When the court dispersed and the noise died down, a messenger in plain robes came to me.
"The Pharaoh requests you. Alone. In the garden."
I stopped. Such an invitation was unusual. The ruler rarely spoke to her advisors without witnesses. There were always scribes, guards, or attendants.
I passed through the colonnade and stepped into the palace garden. The air was heavy with the scent of lotus flowers, fish glimmered in the pond, and birds from the south perched on the branches.
Sobekneferu stood by the trees, without her crown, without any entourage. Only in a simple linen tunic, far from her usual majesty. When she turned to me, her face was serious.
"Amenemhet," she said directly. "Come closer."
I stepped forward and bowed. "Pharaoh."
For a while she was silent, as if weighing whether to speak. Then she said in a voice softer than I had ever heard from her:
"Today you showed that you not only speak, but defend your words. That the changes you propose have meaning. So today I will tell you something not everyone knows."
I looked at her. In her eyes was hardness, but also a trace of weariness.
"Egypt is strong," she continued, "but not as strong as it seems. In the south, tribes rise that refuse to pay tribute. In the north, neighbors test our borders. Inside the country, too many priests and officials think their word carries more weight than mine. And I… I am a woman on the throne. That they will never forgive me."
She clasped her hands behind her back and stared into the water.
"Every day I must prove I am worthy to rule. Not only to enemies, but to my own people. And although they pretend to support me, I know many are waiting for me to stumble. One mistake, and I fall."
I stayed silent. It was the first time she had spoken to me without masks, without distant majesty.
"That is why I called you," she said at last. "Today you showed that you see more than others. That you are not blinded by priests or soldiers. I need someone who will tell me the truth, even when it is unpleasant. Not just what I want to hear."
Slowly she turned to me. "Will you be that man, Amenemhet?"
I looked directly into her eyes. In them I saw strength and doubt, resolve and fear. She was not only Pharaoh—she was a woman carrying the whole kingdom on her shoulders.
"If you trust me," I said firmly, "I will speak the truth. I will look for solutions, even if you dislike them. But I will never lie to you."
She studied me for a long time, then finally nodded. "That is what I wanted to hear."
For a moment there was only silence, broken by the wind in the trees. Then she added:
"From today you are not only an advisor. You will be my confidant. And if the day comes when I must face all those who want to bring me down, I want you to stand beside me."
"I will be there," I promised without hesitation.
A faint smile touched her lips—the first I had seen that was personal, not made for the court.
"Good, Amenemhet. From now on, you belong to my closest circle. Do not fail me."
---
Sobekneferu leaned against a low stone wall and looked at the surface of the pond, where lotus flowers floated slowly.
"Something is happening in the south that I can no longer ignore," she began. "The Meza tribe has stopped paying grain taxes. They refuse to send supplies to Memphis or to the palace. They claim the land belongs only to them, and that a pharaoh has the right only to what he can seize with his own hand."
Her voice was cold, but her eyes betrayed concern.
"I have sent collectors twice," she went on. "Neither returned. People say they were killed. If other tribes join them, our grain stores will shrink and the city will starve."
She turned to me. "My generals say: send the army, crush them. The priests say: it is a sign from the gods that a woman should not sit on the throne. Both are dangerous. The first risks war, the second undermines me from within."
I thought for a moment, then asked: "What of your garrisons in that region? Do you have men from there you trust?"
"Not many," she admitted. "The army is scattered, most of it in the north to guard the borders. In the south we hold only forts along the Nile. It is not enough."
I nodded slowly. "I have listened to the people in the city. The Meza are not only rebels. They are opportunists. Sometimes they backed the palace, other times they turned against it. Always whichever side gave them more."
Sobekneferu's hands clenched. "And now they think defiance gives them more."
"Exactly," I said. "But war will not break them. The more you strike them, the more they will resist. If you want them to join you, you must give them a reason. Not only fear, but also advantage."
She tilted her head, studying me. "What advantage should I give traitors?"
"Not to all," I clarified. "Only to their leaders. Offer them that if they bring tribute and swear loyalty, they will sit at your table. Give them a title that sounds grand—'Overseers of the Southern Fields.' Let them feel they rule alongside you."
