With shaking fingers, Ahmose managed to untie the knot of the simple white linen dress she had worn to the temple. She let it fall to the floor. She felt the need to spin flax, to center herself, lose herself in the rhythm of the spindle and distaff. But there was no time. In less than an hour she was expected at the feast, where she would sit with Thutmose and Mutnofret while drunken nobles fell all over each other and bad poets caterwauled for her approval. There was nothing she felt less like doing than feasting. Aiya’s tomb needed planning, and Ahmose should check with the embalmers to be sure the preparation of both bodies was proceeding well.
But duty called. It always did.
Resigned to the feast, she held out her arms so Renenet could dress her. It was kind of her cousin to see to her today, when her heart was so badly broken. It was kind of Renenet to advise her, to care. She would do her best to make Reni happy. Thutmose, too. Though her heart was with Aiya and the baby boy, she would do her duty.
Ahmose left her apartment at the House of Women reluctantly, trailing her hand along one of the beautiful painted walls all the way to the door. She glanced back only once, looking through her open chamber doorway out to the garden. After the feast, she would be shown to her new rooms in Waset’s royal palace. Who will have this room now? Will it stand empty until I have a daughter to fill it? A daughter – no, not that. Nor a son. The thought of her home remaining quiet and unloved through all the years to come filled her with regret. Before she could cry again, she left her old apartment, closing the door behind her resolutely.
Renenet waited in the hall. “Are you sure you will not take more jewels, Ahmose?” The woman had been trying to force rings onto Ahmose’s fingers and chains about her neck all afternoon. Ahmose had given in on only a few pieces: simple turquoise studs for her ears and nose, a wide bracelet of unadorned gold, and a bloodstone ring carved with the face of Iset.
“No, Reni. I want to be understated.”
“Where did you get an idea like understated? This is your wedding feast!”
Ahmose felt ill. Another of Mutnofret’s deceptions? But what did it matter? She was resolved to be the best Great Royal Wife Egypt had ever known. She did not need trappings to make the court see her as Thutmose’s divine partner. If Mutnofret had tricked her into looking shoddy, then Ahmose would turn the deception around on her sister. She could be as confident and splendid as a goddess, even in her plain green dress.
She and Reni climbed into the fine gilded litter that waited in the courtyard. Renenet drew the curtains, then turned to Ahmose with a look that said words were on their way.
“Yes?”
The plump woman shook her head. “Just…be careful. That is all.”
The litter bumped and rocked, raised into the air. Men’s voices called out to one another; they were underway.
Ahmose breathed deeply to loosen the stiffness of her neck and shoulders. As confident and splendid as a goddess, she reminded herself. “Be careful of what?”
Renenet sighed. They traveled in silence for some time. At last Reni said, “I’ve known you and Mutnofret all your lives, dear Ahmose. I know what your sister is like. Be careful of her. She is not happy with her station, no matter what she may tell you; I need not tell you that. And when Mutnofret is unhappy, the very gods are unhappy. I know she loves you, but I do not know whether her love or her anger is stronger.”
When they arrived at the palace, Mutnofret’s litter was already in the courtyard, curtains drawn. A servant appeared to help Ahmose to her feet. As she rose, Ahmose caught a flicker of movement from the other litter. A curtain twitched back; Mutnofret’s eye peeped out. The curtains whipped shut again. A hand emerged to twiddle its fingers in Ahmose’s direction. A greeting, she supposed. Ahmose shrugged. She did not return her sister's gesture.
She had arrived early, as it turned out. The magnificent expanse of the great feasting hall bustled with servants re-arranging tables, laying here and there bundles of flowers and cones of scented wax. Great bronze braziers stood alight at the foot of every pillar, sending streamers of fragrant smoke high into the air to pool like river fog against the painted ceiling.
She could not stay here, drifting about the hall while the servants prepared her feast. She was about to ask Renenet to stroll with her in the courtyard when she saw a few of her friends from the House of Women clustered in one corner. The women stood in a tight circle, evidently listening to Iryet, whose smiling mouth was half-hidden behind the conspiratorial cup of her hand. Ahmose headed toward them with Renenet in tow, drawn by their merry laughter. It would be good to laugh today.
