“Ta-Miu!” Nava cried, beaming.
The Master of the Prince’s Household bowed to me, holding out the basket like an offering. “Lady Nefertiti, Prince Thutmose requests you look after his cat until he has made a full recovery. He asks you to recall that she has a history of getting underfoot. He is afraid that with so much fuss going on, she might be injured if someone stumbles over her, and given her condition …” He shrugged.
I took the basket from his hands. “Tell the prince that I will be honored to take special care of Ta-Miu but that I hope it won’t be for long. We all look forward to his swift recovery.”
Nava was overjoyed to take over the responsibility of minding Ta-Miu. That evening, after feeding the cat a mound of shredded duck and half of her own dinner, she ran through my rooms trailing a string behind her for our furry guest to chase. They made so much noise that Mahala finally put a stop to it.
“The cat should rest, and it’s time you were asleep,” she said. “You can play with Ta-Miu tomorrow.”
Later, I was awakened by a great commotion coming from beyond my bedchamber doorway. Is it morning already? I thought drowsily as I sat up, wiping sleep from my eyes, but the room was still dark. That child! Couldn’t she wait for dawn before playing with Ta-Miu? I swung my feet out of bed and felt my way carefully toward the noise.
It wasn’t coming from the outer room, so I stumbled into my courtyard. That was where I found Teti, Mahala, and Nava huddling together, their eyes fixed on the portal that connected my rooms to the rest of the women’s quarters. The disturbance came from there, an unearthly wailing heard over the sound of pounding feet, screams, and children yowling.
“What is it? Oh, what’s happening, mistress?” Teti cried, clutching my arm.
Before I could answer, someone came lurching through the entryway, into my small garden. With streaming eyes, Amenophis stood shaking like a willow leaf for a heartbeat before the dreadful words rasped from his mouth:
“My brother is gone.”
16
THE BOOK OF THE DEAD
For seventy days, the palace waited while Thutmose lay in the House of Beauty, the place where the priests and embalmers would prepare and preserve his body to last for eternity. Beyond the walls, in the workshops of many artists and artisans, there was a great surge of activity as many hands worked to create and assemble all of the possessions the dead prince would be taking with him into the afterlife. Coffins were being carved and painted; boxes were being filled with tools, clothes, and jewelry; and the goldsmiths labored to provide the shining mask that would cover Thutmose’s face.
I didn’t want to think about any part of what was unfolding around me. When the first shock of the news struck, I threw back my head and cried aloud with grief. Thutmose had begun as my foe, but that day I had lost a friend.
Amenophis held me, and Mahala and Nava linked their arms with his to form a circle of consolation around me. Even timid little Teti dared to join us. Amenophis’s tears mingled with mine, but at last we had no more to shed. I was the first to break the embrace and turn back to my rooms.
“Where are you going, Nefertiti?” he called after me.
“To dress,” I answered. “And then to the queen’s apartments. My aunt has lost her firstborn son.”
Just as I had gone to visit Thutmose every morning, now I arose each day and went to sit with Aunt Tiye. She said nothing the first time I crossed her threshold, only staring at me with empty eyes. She didn’t bid me welcome, but she didn’t order me to get out of her sight, so I chose to approach the gilded chair where she sat flanked by six maidservants and attended by her four daughters. I knelt at her feet and pressed my face to the floor, reciting a prayer to Anubis, the god who guides the dead, then one to Osiris, asking his mercy when the time came to judge the heart of Thutmose. When I was done, I didn’t wait for her permission to stand. I understood that there would be no words between us this day.
Other days came, and I went to her apartments every morning. Sometimes all of her daughters were with her, sometimes a few, sometimes none. In time, on a morning when I was her only visitor, she spoke to me. I had just turned to one of her maids to ask if the queen had been eating enough to stay well when I heard Aunt Tiye’s hoarse voice behind me grumbling, “I can speak for myself.”
Her words echoed those I’d heard Thutmose speak on that last morning. When I burst into tears at the memory, she questioned me, cried with me, comforted me as I comforted her. From then on, her sorrowful silence was broken.
We spoke about many things during those seventy days of waiting. She shared stories of Thutmose’s childhood, her dreams for him, her regrets. At some point, she found the words to apologize to me for the heavy hand she’d tried to lay upon my future, and I found the heart to forgive her. She was no longer the scheming queen, using me like a pawn in a game of Senet: She was only a mother who had lost her child.
“Thank you, dear one,” she said, hugging me. “I’m going to send for your family. You haven’t seen them in far too long. That’s my fault, too, and the letters—” She was weeping again.
“That’s past,” I told her. “Past and pardoned. I’ll see them soon, won’t I? That will make up for everything.”