“Now you are ready to give birth like a proper lady,” Ahmose said to Mutnofret, taking over walking duties again. She expected a wan smile, but Nofret’s eyes were half closed and she breathed heavily, moaning with each breath. Sweat glistened on her lip and forehead. “I can’t do this,” she muttered.
“What?” Ahmose leaned closer.
“I can’t. I can’t do it!”
“Mutnofret. Of course you can.”
“Anupu take me!” Her voice rose to a wail. Ahmose shrank back, cringing from the words, from the change in her sister’s behavior. A moment ago Mutnofret had been plodding about as resolute as Hathor’s cow, and now she was crying out to die! So this is how it starts. How the danger begins. Mutnofret would die, huge, frightened, in pain, and Ahmose would live the rest of her life knowing she let her sister go to her tomb without ever truly mending the break in their love. The midwife and her women leapt into action, steering Ahmose away, surrounding Mutnofret, guiding her to the pavilion. One brought the ugly stool from inside Mutnofret’s bed chamber; another struck a small brazier alight and tossed herbs into the fire. One woman piled linens inside the pavilion. They were just like the linens that had soaked up Aiya’s blood.
If Nofret could not do this thing – Nofret, the brave one, the brash one – then what woman could? Dizziness took hold of Ahmose’s head. She clutched at something hard and steady – the back of one of the chairs. Her legs trembled.
“Come, Great Lady, come,” the midwife said to Mutnofret, easing her toward the pavilion where death waited.
Nofret screamed.
Blackness crept up before Ahmose’s eyes, obscuring Mutnofret’s feet, legs, the obscene swell of her belly, and finally her face, mouth stretched open in a wail of pain that Ahmose no longer heard. The world had gone silent.
“Ahmose. Great Lady.” The voice was a whisper. A hand shook her shoulder. She sat up in her own bed, and cried out in pain as a white fire leapt into her head just above her left ear. The room was awash in late afternoon light. It hurt her eyes. Ineni perched on a stool beside her.
“What happened?”
“They tell me you fainted. You hit your head on a chair. No one could leave Mutnofret, so somebody called for me.”
“You carried me back?”
He flushed. “With the help of a guard.”
“Where is Twosre?”
“Gone to help with the birthing.”
“My sister?”
“Last I heard, she is doing well. The midwives are not afraid for her.”
It was good news, but she felt only dread. The look on Mutnofret’s face. Her scream. She had implored Anupu to take her life away. “I can never do it, Ineni.”
His look darted from her eyes to her lips to her hands, as if he might find some words to say there. He reached out to pat the back of her hand awkwardly. The gesture was so sweet, so informal, that she lost all countenance and threw her arms around his neck with a childish impulsivity. Tears stung her eyes. Ineni’s arms were around her in an instant. He rocked her very gently. Finally he pulled back, a stony look on his face. He would not meet her eye.
“I saw Aiya die, and now Mutnofret in the same state, calling out for death. I cannot bear a child.”
“But it will cost you the throne. Sooner or later, it will. If Mutnofret has a son – when she has a son – it will cost you everything.”
“No, it will not. You have the letters? And the feathers?”
“It is a hard thing. Few hunters are taking the right kinds of birds. It will take longer than I had hoped, unless…”
“Only egrets and sea-birds. No ibis. No vultures. Those are sacred.”
“Sea-birds do not come so far south. Not often.”
“Can you send to the north for feathers?”
“Ah, I can try.”
She nodded. It would take time to make the right preparations, but it would work. It had to work. She and Ineni had devised the cleverest plan under the sun. It would not fail. She thought of Nefertari, of Meritamun dying, and shoved away creeping guilt. She had no time for guilt. No time, if she was to save her place in this world – her place at Tut’s side. People do horrible things when they are at war.
“Keep working at it,” she said. “I know now I cannot bear a child. Whatever the Pharaoh's dream meant – whatever my dream meant – I cannot bear a child. This is my only way to hold on.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WHEN TWOSRE BROUGHT THE NEWS that a Royal Son was born, Ahmose sent the servant away. Not in anger, but so that she could have privacy to reflect upon what she would say, what she would do. As she sat quietly in her garden, stretching her legs along a bench beneath a canopy of winter-dried vines, nursing her aching head with wine and honey, Twosre arrived with more news. Baketamun’s child had come early that morning, just hours after the Royal Son. A girl.
