I stood in Amenophis’s shadow as he approached one of the priestly doorkeepers, drew himself up even taller, and looked down his long nose as haughtily as he could without bursting into self-mocking laughter. He was so effective at playing the part of someone with every right to enter the temple gates that the young priest began to bow to him at once, without bothering to take in the ragged, ill-fitting clothes or the wear and tear and grime of travel. I should have been happy, but all I could do was ask myself again and again, Why is Thutmose letting us get so close to Pharaoh? Why isn’t he trying to stop us anymore?
Those questions were still echoing in my head when the young priest stepped to one side and motioned for us to enter the gateway. I could see the respectful, almost fearful look he fixed on Amenophis as he walked by without deigning to give the “lowly” doorkeeper even a passing glance. I, too, transformed myself into the superhumanly dignified “goddess” I’d played to save Samut’s son and glided after Amenophis as gracefully and haughtily as I could. Nava came last, carrying Ta-Miu. I couldn’t look behind me to check if the child was acting with the dignity of a prince’s servant, but there was no need to be concerned: The cat had enough poise for them both.
Across the temple threshold, we found ourselves in a great courtyard where a smaller, more exclusive crowd stood in rapt attendance as a group of young women performed an intricate dance for the goddess. The jangle of sistrums blended with the singing of hymns to the goddess of love, motherhood, and joy. Hathor’s statue gazed down at the dancers with her alluring, secret smile. A gold sun-disk was framed by the curving cow horns crowning her head, and the space between her feet was heaped with fragrant blue lotus blossoms. Trails of incense rose from burners surrounding her gorgeously carved image. It was all so entrancing, I nearly forgot to breathe.
“What do you think you’re doing?” A harsh voice broke the goddess’s spell. We saw a blustering, double-chinned man come bearing down on the young priest who’d let us in. His clothing was a richer version of the doorkeepers’ priestly garb. “Where do you think this is, your father’s butcher shop? Is that why you let every stray cur in Dendera come in?”
“Lord, my father didn’t have a—” the young priest began.
The older servant of Hathor didn’t let him finish. A sharp slap ended his protests before he turned on us. “Get out of here, you chaff,” he barked. “Leave before the righteous anger of Hathor destroys you for daring to set your filthy feet inside her holy house!”
“Watch what you’re saying, Djau,” Amenophis said slowly. “My father was not pleased with the last reports he heard about you. You are a priest of Hathor only because this was your father’s position, and he was a good man, but more than one of your fellow priests has complained that you spend more time worshipping your belly than your goddess.”
I don’t know if my eyes went wider than the priest’s or the other way around. Both of us were goggling at Amenophis, but it was Djau who asked the question foremost in my mind: “How—how do you know my name? How do you know so much about me, about the reports—the lies—my enemies have sent to Pharaoh?”
“Those reports came before Pharaoh’s eyes in the royal palace at Thebes, and he saw fit to speak about them with his counselors. But the descriptions of your greed and gluttony were described so amusingly that he decided to share them with his family as well.”
Djau looked ready to shatter. “In Hathor’s name, who are you?”
Amenophis’s heavy lips turned up in a lazy smile that was frighteningly like his brother’s. “If you were half as wise as your father, you wouldn’t need to ask that. Didn’t you just hear me speak of my father? Who else can I be but Pharaoh’s son?”
“Pharaoh’s … son?” Djau’s chins trembled. He looked as if he was debating whether to run away. “But that—that can’t be.” He looked Amenophis up and down and back up again. “It can’t,” he finished lamely.
“Can’t?” The lazy smile vanished. Amenophis became a lion ready to destroy his prey. “Why not? Because of how I look to your ignorant eyes? If you had ever gone even half a day’s journey away from the feasting table, you would understand why I look like this! If you used the brains in your head instead of just the tongue and teeth, you would ask yourself, ‘What possible cause would be so vital that Pharaoh’s son leaves the safety and comfort of his palace and faces the hazards of travel?’ I call on all of the gods to witness my words: I have come to Dendera for nothing less than a matter of life and death, an unholy violation of Ma’at’s sacred truth! Now take me to my father!”
“Y-yes, my prince.” The priest held up his hands and bowed stiffly. “This—this way.” He tottered off and we followed. The eyes of every worshipper in the courtyard were turned away from the goddess and fixed on us as we crossed the open space and entered the shaded passageways beyond.
As soon as we’d left the courtyard behind us, Amenophis fell back a few paces to walk beside me. “Well, how was that?” he whispered with a wink and a self-satisfied smile.
“Not bad. You convinced that one.” I nodded to where the plump-faced priest was hurrying along as though starving hyenas were on his tail. “I’ll make a real prince of you yet,” I teased.
“And with Hathor’s blessing, I’ll make a real princess of—” Amenophis didn’t get to finish what he was saying. There was no need: We both knew what the next word out of his mouth would be. My heart fluttered and I blushed, but the sweet joy of that moment lasted only for a breath before it was snatched away from me.