Iryet saw her coming and broke off, bowed her head. “Great Lady, you honor us.”
“Stop that, Iryet! Don’t go treating me like I’m a goddess’s backside.”
Iryet looked genuinely confused. “But you are the Great Royal Wife now, Lady.”
“My name is Ahmose. That is what you will call me. Please, all of you. I am not used to this yet.”
Iryet threw an arm around Ahmose’s shoulders, pulled her into the circle. Ahmose flushed with pleasure and relief. She linked arms with her friends.
“We were just talking about your husband, Ahmose. Isn’t he fine! He has teeth like a hare, but that can be forgiven beside muscles such as his. Ooh, how I’d like to get my hands on him!”
Tuyu grinned. “Soldier’s arms. Much better than fat noble’s arms. I hope he likes to visit the House of Women once in a while. I am first in line.”
“Oh, but you don’t really want to do that, do you? I mean, I have to, but you can just…avoid it.” Ahmose looked at each woman’s face in turn. Some of them widened their eyes, startled; others were clearly amused. “But doesn’t it hurt?”
Iryet shrugged. “Perhaps the first time. It is nothing to weep over.”
An awkward silence descended. Ahmose's face burned hot. She had intended to look like a confident Great Royal Wife, and instead she had revealed her fears and made herself out to be a terrified child.
The women glanced about, as if daring one another to speak first. Tuyu opened her mouth, smiling, but blinked as if her thoughts had caught up with her, and shut it again. They do not want to admit to one another that they don’t like it. It is just as Mutnofret said.
“Your gown is pretty,” Tuyu said at once, apparently reaching for a change of subject. “The color agrees with your complexion.”
“You could use more jewels, though,” said Khamaat, slipping an ivory cuff off her wrist. She thrust it toward Ahmose. “Here, take this. It will look perfect with the gold bracelet.”
“Oh, and my necklace!” Baketamun reached up to undo the clasp of an ornate scarab collar. “It is lucky!”
“But I wanted to be understated,” Ahmose said, waving away their offerings. She was determined to turn Mutnofret’s trick around on her. She would not go loading herself with jewels at the last minute. Let Mutnofret see the true strength of a Great Royal Wife.
“Hisst!” Iryet elbowed Baketamun. “Here he comes!”
Ahmose raised her head from the group. Thutmose strode into the feast room, followed by the same young steward who had helped Ahmose and her sister through the crowded throne room the day Thutmose was named heir. The steward was reading aloud from a scroll. Ahmose caught her husband’s eye. He stopped, smiling, and bowed to her.
“Go talk to him!”
“What will I say?”
“For Mut’s sake, you’re married to him, you goose! Say whatever you want.”
“No.” She knew it was absurd that the idea of merely talking to Thutmose should make her so nervous. Hadn’t she ridden with him in the hills above Waset when he had been no more than a stranger? But he was not a king then, and she had been only the king's second daughter.
“It will be your first great act as Great Lady.” Iryet’s arm slipped out of Ahmose’s, reached across to link with Baketamun on Ahmose’s other side. Pharaoh's wife or no, she was shut out of the circle. The women giggled, watching her expecta
ntly.
“All right, then.” Ahmose took a deep breath and walked to her husband on weak legs.
“There is my Great Royal Wife,” he said, smiling.
“You look…well dressed.”
Thutmose laughed. “You can thank Ineni here for that. He’s hired a whole army of serving men to make me look more like a king and less like a soldier. It is quite a job, I am sure.”
Ahmose smiled at the steward. So Ineni was his name. “A very good steward. I remember how you led my sister and me through the crowd the day Thutmose was proclaimed heir.”
Ineni’s hands crinkled against his scroll. He smiled shyly at Ahmose’s praise.
“Not just a steward. An architect, sometimes, eh, Ineni? He designed the expansions your father made at Ipet-Isut.” Thutmose reached for Ineni’s shoulder, no doubt to squeeze it in a gesture of approval, but the steward flinched. Thutmose let his hand fall again, smiling. “Ineni is not very good at talking to pretty women when he doesn’t have a stick to hit nobles with, but he is always very good at reading lists. Lists are his great passion. He was just going over the wedding gifts with me. Why don’t you listen, Ahmoset? You can claim anything you like for your new apartments.” Thutmose waved for Ineni to continue with his scroll.