She remained in her garden for some time, alone, preparing to meet her nephew. She took great care with her appearance, just as Mutnofret had taught her, applying her paints with a careful hand, choosing the most select of her gowns, the most impressive of her jewels. When she looked the part of the Great Royal Wife, she departed for Mutnofret’s apartments.
Mutnofret welcomed Ahmose into her bed chamber. The second wife walked stiffly and sat on her bed with great care, wincing, but the smile hardly left her face. Ahmose was dimly glad for her sister’s happiness, but inwardly, she frowned at the wrinkled red baby lying on the bed. Mutnofret scooped him up and pulled a heavy breast free of her loose white gown. The boy sucked and smacked loudly. Mutnofret grinned.
“What are we to call the new Royal Son?” Ahmose asked, watching the greedy little thing wave his weak hands.
“Wadjmose. His name is Wadjmose.”
“He looks healthy and strong.”
Mutnofret looked up, a reply on her lips. Then her smile widened. She was looking past Ahmose’s shoulder. She laughed; not her usual throaty, low laugh, but a girlish giggle. Ahmose didn’t need to look around to know that the Pharaoh had arrived to greet his son.
“Well!” Thutmose brushed by Ahmose to sit at Mutnofret’s side. His weight pulled the bed down so that Mutnofret’s body slanted against his. She leaned her head on his shoulder for a brief moment, and he reached around her back to pull her in tighter. Ahmose chewed her lip. “He is a fine boy,” Tut said, his voice rounded and warmed by pride.
“Wadjmose,” Mutnofret said.
“A perfect name.” Tut reached to touch the boy. Without releasing the nipple, Wadjmose clutched a wrinkled fist around Tut’s finger. “Strong grip! The gods are good; he has his father’s hands. Let us hope he does not grow up to have his father’s teeth!”
Ahmose stepped closer, determined not to be overlooked. “Have you chosen a wet nurse yet, Mutnofret?”
“I had a few in mind, but I don’t have to make a decision for a few days. Oh, it would be divine to nurse him forever!”
“You’ll ruin your breasts,” Ahmose said sensibly. “What about Baketamun? She gave birth to your daughter early this morning, Thutmose.”
“Did she? I am doubly blessed! Has a man ever had a finer day?”
“I cannot take Baketamun out of the House of Women to nurse my child. She won’t want her breasts ruined, either. She is the daughter of a great man, after all. No, it will have to be a servant. I suppose if none of the women in the palace can do it, I can find a nurse from among the rekhet.”
Ahmose was annoyed. If she could get Baketamun’s daughter into the court, perhaps Wadjmose would lose his novelty, and some of his inevitable power over the nobles – and over Thutmose.
“You won’t want to take the time away from caring for him, though, to find a nurse.” Tut said. “You only have a few days to nurse him, after all. Ahmoset, why don’t you find the Royal Son’s nurse? I know you will choose a good one.”
The last thing Ahmose wanted to do was interview big-breasted rekhet to nurse her treacherous nephew, but she was so pleased to hear her name o
n Tut’s lips that she nodded like a fool. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“Oh, will you, Ahmoset?” Mutnofret beamed at her. “It would be such a help to me.”
“Of…of course, Nofret. I will do it today.” The sooner she had it done, the sooner she could return to life as it was before the child arrived.
“There’s a good aunt,” Tut laughed. “And this evening, Ahmoset, I will take you on a ride. All the way out to the desert! I want to look on the whole land. I could shout from the palace roof, I’m so thrilled. Was ever a man as blessed as me?”
“You found a good nurse for Wadjmose?” Tut reined the horses to a walk.
