“I … think so.” It was a lie, but I didn’t want Father to think I was stupid.
“Never mind any of that,” my nursemaid said, holding me close. “I’m still your Mery. You don’t need to worry about calling me anything else unless you want to.” She pressed her cheek to mine. Her skin was soft and warm and smelled like cinnamon. “So, are you pleased?”
“With what?” I asked. The whole business of names had distracted me so much that I’d forgotten to think about the more important part of Father’s “wonderful surprise.”
“With me becoming your father’s new wife, of course!” Mery said, her face filled with joy. “And your new mother.”
Well, I was happy to hear that Mery was going to be a part of our family; there was no question about it. Mery was the only mother I’d ever known. There was nothing “new” about her at all, except for the way I saw Father gazing at her. I’d never seen such a look in his eyes before, and for some reason, it irritated me. I suppose he must have been looking at her that way for a long time, except I’d been too busy with my games and toys and playmates to notice. Now that I did … I didn’t like it. It reminded me a little of the way that dancer had looked at him.
Father was supposed to be mine, and only mine. Didn’t they know that?
And so, even though I loved Mery with all my heart, I couldn’t bring myself to say a single word to welcome her into our family. I only sat there in her lap, my thin little arms folded, my head resting against her heart, and I began to cry.
“Isis have mercy, what’s the matter with her?” I heard Father slap the arms of his chair impatiently and stand up. His shadow fell over me, wavering in the light of the oil lamps brightening our evening meal. “It makes no sense. I know she’s fond of you, and she can’t possibly remember her mother, so why is she crying? Nefertiti! Nefertiti, look at me! Tell me what’s wrong.”
His voice was so harsh and insistent that he didn’t sound like Father at all. I gave a little whimper of fear, threw my arms around Mery’s neck, and buried my face against her shoulder.
“Shhh, let her be, Ay,” Mery said softly. I didn’t realize it then, but that was the first time I’d heard anyone call Father by his name, Ay. I felt my nursemaid—my new mother—stand up with me in her arms. “She’s just overtired. Children need their sleep. I’ll put her to bed and you’ll see that everything will be fine in the morning.”
Mery was right: I did feel better the next day. My life had altered, but only in a few small ways, nothing to shake the earth or pull the stars out of the sky. Mery began to wear finer clothes, and she no longer slept in the room next to mine unless I was sick; that was about the sum of the changes. I did catch her sitting on Father’s lap out in the garden, and sometimes I surprised him kissing her, but the two of them always made such a big fuss over me when that happened that I stopped feeling annoyed with their silly winks and whispers and enjoyed the attention.
As happy as I was to have Father take Mery as his wife, I’d never suspected that the two of them were in love until they told me so. When the following year brought the next change into my life, it was no surprise. I knew all about it long before it happened. It’s almost impossible to keep the birth of a baby secret. My beloved Mery began to grow fat and fatter with each passing day. I’d seen enough pregnant women in the streets of Akhmin to know what that meant. By the time Father and Mery decided to tell me about the baby, it wasn’t news to me. I think they were disappointed by my indifference.
That changed on the day of the birth itself. Mery and I were eating breakfast together when suddenly she gasped and staggered to her feet, her hands on her belly. Before I could finish chewing the bit of bread in my mouth, a whirlwind of shouting servants, running slaves, and bustling strangers swept through our house. Our oldest serving woman herded me toward the garden in spite of my hungry protests just as two unfamiliar women—the midwives—came hurrying past me, bound for the bedroom where Mery had vanished. I was still arguing with the slave about my abandoned breakfast when the younger midwife found me and let me know I had a new sister.
“Well, that was quick,” the servant remarked. “You’re good.”
The young midwife spread her slender hands. “The gods be thanked, not me. The child is healthy and the mother is well.” Then she turned to me. “You must be the young mistress. Your mama wants you to come back inside.”
Mery was lying on her side in bed, nursing the newborn. She smiled warmly when she saw me. “Come and meet your sister, Mutnodjmet,” she said. She’d named the baby Mut-is-the-sweet-one, but I didn’t see anything particularly sweet about the red, wrinkled little person in Mery’s arms. After only a glance, I decided she was boring and became much more interested in two big bricks left on the floor near Mery’s bed. They were too heavy for me to pick up, so I squatted low and stared closely at the pictures carved on them.
“What are these?” I asked.
“Birthing bricks,” the older midwife replied as she and her colleague went about the task of tidying the room. “Your mama crouched on them when it was time for your sister to be born. It’s all right, you can touch them. I doubt you’ll break them.” She grinned, showing badly worn-down teeth. “Or their magic.”
“Magic?” With one fingertip, I traced the images of a parade of carved and painted goddesses. I recognized some of them—Hathor with her cow’s ears and horns, and of course Isis, but I was still too young to know all of the great divinities on sight. “Who’s this? She looks like a frog. And this one? She’s got a hippo’s head!”