“From the jewelers’ guild, eighteen casks of jewelry for the wives of Thutmose.” Ineni’s voice shook. “From the steward of cattle, six black bulls. You can sacrifice them or breed them, whichever you like. From the merchant Hirkhepshef, a pleasure barge with rowers. From the carpenter Huy, many pieces of fine ebony furniture. From the horse-trader Pawera, six black stallions and sixteen red mares; very fine animals from what I hear.”
“Excellent,” Thutmose said, rubbing his hands together. “Anything you like, Ahmose? I think the pleasure barge would look nice in your room.”
She laughed. “Perhaps so, but I couldn’t choose from the gifts without Mutnofret.”
Thutmose glanced around the hall. “Where is she?”
“I last saw her out in her litter, in the courtyard.”
Thutmose dismissed Ineni. He stepped closer to Ahmose. The smell of him came to her powerfully, myrrh and horse-sweat and leather. It made her thoughts all a muddle until she exhaled. “Mutnofret told me you lost a friend three days ago, Ahmoset. I was sorry to hear it.”
“Aiya,” she said, caught off guard; and her eyes filled with tears.
Thutmose laid his hand on her cheek, softly. His thumb brushed a tear out of the corner of her eye, then lightly rubbed, fixing her kohl. “No tears now. She is with the gods. The baby, too.” His eyes were gentle, comforting.
“I am trying to set it aside, so I can enjoy our wedding feast.”
“There is no need to set your friend aside, or your grief. Honor her by remembering her. But Aiya’s ka is watching you: remember that, too. Although you cannot see her, she is here with us tonight, celebrating with us. She is happy for you, don’t you think? And she will be your friend always, in your heart.”
Thutmose. She wanted to say his name aloud, to show her gratitude for his kindness. His soft words made her feel calmer, more centered, the way she had always felt while spinning with Aiya. “I can feel her with me,” she managed at last. “Thank you.” Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard, and said again, “Thank you, Thutmose.”
He leaned in close, so their foreheads nearly touched. His scent overwhelmed her. “Call me Tut,” he whispered, as if they conspired in some secret mischief.
“Tut,” she breathed.
Mutnofret still had not showed by the time the stewards herded Ahmose and the king from the great hall. They were ushered to a waiting room, comfortably appointed and supplied with a senet board and a harpist. They played a distracted game, chatting and joking as the hour before the celebration fled. He told her stories of his battles and showed her a fearsome scar on his scalp, impulsively pulling his wig from his head. She had to help him reposition it; they both laughed as she fussed with its locks. By the time Ineni appeared to announce the hour, Ahmose was more confident with Thutmose than she had ever been.
“Where is Mutnofret? Is she trapped in a privy?”
Tut jackal-laughed. “She will show. She probably wants to make a grand entrance.”
Ahmose’s shoulders raised like a wary animal hackling. A grand entrance? With an effort, she soothed her own nerves. The grandest entrance Nofret could imagine would not be enough to shake Ahmose’s composure. She swore that to herself, and repeated it silently several times.
“Lord Horus,” Ineni called from the door.
Tut rose from his chair, adjusted the pleats of his long kilt. He looked so handsome and powerful in the formal dress; Ahmose blinked as she watched his hands move. “Well, then, it is time to go play king.”
Ahmose followed him from the waiting room and down the corridor to the great hall’s entryway. The noise of many voices carried through the great double doors. She was suddenly all a-flutter over the feast, welling up inside with anticipation and pride. She clutched at her stomach with both hands, pinching herself through the smooth fabric of the green dress. She did not think she could stand being alone, even for a few minutes while Tut was formally announced.
He stopped, turned back to look at her. The Eye-of-Horus pectoral hung askew across his chest. She reached up to straighten it on its golden chain; he caught her wrists. “A kiss for luck,” he said, and before she could blink, his lips touched her own. His kiss was there and gone in an instant, but her mouth tingled with its memory as he walked away. The complement of guards on the feast hall’s doors bowed to him, swung the huge carved and gilded doors wide.