Far to the west, across river and valley, the horizon was blurred with dust – a wind storm out in the dunes. The sunset would be especially beautiful tonight. Ahmose was glad to be here with her husband, gliding in their chariot along the crest of the hills above the valley. The waters of Akhet had receded, leaving behind deep black silt. From their vantage in the sky, it seemed all of Egypt lay dark and fresh below them, unrolled along the banks of the river like a dropped scroll. Planting would begin soon, the farmers treading the fields with bare feet, spearing holes into the earth, dropping seeds, praying for an abundant growing season, just as it had been forever, all the way back to the beginning of the world. This season was a time for nurturing, for making things grow. Children, ah; and plans, too.
“A palace woman. She has raised two healthy boys on her milk. I think Mutnofret will like her, and she will do a fine job looking after the prince.”
“I am glad to hear it. It was kind of you to take on the duty. We will welcome her as part of our household.”
“You are pleased with Wadjmose; I can tell.”
“What father wouldn’t be?”
“Have you been to see Opet?”
“Baketamun’s little girl? Ah, yes. She’s a fine one, too. Such thick hair! She will make a fine wife for a fat, wealthy nobleman some day.”
“Baketamun hopes she will stay in the House of Women, to carry on for Wadjmose when he is Pharaoh.”
Tut drove on in silence for some time. At length he said gently, “Wadjmose will not be Pharaoh, Ahmoset. You know that.”
“Why shouldn’t he be? You said yourself he is a fine boy.”
“You know why.”
“Because of the dream, yes. I know how you feel. But I have told you so many times, Tut: when I prayed for clarity to read the dream, it was all confusion. I cannot say what the gods intend. Not from hearing your dream, anyway.”
“I know what they intend, dear one. I don’t need your powers to show me the meaning of my dream, though I hoped you would be convinced yourself, after you heard it.”
All those months since Ahmose had seen the river of stars, the vision of Mut and the shining child, had brought her no clarity. Nothing about Tut’s dream or her own had convinced her to risk bearing a child; and Mutnofret in labor had only firmed Ahmose’s fears. Surely, despite what the midwives said, Mutnofret had been near to death. Why else would she have cried out for Anupu to take her? It was a grave thing, to call on the jackal-headed one, a thing not done lightly. Mutnofret must have stood at death’s very door. No – childbearing was too dangerous. It was not worth any risk. Not while there was another way to hold onto the throne, and Tut.
The edge of the sun dipped into the band of dust streaking the western sky. The desert caught fire, distant hills and cliffs flaring hot, all the crevasses and contours of the earth’s bones leaping forward in sharp purple contrast. “Lovely,” she said, pointing, changing the subject.
Tut stopped the horses. They stood together on the chariot’s platform, admired the sight of the fiery god Re sinking into his night's rest, listened to the horses blow and snort, the struck-bronze chipping of birds among the scrub. Ahmose had to shield her eyes with her hands, peeking through her fingers at the blazing sky. Her eyes watered from the brilliance of Re’s final light. She blinked the wetness away.
“The gods bless us; that is sure,” Tut said. She ducked under his arm, pressed close to his body. A fine thing, to be here alone with him on an evening such as this – and a thing all too rare now. With Wadjmose arrived, her time with Tut would be yet scarcer, more precious than ever before. Tonight was almost like their first ride, when they had been strangers swept together by the gods and by the desperate night.
“I have been thinking, Tut. Perhaps it is time Nefertari passed on the title of God’s Wife.”
“To you, I suppose?”
“Why not? I am god-chosen, and you know I am good with political matters.”
Tut nodded, looking down at her with one raised eyebrow. “You are at that. But why do you need such power, Ahmoset? As God's Wife, you would stand higher than all but the High Priest of Amun – higher even than Amun's priests. What need have you to control them? They support my rule; they are my friends.”
They might not support me, though, if I do not give you a son. Not with Wadjmose under their noses. “Oh, I don’t know.” She waved a hand as if she had no cares in the world. “It is just another means of ensuring their loyalty, I suppose. Only a woman can be a God’s Wife, of course. It may as well be your Great Royal Wife rather than her aging grandmother.”
Tut’s fingers rubbed absently at his chin. “It seems a lot of responsibility and work. Do you really want all that heaped upon your shoulders?”
