Sphinx's Princess

“Merciful Isis, what’s the matter, Nefertiti?” Henenu asked. “What a face! I just told you that you’ve been made a princess, and you look ready to tear me to shreds with your bare hands.”

 

 

“Is it that bad?” I asked lightly, forcing a smile. “I don’t think it’s right that I’m the last to know about being a princess, but was I really making such a monstrous face about it?” I struck the same dramatic pose I’d seen in paintings and carvings of past pharaohs triumphing over their enemies in war. “If only Aunt Tiye had made me a princess years ago, I could’ve used my great and mighty royal authority to command Father to let us continue our lessons!” I dropped the arm that was holding an invisible war club. “Then I know what I’d do all day.”

 

Henenu tilted his large head and gave me a thoughtful look. “Why not?”

 

 

 

 

 

“Good morning, Nefertiti! Did you sleep well? No lions?” Sitamun called out to me gaily as I climbed the last of the steps leading up to one of the palace’s flat roofs. It was the same greeting she gave me every morning since the day I’d confided in her about my childhood nightmares. I didn’t mind: Her words were a never-failing reminder that I’d made at least one true friend since my arrival at Thebes nearly half a year ago. I only wished that Aunt Tiye’s oldest daughter were someone closer to my own age. There were at least ten years between us.

 

The time of the Inundation had passed and we were well into the season of Emergence. From the rooftop I could see how far the sacred river’s waters had receded from the fields. The freshly fertile soil was thickly planted with new crops, and the tender growth turned the Black Land green.

 

“No lions,” I replied as I joined her under the vividly patterned cloth sunshade. Sitamun had already spread out her scribe’s kit and was using the flat-edged burnisher to smooth the final rough spots from the blank piece of papyrus in front of her.

 

“Maybe no lions, but I’ll bet you were followed by our favorite cub,” she said.

 

At that very instant Berett’s head popped into view at the top of the steps. My little musician climbed up the rest of the way, carrying her harp with her. The past months of good food and peace in the royal palace had been very good to her. She’d grown taller and stronger, though she still clung to silence. She crossed the rooftop to kneel in her favorite shady corner and began to play.

 

I laid out my own set of palette, brushes, and pens, taking water from Sitamun’s small flask to make the red and black inks, then indicated the papyrus my friend was finishing. “Is that mine?”

 

“It is.” She gave it one last scrape with the burnisher and slid it over to me. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

 

“I’ve practiced enough,” I said. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” I stretched my hands out over the papyrus and my tools and prayed aloud for Thoth to bless my task. Then I picked up a brush and began to write.

 

Sitamun watched me intently. “Very nice, Nefertiti. You have an elegant style, but I still don’t understand why you insisted on doing this yourself. Henenu could have done it for you, or any of the other scribes.”

 

“These words have to come from my own hand,” I replied. “It means a lot to me.”

 

“You’d think you were writing a love poem!”

 

“I wouldn’t know how.”

 

“That’s a shame. Thutmose should send you one.”

 

I frowned. “That wouldn’t be dignified enough for him.”

 

Sitamun laughed. “He is a stick! But a stick can become a roaring fire if it meets the right spark.” She turned to Berett. “Dear one, can you play us a love song? We need to put your mistress in the proper mood.” Berett tilted her head and gave Sitamun a doubtful look but did as she was asked.

 

I snorted. “Stop that, Berett,” I said. “Stop that and come here. I want you to see this. It’s almost done, and it’s very important for you.”

 

The girl put her harp aside, drew near, and squatted next to me, questioning me with her eyes.

 

“This is your freedom, Berett,” I said softly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you sooner, but I had to find out the right words to use so that after today, no one will be able to call you a slave ever again. This document also gives you some of my jewelry, so if you ever want to leave Thebes, you can take it with you and nobody can accuse you of theft.” My pen added a few more characters to the papyrus. “Once this is finished, carry it with you always and you can come and go as you like. No one will be able to hold you captive anymore.”

 

Berett heard me out, then pointed decisively at one group of characters on the papyrus. I stared, taken by surprise. “Look at that, Sitamun! She recognized her name!”

 

“Pooh. It’s a coincidence.” Sitamun waved away anything marvelous about it. “She just happened to point at it. How would she know—?”

 

“Hasn’t she been with me every time I come up here for our lessons? Whether it’s just the two of us or if Henenu’s here as well to teach us some new characters or a better brush technique, month after month, she’s always close by.”

 

“It’s not as if she’s sharing our lessons,” Sitamun argued. “She plays her harp the whole time, and she’s usually over there.” She indicated Berett’s favorite spot.

 

“She starts out over there, but you know she always creeps closer and closer to us while we work. She’s interested in what we’re doing, Sitamun. She’s been watching,” I said. “And learning, I’ll bet. In fact, I will bet you that she knows more than you think.”

 

Sitamun’s eyes glittered. She loved to gamble, and she’d been known to wager a fortune on the outcome of a game of Hounds and Jackals. “I like those jade earrings of yours. I’ll bet my new gold and turquoise cuff bracelets against your earrings that Berett pointed to her name by pure accident.”

 

“Done.” I sat back on my heels. “How will we settle this?”