There was no servant waiting to guide me back to the women’s quarters from Aunt Tiye’s apartments. I had to find my own way, and it took a good deal of time, even though I asked directions. By the time I got back to my own rooms, my maids had disappeared yet again. There was no one to carry a message for me to Amenophis. I couldn’t do so myself. In all the time I’d lived in the royal palace, I’d never found out where his rooms lay, though I had a vague idea.
Should I go to that part of the palace and ask? I thought, then discarded the notion. I longed to see him, but if I went running after him like that, it would give the countless wagging tongues throughout the palace a fresh source of gossip.
I don’t care what they’d say about me, I told myself. I just don’t want him to be embarrassed. A sudden, telltale warmth flushed my cheeks, forcing me to admit, Who am I fooling? I care what they’d say about me, too. I’ll write out a message for Amenophis and get one of the other women’s servants to deliver it for me.
It was all so easy. I didn’t have any close friends among Pharaoh’s junior wives and his other female companions, but nearly everyone knew me. I’d come into their midst as the promised bride of a royal prince, I’d gained notice when I happened to uncover a deadly plot by two of the women, and I’d become notorious when I was dragged away to stand trial for Ta-Miu’s “death.” Now I’d returned, victoriously acquitted by the word of Ma’at herself. Who didn’t know my name? And who hadn’t heard the story of how grateful Pharaoh was to see me exonerated?
In the women’s quarters, Pharaoh’s good will was worth more than gold. As soon as I approached one of the younger junior wives with my request for writing supplies and a messenger, every other woman within eavesdropping distance flooded me with pens, paints, papyrus, and offers to lend me the services of their smartest, swiftest-footed maidservants. My note was on its way before midday.
There was no answer. The girl returned looking downcast and handed back my letter. “I’m so sorry, Lady Nefertiti. When I reached the prince’s apartments and announced I had a letter for him from you, I was told that he’d gone away. I asked where he was and when he might return, but all I got was a slap and a scolding about minding my own business.” She looked at her feet. “Forgive me; I’ve failed you.”
I forced her to look up again. “You’ve done no such thing. I’m the one who’s sorry that Prince Amenophis has such churlish servants. When I see him next, I’ll be sure to tell him to teach them better manners. They had no right to strike you. If I write another letter, will you carry it for me?” She looked hesitant, so I quickly added, “Not to Prince Amenophis—to the household of Princess Sitamun.”
This time the messenger returned happily, her mission fulfilled, a reply from Sitamun in her hands:
Dear friend, I don’t know what to tell you. I have no
idea where my brother Amenophis is. I sent him my own
note and the servant who carried it to his apartments
received the same reception as your messenger, except for
the slap. Perhaps that was because I sent one of my
strongest manservants and not a defenseless girl. Slap or
no slap, no one in my brother’s household would say
where he’d gone or when he might come back. Come see
me and we will speak more about this. Sitamun.
I had the girl turn around and take me to Sitamun’s rooms. I found my friend walking in her garden, watching a flight of egrets cross the sky. After we exchanged a kiss in greeting, she had me sit beside her on a bench that viewed a small lotus pool. Here I told her everything that had happened in my bedchamber the previous night.
“So much for you to endure in one day!” she exclaimed. “And to enjoy.” Her smile was genuine. “I’m very happy for you and Amenophis.”
“Your mother’s not,” I said. “She’s after me again to marry Thutmose.”
“I heard. And this time she’s got even more pressing reasons to force things along. I’ll never understand how her mind works. It’s brilliant and frightening at the same time. Father would be more likely to pardon Thutmose if he saw irrefutable evidence that you’d done so.”
“There’s no better proof of my forgiveness than marrying the man who tried to kill me,” I said bitterly.
“Forgiveness or revenge.” Sitamun was joking, though there was a grain of truth in the jest.
“At the cost of being his wife for even one day? No, thank you. Even if I knew I’d be able to make him pay for everything he’s done to me, that price is too high.”
“No need to pay it, then. You’ve got a much more pleasant way to punish him at hand.” Her eyes twinkled. “I can’t wait for the day when you and Amenophis live as man and wife!”
“I’ll have to find him first.” It was my turn to joke, but I couldn’t quite manage to free my words from the uneasiness that was beginning to gnaw at me. I remembered the disturbing note in Aunt Tiye’s voice when she’d wished me “good luck.” It still troubled me.
I’m being ridiculous, I thought. I’m reading too much into an accident of tone. She didn’t mean anything more than what she said.
But I’d spent enough time with Aunt Tiye to know that there was seldom only one face to what she said or did.
“Find him?” Sitamun’s carefree voice plucked me out of my worries. “Not before he finds you, I bet. Then you’ll come running to me, complaining that he’s not giving you a single moment alone!”
I scared up a weak smile. “You’re probably right. It’s just that I’d like to see him soon, to make sure he’s all right. Your mother said some deeply hurtful things to him last night. Every time she spoke as if Thutmose were her only son, I wanted to throw water in her face.”
“Is that all you wanted to do? I’ve wanted to do worse to her for years. She’s always acted that way toward Amenophis. It’s awful, I hate it, and it’s not what he deserves.”