Ahmose shrugged. “I am sure I will never have to use the power of the title. My grandmother never did – until she chose you as heir, of course.”
“Power.” The word caught at Tut. He watched the sun sink, his eyes deep in thought. At length he said, “I think not, Ahmose. I do not like the idea of dividing the power of our thrones. We should be a united force leading Egypt, not two working at different ends.”
“But we would be united! Tut, I would never send the priests off in a direction you did not approve. If I were God’s Wife, I would always consult with you in everything I did.”
“Put it out of your head for now, Ahmoset. I am not saying no. There may come a time when we need to have power over the Priests of Amun. They are strong, and I imagine they could get up to trouble, especially with me away again. But for now there is no need. Let us enjoy as simple a life as we can manage, while it remains simple.”
“Away again?” Her heart sank. “You are going out on another campaign?”
He squeezed her tight to him, then clucked the horses into a brisk walk. “It’s time to confront the Heqa-Khasewet. We put down the Kushites well enough, but I have been receiving reports that the north grows restless. I knew they would meddle with the Delta soon enough.”
“How long will you be away?”
“Not terribly long, I hope. Only as long as must be.”
“And when will you leave?”
“Not for a few more months. The army must be resupplied, and I need to recruit many more young men for this campaign.”
“It sounds dangerous. I imagine the Heqa-Khasewet are spoiling for another piece of Egypt. They will be treacherous, Tut.”
“When are they not? But cheer up,” he said. “With a little luck and the blessings of the gods, I will be back in a few months’ time and there will be a few thousand less Heqa-Khasewet to trouble us. And in the meantime, we still have at least until the end of Shemu together.” He kissed her, long and deep, setting her body aflame like the sun. Then he broke away and called to the horses. Ahmose was obliged to hold tight to the chariot's rail, exhilarating in the sudden burst of speed. It was a job to keep her feet. Tut drove like a mad man along the crest of the hill, laughing into the wind, sending up a trail of dust that glowed golden in the light of the setting sun. They flew like gods.
PART TWO
GOD’S WIFE
1504 B.C.E.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MERITAMUN DIED JUST AFTER THE new year. As the waters of the Iteru rose to immerse the valley, the former queen’s life ebbed away. Ahmose spent two days at her bedside, awkwardly ho
lding her cold hand until she drew her final ragged breath. She had known so little of this woman who gave all she had to Egypt. From her childhood she recalled only a sense of awe bordering on fear when she saw her mother presiding over court. From Ahmose’s own reign, she knew Meritamun as a quiet soul who tended her flowers in her estate garden, watering, weeding, cutting, keeping company with old Nefertari. Meritamun had been a stranger, an unreadable scroll from one end of her life to the other. Ahmose missed her all the same.
Three different messengers had been dispatched north to Thutmose with scrolls telling of Meritamun’s death. Three, in case any should be lost on the high river, or in the land of the Heqa-Khasewet. This news was too important to risk losing. It would take an entire moon’s turn to get the message to Tut's hands, and another moon to receive his reply.
Ahmose felt far more alone than she had when Tut went to war with the Kushites. Her servants were pleasant company, though. Twosre had improved her senet game enough to match Ahmose on the board, and Ineni shone some light onto her days. Whenever she could escape duties and dreams, Ahmose and Ineni would pole out across the palace lake, taking their supper on the cool water and laughing over the day’s politics. It was good to laugh now and then. It seemed Ahmose had small enough reason to smile of late. She was fifteen years old with the weight of the Two Lands hung about her neck.
Some days before the annual Men-Nefer festival, Ahmose and Ineni were sharing fish cakes and beer on the lake barge, swatting flies from their bare arms. Ineni told all the news from the stewards: men of influence petitioning to get their daughters into Tut’s harem, even though no one yet knew when the Pharaoh would return from the North; building projects Tut had commissioned, taking shape quickly now that Akhet had arrived and men were freed from tending the fields.
“And a rumor I heard, Ahmose – is your sister with child again?”
Ahmose sighed. “Yes, it seems to be so. I heard Mutnofret is four months along. She must have conceived just before Tut left.”
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