“And you, Amenophis,” I said, brushing away my tears and smiling again. “You surprised me. You were so brave! You stood up to Aunt Tiye for me, you saved Henenu, you protected Nava, you—”
“If I were brave, I wouldn’t have stayed away from you for so long. If I challenged Mother, it’s not because I’m brave. I just—I just didn’t want you to be unhappy, Nefertiti,” he said, standing up and turning his face to the sun. “Because we’re—we’re … friends.”
Had I imagined it, or had his voice stumbled painfully over that final word? I had no chance to know. With his next breath he was halfway down the stairs from the rooftop and gone.
In the aftermath of the great plot, the women’s quarters became much quieter. Now Pharaoh’s other wives eyed me with respect and a little fear whenever we met. A few stared at me with hostility, but only when they thought I couldn’t see. One evening I found a dead frog in my bed. I got rid of it before Kepi or the other maids could see it. I didn’t need more whispers trailing after me.
My worst fear was that since that night, Aunt Tiye knew about my ability to read and write. I recalled Father’s fears that his sister would try to force me into the same role as my mother. Worse, it would be yet another reason for her to keep me in the palace. (Sometimes I really was foolish enough to imagine that she might have a change of heart and let me go home.)
I needn’t have worried. About two weeks after the night of the failed plot, Pharaoh became ill again. It was very serious—so serious that not a single hint about his health was allowed to slip out of the royal apartments into the rest of the palace. No one waited on him except slaves, who had more to lose than servants, much more easily, if they talked about anything they’d seen.
Aunt Tiye vanished from the palace halls, except when some keen-eyed servant or official spied her rushing from her husband’s apartments to the small audience chamber and back again. Sitamun came to our lessons looking sad and worried.
“I never thought I’d say this, but—poor Mother! When she’s not at Father’s bedside, scolding his doctors, priests, and magicians, she’s working with the vizier and the rest of the royal advisers, receiving ambassadors, hearing pleas, keeping in touch with the local governors. I don’t know when she finds the time to eat or sleep.”
“Is there anything I can do to help her?” I asked. In spite of what she’d put me through, she was still my aunt, and I knew she loved her husband sincerely. My heart went out to her. “She’ll wear herself out and then she’ll be sick, too.”
Sitamun shook her head. “You might as well ask a lioness if she wants help raising her cubs. All that we can do is wait.”
That afternoon, Nava came to me with a piece of broken pottery in her hand. I thought she was bringing me her latest writing lesson, seeking help with a difficult symbol or idea. I did think it was odd that she had it on a shard instead of on the waxed board she normally used. Then she handed it to me, and I gasped to read:
Greetings to you, Nefertiti, from Amenophis, who is forever your friend.
I wish we could meet. No one would notice. My mother’s eyes are elsewhere. My brother is always busy, either with her, or with Father, or at the temple of Amun, may the god send his healing to Pharaoh soon. I am so afraid. If we could meet and speak, your kind words would comfort me. May the gods bless you.
I crushed the shard into powder and told Nava to fetch me her practice tablet. “Will you carry my message back to him, Nava? Please?” I asked as I scratched the words into the yielding wax. The child nodded eagerly. “You’ll have to be very careful. No one else must see this. Do what you can to make sure no one sees you.” I handed her the finished letter and watched as she ran to deliver it.
She returned with his reply scrawled across the tablet: Noon. The stables. I have shown Nava the way. Let her lead you. When the sun was directly overhead and the palace sank into midday rest, Nava brought me there.
Amenophis was waiting. He was familiar with the stables, going there every day to visit his horses, harnessing them to his chariot for a good gallop and practice with his hunting bow. He knew which parts of the building were the busiest and which were unused. From the look of the healthy spiderwebs in the empty stalls, he’d chosen a section of the stables that hadn’t been occupied for a very long time.
We spoke in whispers. Mostly I listened while he poured out his troubled thoughts. He loved his father and he was as terrified as a little child of losing him.
“Don’t despair,” I told him. “Pharaoh—your father is a strong man. He’ll recover.”
“I pray you’re right,” Amenophis said. “I pray to all the gods who have the power of healing, but I don’t see any change.”
“I pray for him, too,” I said. “But I only pray to Isis.”
“That might not be enough. You should also call upon Amun, Thoth, Imhotep, Anubis, even Sekhmet!” Even though he was so concerned about his father, he was still able to spare a warm smile for Nava and say: “Maybe our little messenger worships gods of healing that we don’t know. Well, Nava? Will you add your prayers and your gods to ours, to help my father?”
Nava shook her head.
“Nava!” I was shocked by her response. “Why won’t you help Amenophis’s father?”
Again, Nava shook her head, then wrote something on her tablet and showed it to us: One.
“One?” Amenophis repeated. “You have just one god of healing? But that’s all right, he—or she—might be powerful enough to help.”
The child shook her head a third time and jabbed her sharpened reed forcefully at the lone word she’d written. She looked ready to burst with annoyance. What was wrong? Then I remembered the first time she’d used her writing to thank me, to say she loved me, and to tell me her true name. What else was it that she’d written?