Her lips curved into a faint smirk. "So you say I should let the wolf into the sheepfold?"
"No," I shook my head. "I say turn the wolf into a watchdog. Then he no longer sees you as prey, but as the hand that feeds him."
Sobekneferu fell silent, but a spark lit in her eyes. The idea pleased her.
"And if they refuse?" she asked.
"Then," I said calmly, "their refusal will prove to all that they seek only chaos. And only then can you send the army without fear people will see it as injustice. It will be punishment, not tyranny."
Her lips pressed together, then she nodded. "You have more sense than my generals. More than my priests. This is what I needed to hear."
She stepped closer, her voice lower. "From this day you will be at all my councils. I will not decide without hearing your voice."
I bowed, but not too deeply. "I will give all that is in my power."
Her gaze softened for a moment. "That is all I ask
Sobekneferu looked down at the stone pavement near the pool for a moment, then turned back to me. There was a determined glint in her eyes.
"If your plan is to work," she said, "I need someone to go directly among the Meza. Not a messenger they'll laugh at or kill. I need someone with words and reason. Someone I trust."
She took a step closer. "I want you to go."
For a moment my throat tightened. This wasn't a small task – to go among a tribe that had already refused obedience, and try to win them over. But when I saw the way she looked at me, I knew this was more than an order. It was trust.
"I'll go," I nodded. "But if I am to speak in your name, I must have someone at my side whom I trust."
"You may choose one," she replied. "But only one. I don't want you to go with a troop of soldiers. They must see you come to talk, not to fight."
I didn't hesitate. "I'll take Karem."
Her brows lifted for a moment, then she nodded. "The young soldier? Why him?"
"Because he knows how to listen," I answered. "He has courage, but also humility. And if he is to be a commander one day, he must see how battles can be fought with words, not only with weapons."
Sobekneferu smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly. "Very well. You and Karem will go south. Bring me their answer – either their loyalty, or the reason for war."
I drew a deep breath and bowed. "I won't fail
I walked out of the palace into the courtyard, where young soldiers were training with short spears. The sound of wood striking wood echoed across the stone, their shouts setting the rhythm. Among them, I immediately recognized Karem—tall, broad-shouldered, his movements sharp and precise. His face was focused, but when he saw me, he set aside his spear and hurried over.
"Amenemhet!" he greeted me, his voice cheerful and friendly. "It's been a while since I've seen you out here with us. Did you finally come to show us the proper way to hold a shield?"
I allowed myself a small smile. "Not today. Today I bring news that may change your life."
Karem grew serious and straightened his posture. "What's going on?"
I looked him directly in the eye. "The Pharaoh is sending me as an envoy to the Meza. She wants me to speak with them about a peace agreement. But not with an army—just me, and one other man. I chose you."
For a moment, he was silent. Then a grin spread across his face, though his respect for me remained clear. "Me? Why me?"
"Because you are both brave and level-headed," I answered. "And because I want to teach you. If you're ever to rise higher, you must learn more than fighting. You must know how to speak, to listen, to understand."
Karem ran a hand through his hair and chuckled nervously. "I never thought I'd be chosen to stand at your side for something like this. War is simpler—there, weapons clash, and the outcome is clear. But this… this is different."
I placed my hand on his shoulder. "That's exactly why I'm taking you. So you'll see that strength isn't only in the spear. Sometimes words decide more than dozens of men."
His eyes gleamed, though his voice was firm. "If you believe I'm worthy, I'll go with you. And whether the Meza welcome us or reject us, I'll stand at your side."
I nodded. "Good. Then prepare yourself. At dawn we leave. Take only what's necessary—a spear, a bow, a short sword, and a shield. We're not going to fight, but we must be ready."
Karem smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. "As always—you think of everything. You know, sometimes I feel like you're more than a counselor or a healer. As if you know more than any of us."
For a moment I stayed silent, then answered only: "Perhaps I do, perhaps not. But one thing I know for certain—you are my companion now. And tomorrow it begins."
Karem laughed, this time without any nervousness. "Then tomorrow it is. And may the gods stand with us."