Sphinx's Queen

I didn’t get far. The older man’s right eye was clear and good: He caught me before I’d gone ten strides. He might have been wrinkled, with gray stubble covering his cheeks, but he had a lifetime of hard work behind him, and it had left him strong. He ignored my kicking feet and flailing fists, seized me around the waist, toted me back to the fireside over one brawny, scarred shoulder, and dumped me between a covered basket and a sagging waterskin.

 

“Are you looking for that hippo to finish the job of killing you?” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement as he stared down at me. “Or would you rather step on a cobra in the dark and do it that way? Now listen, girl, you’re safe with me. Safe with us, or I’ll know the reason why.” He gave his nephew a short, sharp glare. The younger man was sitting up, rubbing the back of his head and looking sheepish. “You’ll forgive the lad: He can’t help it; he’s a jackass. Me, I break jackasses. Understand?”

 

I nodded slowly. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“ ‘Sir’?” His laugh was as loud as that cursed hippo’s bellow. “Who are you, with such fine manners?” He dropped to one knee and grabbed my hands, studying the palms. “Hmm. Soft enough, under all these hurts. Funny here, though.” He ran one fingertip over the toughened spots on my right hand. They’d come from long practice with reed pens and brushes as I worked to master the scribe’s art. “Whatever work you do to earn your bread, it’s nothing too hard. Care to tell me?”

 

He sounded kind, but I was afraid to say more in case I said too much. “My name is Nefertiti” was all I answered. And then, because the pain in my stomach forced the plaintive words from my lips, I added, “I’m so hungry!”

 

“Well, of course you are, girl! Here, get something in your belly.” He stuck his hand into one of the baskets and put a small, round loaf of bread in my hands. I gobbled it as if I were a starving dog, nearly choking on the crumbs.

 

“Easy! Take it easy, girl! You could use a drink with that.” He fetched the big waterskin and helped me hold it while I drank. It didn’t taste like pure water, and I said so when I thanked him for it.

 

He chuckled and turned to the younger man. “How about that, Idu? She’s a clever one—no fooling her.” He winked at me. “There’s some beer in that. A man likes his beer, but it’s too thick to carry in this”—he slapped the waterskin—“unless you skim it carefully first and water it down. My wife used to be skilled at doing that, but she’s gone now, gone for years. I’ve had to fend for myself for too long.” He hung his head, looking miserable.

 

I patted his hand. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Thank you, girl; you’ve got a good heart.” He put one arm around me and squeezed my shoulders. It was a little too tight for a simple, friendly gesture. I felt uneasy, but before I could say anything or shrug free, he let me go. “All right, you’ve eaten my bread, and Idu here will tell you that I never give something for nothing.”

 

“That’s true,” the younger man grumbled. “Half the ducks that my throwing stick brought down—”

 

“Hush, boy. The girl knows a joke when she hears one; don’t spoil it with your sour-faced muttering.” He turned from his nephew to me. “How about now you tell us who you are? We’ll call it fair exchange for that bread you devoured.”

 

“My name … my name is Nefertiti,” I said. I prayed that I wouldn’t have to tell him too much more than that. This man might believe in my innocence, take pity on me, and help me reach Dendera, or he could drag me to Thebes, imagining the reward Thutmose and the Amun priests would give to get me back. May Ma’at shield and forgive me, I won’t lie, but I can’t tell him the whole truth.

 

“A good name—it suits you. But I find it hard to believe that such a lovely girl with such a pretty name would be sailing the river on her own. You haven’t got the hands for it.” He focused his good eye closely on me. “Were you traveling alone?”

 

I burst into tears. I couldn’t help it. The older man’s question was a magician’s spell that called up the ghosts of Amenophis and Nava. Their beloved faces smiled wistfully at me from the starry arch of the night sky. The bread I’d just eaten became a burning stone in my belly as I sobbed and sobbed. “My friends—” I said at last, rubbing roughly at my tear-wet face with the heel of my hand. “I was traveling with them, a young man and a little girl. We were trying to reach Dendera—” I broke down again.

 

“Why? Was your little one sick? I’ve heard great things about the healing powers of Hathor’s shrine. Ah, what a shame, losing your husband and daughter like—”

 

“For the love of Amun, Uncle, stop jabbering,” Idu yelled. “Can’t you see you’re making it worse for her with all your prying? If she’s lost her family—”

 

“My friends,” I said, making the effort to speak through my tears. “They were my friends. He isn’t—wasn’t—my husband, and she was—was—” I lost the battle and wept, my forehead pressed against my updrawn knees.

 

“Hmph! Whose jabbering set her off this time, eh?” I heard the older man say.

 

“I—I’m sorry,” Idu replied in a small voice. “But did you hear what she said? A young man, a little girl? Didn’t we—”

 

A slap rang out sharply. I raised my head to see the older man on his feet, glowering at Idu. The young man cupped his cheek and stared back at his uncle in shock. It was obvious what had just happened between them. “You shut your mouth or you’ll walk home!” the older man raged. “Don’t forget who owns the boat! Maybe the same hippo that killed this poor girl’s friends can finish the job on you.”

 

“But—”

 

The older man darted to the beached boat and came back swiftly, brandishing the knobbed throwing stick hunters used to bring down wildfowl in flight. He brandished it at his nephew. “I can still see well enough to use this on you.”