His teeth were bright and sharp as the edge of the crescent moon. “There will always be lions to hunt in the Red Land, but how many times have you been so willing to share my company? Rare things must be treasured.” I blushed again and ate more cake.
The next morning I woke up feeling ill from having eaten and drunk so greedily the night before. My head throbbed, my stomach was bloated, and I was too queasy to stir from my bed. I can’t ride in a chariot like this! I thought, and groaned with disappointment.
I called for Kepi and sent her to deliver my regrets to Thutmose. “You must be absolutely certain that he understands I really am sick,” I told her. “Swear by the gods, if you must.” She acknowledged my request with a low bow and hurried away. When she returned, I didn’t even give her the chance to enter my bedroom before showering her with questions: “Did you find him? What did he say? Did he believe you? Was he angry or upset or—?”
“You must judge that for yourself, Lady Nefertiti,” she said, crossing the threshold and stepping to one side as Thutmose himself and a stocky old man with a wrinkled monkey’s face came in. He was well-dressed, and his necklace was adorned with many protective symbols like the Eye of Horus, the ankh, and the scarab. He carried a small clay pot that was giving off a weird odor.
“Nefertiti, this is Ptah-hotep the physician,” Thutmose said. “He was one of the healers whose knowledge helped my father. I’ve brought him in hopes he can cure you so that you won’t need to miss our ride.”
The old physician strode haughtily to my bedside. “Where is the chief maid?” he demanded. When Kepi bowed before him, he commanded: “You will send one of the other servants to fetch honey. You will bring a large bowl and put it beside the lady’s bed.” His directions were quickly fulfilled. None of my maids wanted to keep Prince Thutmose waiting. Once he was satisfied with the preparations, he presented me with the little pot. “I was told you have an affliction of the belly, my lady. Drink this, and I swear by the lives of my grandchildren, it will trouble you no more.”
I sniffed at the clay pot uncertainly. “What is this?”
“Nothing extraordinary: goose fat, fresh cow’s milk, and cumin, boiled together and strained. It is a well-known remedy.”
“I think I feel better already,” I said, trying to give the vile-looking, hideous-smelling stuff back to him. It was no use. Ptah-Hotep began lecturing me sternly about all of his greatest successes in the healing arts and about the horrible fates of patients who’d been foolish or stubborn enough to refuse his treatments. I gulped down the potion just to silence him. It stayed in my stomach for as long as it took to count to twelve and then I threw up right into the bowl Kepi had brought. Ptah-Hotep nodded, pleased.
“Now a few spoonfuls of honey and you may resume your normal activities,” he said. I wanted to argue that I was too drained to do anything, but as soon as Kepi fed me the second dollop of honey, I felt restored. Within the hour I was out of bed, dressed, and accompanying Thutmose to his waiting chariot.
We rode out of the palace and through the streets of Thebes, but we didn’t ride alone. Four other chariots galloped with us, each bearing a driver and an armed soldier. The people who saw us coming sprinted to get out of the way of Thutmose’s blue and red bronze-trimmed chariot, some of them just barely dodging the flying hooves of his tawny-coated horses. In the wider, more prosperous streets, those who saw us rumble by would raise their hands to the heavens, calling down the gods’ blessings on their crown prince, but in places where the streets were only wide enough for one chariot at a time to pass, the folk on foot had to take refuge between vendors’ stalls or press themselves flat against the walls of the buildings. Any prayers they uttered were for their own safety. Thutmose took no notice of them as he whipped his horses to go faster and faster until we broke free of the city and were on the same flat plain where Amenophis used to bring me for my lessons with the bow and the chariot.
“Now I’ll show you some good horsemanship,” he said, and he made the whiplash in his hand crack through the air as it struck the animals’ backs. They whinnied shrilly and put on a fresh burst of speed, foam streaming from the corners of their mouths, leaving our accompanying chariots smothered in the dust thrown up by our careening wheels.
“Slow down, please slow down,” I gasped, holding on desperately. Speed didn’t scare me—I’d braced my feet the way I’d done when Amenophis let me race his chariot—but I knew that these vehicles were clumsy and unreliable at sharp turns. Thutmose paid no attention. He leaned into the wind, entranced, and made the chariot skim and swerve dangerously. His gaze was on the horizon, and he looked as if he were aching for the impossible instant when we would go so fast that all of us—horses and riders together—would sprout hawks’ wings and soar into the sun.
I thought I’d had that feeling when I’d been the one holding the chariot reins, giving the horses their freedom to race flat out. Now, looking at the spellbound expression on Thutmose’s face, I realized that I’d known only the pale ghost of what he was experiencing, body and soul.
He doesn’t care how dangerous this is any more than he cared if we trampled innocent people when we were riding through Thebes, I thought, panic rising in me. He doesn’t care how mercilessly he beats the horses, if we crash, if our bones are shattered, even if we die! “Stop, stop, please stop, Thutmose!” I screamed. “For the love of Amun, stop before it’s too late!”
Was it wishful thinking or did I sense him tightening his hold on the reins, gradually easing the horses from their heart-straining, headlong rush back down to a more moderate pace? I held my breath as their gallop became a canter, then a trot, and at last—thank the gods!—a walk. While our escorts raced to catch up to us, Thutmose grinned at me like a naughty child who’d done a great mischief and gotten away with it.