Part II


After Imhotep completed the spell, the first realization was that I truly recognized him. "Imhotep?" I asked in wonder, in joy. Although I had known who he was intellectually, and parts of me, the parts that remembered the past, loved him, emotionally I could not love him with all my heart. But after I remembered all that we had shared in the past, upon seeing him my heart filled with jubilation. I remembered how fiercely I had loved this man.

And when we kissed, the taste of his mouth, his scent, his tongue were familiar and delicious. The memories came cascading back, rippling into the body which had already known them but could not remember.

And two names sunk into my mind, surrounded by hate–Pharaoh and Nefertiti.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


I was the sixth child, the fourth daughter, born to a planter and his wife. I do not have many memories of my early childhood, for I only lived there until I was three or four years old.

We lived on the banks of the Nile in a relatively small home. His name was Montuhotep, and he was brother to a lowly member of the Med-Jai. He was not a poor man, but planting never creates great wealth and we were almost always strapped for cash. He was fickle in how he spent the extra money we had. Some weeks he might buy my mother fancy clothes–other weeks we might have almost nothing to eat. Because he could not save his money and he knew not how to plan for the future, my birth was difficult for my family.

My mother, Ubastet, named me Anuk Su Namun, which means "she who walks gently"*. Although she was a weak woman who was frightened of my father, she truly loved me. My few good memories of that time involve laying in her arms.

My father, however, was not a gentle man, but rather a hot-tempered, often angry man. When I was four there was a famine. It was a terrible year for crops and many starved. It was clear that, as was often the case in Ancient Egypt, the youngest daughters would be sold to be servants in high ranking households.

My older sister, Ankhmut, the fifth child of my parents, was six, and my father attempted to work out negotiations for us. We of course did not know what was going on, but I will always remember my mother those last few days: she cried and held us and kissed us and said her goodbyes. But when my father was around, she said nothing. Her weak soul became another thing for me to hate.

It turned out that my uncle's position as a Med-Jai was a blessing for my father. Instead of selling us, he gave us to the royal household as gifts to the Pharaoh. My uncle presented us as a show of goodwill–two loyal servant girls. For despite our young ages, we were mature. We knew how to act, how to hold our heads up. Even at four I could be put to work at sewing or running errands in the palace.

The Pharaoh, a young man then, was pleased with the gift, and my father's name was written down in one of the many books kept by his scribes. We were then led off to the servants quarters. I never saw my parents again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


I was a simple servant until I was thirteen. Do not be mislead by the word servant–we led very simple, yet easy, lives. It was the Jews and the Egyptian slaves who worked in the sun and built monuments and temples and statues, whose womenfolk worked night and day in the steaming kitchens. As gifts to the Pharaoh from a family member of the Med-Jai, and as women, we did not have to do strenuous labor. We served in the palace–we ran baths for the royal women, sewed skirts and tunics, served food at mealtimes, or polished the gold and silver plates on which the royalty ate. We wore simple tunics and simple black wigs. We were supposed to be background–unnoticed servants who all looked the same.

My sister and I stuck together through those long, uncertain years. Having no parents and no one to watch us or care what happened to us made us hard. We became tough, guarded, savvy as to the workings of the palace. We learned to listen, pay attention to gossip. But most of that time was peaceful–Seti I, or my Pharaoh, was a stable and well-liked ruler. Battles were few. Most of the gossip was unsubstantiated–people who have nothing to do and no power will do anything they can to grasp it. But nonetheless, Ankhmut and I learned to be careful. We trusted no one but each other.

We were so simple minded in those days. Even though we were savvy as to how to survive as servants, we never imagined that we could raise our station in life or be anything more than we were. I was naive. Our greatest wish was that at fifteen we would be chosen to be handmaidens to the oldest daughter, the Princess Nefertiti. Nefertiti was Seti's only daughter, although he had five sons. Although Seti would choose his successor, the son he wished to follow him, the brother Nefertiti married would become Pharaoh after his father. Blood lines passed through the oldest daughter. She was potentially the most powerful woman in Egypt.

The Queen, or Great Wife Neferet, had named her well. Nefertiti meant "a beautiful woman comes," and indeed the Princess was lovely. Even at eight or nine years old she was exquisite, with filmy and beautiful fabric woven around her delicate body. She was a most prized possession by the Pharoah and she was given anything she desired. Her brothers adored her, for she was their only sister. Nefertiti had hundreds of handmaidens who pampered and played with her, and in turn were pampered and treated as her friends.

It is not strange that I envied this girl.

Four years older than the princess, I fervently wished that I would be pretty enough to be chosen. It may seem strange to you that I did not know my own beauty. I had been brought up as a nothing, a girl servant whose parents had abandoned her. Ankhmet and I made few, if any, friends. There was no one to tell us if we were beautiful, since we all looked so alike in our simple tunics and coarse wigs. So what happened when I was thirteen was a shock. And it changed my life forever.



*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

* Ok, I have NO IDEA if that is what Anuk Su Namun means, or if it means anything, but it sounded like the kind of name that Anuk's mother would have named her, and as a name for her it is very ironic.

*Ok, actually, someone mentioned in the reviews that her name means "She who comes from the God Amun."  I don't know if this is true, but I am invoking artistic license here.

Which brings me to another point.  Elementoar made some, I think rather rude, comments about how I was completely incorrect in my Egyptian history and facts.  Yes, I was probably wrong, I am not an Ancient Egyptian scholar.  But let me point out briefly that this is fanfiction for a movie called The Mummy Returns.  It is clearly not historically accurate—it is about Mummies!--and although I changed a few things to make the story more realistic, I don't think that that comment was pertinent or particularly helpful, and I am not going to base my story on what would likely have happened in real life.  The movie certainly did not, so neither am I.  (Ok, enough, please enjoy the story!)