have to do?”
Henenu shrugged. “I know only what a scribe does all day, not a princess.”
“Princess?” I repeated.
“You weren’t told?” Henenu looked as surprised as I felt. “By the divine will of Pharaoh Amenhotep, you were named Lady Nefertiti, Royal Daughter, Excellent in Grace, Beloved of Hathor, and a string of other titles that all mean you are now as much a princess of the Black Land as Sitamun and the others. It was one of the first things the queen arranged when she came home yesterday. Prince Thutmose can’t marry a commoner.”
“His father did,” I said. Meanwhile my thoughts swirled around my new status: A princess! If Bit-Bit was here, she’d want to know why I’m not leaping for joy. A princess! That’s my little sister’s dream, not mine. It’s supposed to be an honor, but it feels like a rope’s been tied around my neck, dragging me down the one road Aunt Tiye wants me to walk. What can a princess do except marry a prince? No. I’m not a princess. Who cares what Aunt Tiye made Pharaoh decree? If he decreed that she was a hawk, would she jump off a roof and expect to fly? I say what I am, who I am, and I say that if she thinks plain Nefertiti of Akhmin isn’t good enough for Thutmose, she should send me home tomorrow. Three more years and all the titles in the world won’t change a thing.