He watched in fascination as I began slicing my dress off at the knees. Nava wanted to help, but Amenophis’s knife was large and keen-edged; I felt it wouldn’t be wise to let the child use it. Still she persisted. I was so distracted, constantly trying to make sure she wasn’t getting too close to the blade, that I made a very awkward, uneven job of shortening my dress. When I was done, I blew out a great breath of relief and tied the cutaway material around my waist. It might come in handy.
“Thank you.” I gave the knife back to Amenophis and swung my legs experimentally. “Do you think I made it short enough?”
“I guess so.” Amenophis sounded uncertain, and he was staring at me in the strangest way. “It’s—it’s really a shame that you had to ruin your dress. You don’t have to help at the oar.”
“I’ll have other dresses,” I told him. “But how many chances will I have to master a boat on the sacred river? Besides, did you even look at my dress until now? It was already tattered along the hem, halfway to rags.”
“I thought it was beauti—nice,” he said so softly that at first I wasn’t sure if he’d said anything at all.
Nava and I stepped back into the boat, and Amenophis pushed away from the bank. He’d agreed to let me guide our vessel, but he insisted that he be the one to get it out onto the water and bring it ashore. I didn’t argue about it, but I did make a silent vow to observe exactly how he launched and landed the craft so that I could do it myself another day. As much as I wished he’d trust me to do more, I felt it wasn’t worth any further objection. It was more important that we reach Dendera quickly than that I win an argument.
As soon as we were well away from the shore, Amenophis and I traded places, edging past one another carefully. We had to hold on to each other as he moved toward the middle of the boat and I headed for the stern. How strange it was—his hands were so cold when they clasped my shoulders that I could feel the chill even through what was left of my dress.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Fine.” He wouldn’t look at me. “I’m—I’m only trying to keep my balance.”
“Me too,” I said, reaching the stern and picking up the oar. Lowering my voice so that Nava wouldn’t hear me, I added, “I’ve fallen into the river once in my life. That was enough.”
Now he did look at me, his face sharp with worry. “Can’t you swi—?”
“Shhh!” I nodded toward the prow, where Nava was sitting, and gestured for him to speak as quietly as he could. Neither one of us wanted the child to overhear a conversation that might conjure up tragic memories.
“Can’t you swim?” he repeated in a whisper.
“I can stay afloat.” When I’m not weighed down by heavy jewels and a long dress, I thought. “And you?”
“Father’s best huntsman insisted on teaching Thutmose and me how to swim before he took us on our first waterfowling trip. I should teach you and Nava.”
“I’d like that. You’d be a good teacher.” My words made him beam with pleasure.
My first turn managing our boat went well. I made only a few small mistakes—coming too close to one of the larger ships on the river, scraping the bottom of our vessel when I accidentally veered us into a stretch of shallows—but they were soon corrected, with no harm done. By the time we made camp for the night, I’d had two more chances to show my skill with the oar, and I was sure I was getting better at it.
“A good day’s work!” I said as we shared our dinner.
That night, I slept without dreams, good or bad. I awoke refreshed, even though it was so early that Ra’s brightly shining boat still hid its golden prow below the horizon. There was a light mist on the river, soon banished when the eastern sky began to kindle, then to glow. I walked down to the river’s edge, drawn by the light. A lone blue lotus floated on the ripples that lapped against the shore, and I knelt to touch its delicate petals with my fingertips.
“How wonderful,” I whispered, and I thanked the gods for giving us a new day.
I was seated in the middle of the boat as we began that day’s voyage. It was still very early, and there weren’t many other boats on the water. Nava began to sing a merry tune, clapping her hands to keep the beat. It was a work song, something I’d heard slaves sing when they had a long, tedious job to do. The words were simple and repetitive, the melody brisk and lively. I had no trouble joining in. Even Amenophis raised his voice in song. How lighthearted we felt, how free!
“Look there, Nefertiti!” The happy song had vanished from Nava’s lips. She sounded afraid, far more afraid than when she’d seen the crocodiles. Her small hand shook as she pointed to the eastern shore of the sacred river. A herd of hippos lolled in the water, their huge heads turning lazily to watch us as we floated by.
I crept forward slowly until I was close enough to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I see them, Nava,” I said softly. I tried, but I couldn’t stop my voice from quavering. Who wouldn’t be afraid of those massive beasts? Only a fool or a foreigner who had no idea of how dangerous a hippopotamus could be. Their enormous bodies looked too bulky to move easily, but that was an illusion. “Shhh, it’s all right; we’ll be past them soon.”
“Yes, don’t worry,” Amenophis chimed in. “See, they’re all the way across the river. They’re feeding. There’s no need to be—”
The water to the left of the prow erupted with a roar that drowned our screams, and our boat of bundled reeds flew wildly as the lone hippo rose from the depths to destroy us.
2
THE LAND OF THE DEAD
The hippo’s square jaws gaped, his terrifying tusks dripping with water and foam. His breath enveloped us in a wave of heat and the smell of rotting greens as his bellow of blind rage dinned in our ears. Nava shrieked and dug her fingers deep into my skin. While Amenophis and I had been whispering shaky reassurances to the little girl, we’d kept our gazes on the herd of hippopotamuses lolling on the eastern bank. We’d neglected to turn our eyes west, even for a glance. If we’d done that, perhaps we might have spied two wickedly flicking ears just above the waterline, a pair of tiny, spiteful eyes watching us, even a telltale trail of bubbles on the river’s surface.