What else does she want, then? I wondered. And why does she need me to get it?
I resolved to ask Sitamun that very question the next time I saw her, but it slipped my mind until some seven days later. I’d dismissed my maids and was in my courtyard, anxiously watching the sun fade from the sky. It was almost evening, and I’d had no word from Sitamun. This wasn’t usual. Amenophis never let one day pass without writing to me. My mind began to conjure up all sorts of bizarre reasons for this unnatural silence. All of them were horribly dramatic and involved hideous disasters. Any peep of common sense in my head was outshouted by countless ridiculous possibilities. When Sitamun’s servant finally presented herself at the entryway to the courtyard, I swept down upon her like a rockslide.
“There you are! I was afraid that … I thought … Has anything … ?” I saw the look of badly reined-in panic in the girl’s eyes and forced myself to regain some self-control. “You know that your mistress and I are close friends. She’s shown me such kindness every day that I’m afraid she’s spoiled me. When you didn’t come until now, I became concerned that there was something wrong with the princess. I forgot that she has many other things in her life besides me. If she can’t see me today, that’s all right. Tomorrow will do. She’s well?”
“Lady Nefertiti …” The girl’s voice shook. Instead of responding to my question, she bowed very low before me and handed me a scrap of papyrus. When she straightened her back again, all she said was “Please give me leave to go back to my mistress. She hasn’t stopped crying all day.”
“Crying? Why? What’s the matter?” Fear shot back through me and I crushed the papyrus between my hands.
“Please, my lady, let me leave.” The servant looked on the brink of tears herself. “I’m not even supposed to be here, but my mistress got down on her knees to me—to me!—and begged me to do this. If I’m discovered, I’ll—I’ll be whipped and taken away from the princess’s household and—and—and—”
“Go, go!” I cried, waving the crushed papyrus frantically. “You were never here.”
She didn’t wait for another word from me, and I didn’t wait to see the last flash of her heels as she fled from the courtyard. I spread the papyrus so roughly that it tore, but I could still read my dear friend’s message, scrawled in haste, stained with tears:
My dear friend, I thought I could do more for you and Amenophis than help pass messages between you. I went to Father to let him know how dearly you loved each other and how Mother had built walls between you. I thought that if he knew, he would overrule her and bless your marriage. At this point in the letter, the lines were so badly smeared that it took me several attempts before I read the words: I did not know at first that he was not alone.
I pictured the scene in Pharaoh’s apartments—Sitamun pleading for his support; Aunt Tiye overhearing her own daughter chipping away at her plans; the moment she revealed her presence not as Sitamun’s mother but as Great Royal Wife, the god-on-earth’s beloved. She’d have no trouble coming up with a plausible way to make Sitamun look foolish. She had more influence over Pharaoh than his daughter could ever hope to possess. With tender whispers and oh-so-reasonable explanations and many loving kisses, Aunt Tiye would guide her royal husband like a master of chariots. Sitamun would never have a chance against her.
And afterward, she’d make Sitamun pay the price for what Aunt Tiye could only see as treachery.
She has forbidden me from seeing you anymore and has taken steps to make sure we will not even be able to exchange letters. May the gods protect my loyal and devoted servant who brings you this, because it must be our last message. I wanted you and Amenophis to have something better than one letter a day exchanged between you. My foolishness has cost you even that. Be strong, Nefertiti, and forgive me.
I sat on the bench in the moonlight, Sitamun’s last letter in my lap. Aunt Tiye had cut another thread that anchored my life to those who cared for me. No way to contact Amenophis, no further visits with my true friend Sitamun, certainly no letters to or from Akhmin …
And what about Nava and Henenu? She knew the scribe was my friend. She was too smart not to suspect that the Habiru child was special to me. What would she do to them when they came back from Memphis? Would I even be allowed to know they’d returned? I felt like a beetle buried in the sand beneath a great battlefield, knowing nothing about the kingdoms being lost and won somewhere over my head.
I had never been so alone.
13
THE BUILDERS OF WALLS
In the days that followed Sitamun’s last letter, I learned that it is possible to live in the midst of crowds and still be as isolated as if I were standing on the peak of the great pyramid called Khufu’s Horizon. All around me, the women’s quarters bustled with life—wives, companions, children, servants, slaves, pets, and the royal overseers whose duty it was to govern this world-within-a-world. It was nothing to me. Chatter wasn’t the same thing as being able to talk to someone else. Being caught up in a crowd of other human beings wasn’t the same thing as belonging.