“The heir to the Horus Throne, Thutmose,” the steward called. Hundreds of voices rose in a cheer.
Hidden by the door, out of sight of the crowd, Ahmose pressed a hand to her heart, squeezing her eyes shut, willing her breath to remain steady. Confidence. Confidence is all I need. I will make them see me as the Great Royal Wife. None will doubt me. When the shouts of the people died back, Ineni coughed politely. She sprang away from the wall. When she moved into the great hall, her steps were even and sure.
“The Great Royal Wife, King’s Daughter, God-Chosen, Ahmose.”
As one the guests rose to their feet, clapping hands, shouting approval, raising golden cups filled with sweet wine in her direction. She walked down the wide aisle between rows of tables, her eyes on the three thrones at the head of the room. Thutmose sat upon the center one, grinning down at her. His smile was all that mattered.
When she reached her throne, high-backed and adorned with a shining sun disc, Ahmose had one brief, soaring moment to look down upon her approving subjects. I am their Great Lady. They know it. A proud bearing had been all she needed to win their hearts.
But hardly had Ahmose settled into her throne when the steward announced Mutnofret. Her sister swept into the hall like the Iteru’s flood, undeniable, essential, rich. Far from being understated, Mutnofret glimmered like a vision. She wore unbleached linen of the loosest weave; every part of her body shone through the earthy fabric, more revealed than covered. Her breasts beamed like goddess’ faces, her nipples were dark jewels, her navel a pool to quench any man’s thirst. About her hips was a belt of golden links, hung with bright-beaded fringe. As she swayed toward Thutmose the fringe danced and parted, revealing the delta of her groin, a brazen invitation. Her arms, bound in countless cuffs and bracelets, sparkled like the river; gems clustered all about her, glowing, enthralling. Ahmose gasped, torn between admiration for Mutnofret’s beauty and shock at the audacity of this betrayal. She had expected some small deception. She had not expected Mutnofret to look like perfection made flesh – like Iset, like the queen of the gods herself.
Ahmose only realized how loudly the crowd had cheered Mutnofret when at last they quieted. Shamefully aware of how poor and child-like she truly looked, she found herself unable to meet any eye, especially her husband's. As it happened, this posed no great trouble, for Thutmose’s full atten
tion was on his second wife. He helped Mutnofret fix her perfumed wax cone to her lovely gleaming wig, touched her soft hand, told her she was beautiful, so beautiful.
Ahmose’s belly soured.
The night dragged on forever. Mutnofret was a perfect woman, graceful and winsome, beaming her approval at all the performers, brushing her arm now and then against Thutmose’s, her cheek against his shoulder. Thutmose was not unmindful of Ahmose, to be sure; he offered every dish to her first, asked her opinion of each performance. But all his attentions had the flavor of duty, not the adoration she craved.
Is this to be my marriage, then? A dutiful husband who cannot take his eyes off my sister, even for a moment? Then she recalled Meritamun, sacrificing everything for Egypt, and stilled her heart. The gods had given the throne to Ahmose for reasons only they knew. She had never failed the gods before. She would not fail them now. If her divine task was to be a dutiful wife, then so she would be. The harem women may read their love stories and dream of romance, but for Ahmose her heart and body could only be given to Egypt. This had been her fate and her obligation from the day her nurse laid her in her cradle.
She would tend to her task, and Thutmose to his. If she was lucky, their mutual work would grow into – something. Friendship, she may hope. But love? She leaned her elbows on the table to look past her husband at Mutnofret; the second wife tilted her head toward the king, laughing musically at something he had said.
Mutnofret would have his love, it seemed, while Ahmose must content herself with duty.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE FEAST DRAGGED ON MERCILESSLY. When at last it ended, thank all the gods, Ahmose escaped to her new quarters. The Great Royal Wife was granted an entire arm of the palace, a great pillared hall separated from the larger body of the complex by a courtyard, dappled now in moonlight. She nodded to the pair of guards on her chamber's entryway, allowed them to open the ornate doors for her.
The She-King: The Complete Saga Page 6