The She-King: The Complete Saga

by L. M. Ironside

  “You haven’t heard it from your sister yourself?”

  “I prefer to keep her at arm’s length. Mutnofret and her son are too treacherous for me, I’m afraid.”

  “Perhaps it is for the best. If you remain distant, she will have a harder time thinking of you as…”

  “As a child, I suppose you were going to say.”

  “As a weak woman. Never as a child.”

  “No, I suppose not. Not with these!” Ahmose patted her chest. She had finally grown breasts. Her hips were beginning to round, too. Twosre had been the first to comment, though Ineni was surely the first to notice, if his frequent blushes and always-downcast eyes were any indication. He blushed now and coughed, and reached for his beer. Mischievously, Ahmose wondered if he had ever lain with a woman. Surely not, as shy as he was. It was hard to picture Ineni in the kind of embrace she had seen between Mutnofret and Tut.

  “But in any case, I think you are right about distance,” Ahmose said. “If I can keep Mutnofret from my side – everywhere but at court; I cannot seem to be rid of her there – I may look more like a Great Royal Wife and less like a pebble for her to kick.”

  “If only you could hold court without her. I confess I do not trust her.”

  “Nor do I. She is all sweetness and ‘oh-dear-sister’ when we are together, but I can tell what she really thinks of me.” She fell silent, gazing out across the water to the gentle green slope of the gardens. She should be used to Mutnofret’s two faces by now, but it hurt all the same, to know that her own sister thought so little of her. Ahmose had coaxed a few rumors out of palace servants. Behind Ahmose's back, the second wife was all mockery and derision. Even when they were apart Ahmose could not stay out of Mutnofret’s bad graces.

  Ineni tugged at his sandal straps, following Ahmose’s gaze. They stayed silent and melancholy for some time until Ahmose broke the spell by slapping a particularly large and stubborn fly. “A victory for Egypt!” She dipped her smeared hand in the lake.

  “We know how Egypt fares against the flies. How against the Heqa-Khasewet?”

  Ahmose shrugged. “I know next to nothing at this point. It takes so long for letters to arrive. Last I heard the army was in Tyre, heading north along the coast. Tut expected to meet with the Heqa-Khasewet armies soon. He said there are rebel encampments all over Canaan. I fear for him.”

  “He is the best warrior Egypt has seen in generations, Ahmose. If any man can come through safely....”

  “I know, I know. But he is my husband. I fear for him all the same.”

  Ineni reached across their low barge table and patted her hand. “I know he will come back to you. I am sure he is eager to see you again. And anyway, with a god-chosen wife he is bound to have luck on the battle field.”

  “What is the mood among the Priests of Amun, with Thutmose away?”

  “Worried. They say Ipet-Isut is in need of repairs, and that other temples to the north had to give up most of their treasure to feed the army as it passed through.”

  “Bah. Tut brought plenty of food. He stripped the city’s grain stores nearly empty, not just in Waset, but at Nekhen and Perhathor. And he brought ample goods to trade as well.”

  “Undoubtedly. But what of the people left here in Waset? And in Nekhen, and Perhathor? This season…” His voice lowered, trailed away.

  “This season?”

  “The Inundation is not as high as it was last year.”

  Ahmose had not yet heard. Still, the flood was upon them, and the fields were covered, as far as she had seen. “So? The waters are still here. It’s not as if the fields won’t be fertile.”

  “Ah, the fields will produce, but how much? The predictions are grim. With all the stores depleted to feed the army, it could be a weak harvest. And the priests think to use talk of a lower flood to scare the land owners into paying more taxes. They think to blame the lower Inundation on Amun’s displeasure, and to claim that more tribute will ensure a wetter Akhet next year. With the Pharaoh gone away, they might have quite a lot of influence. And if they wring more taxes out of the people, there could be trouble.”

  Ahmose clicked her tongue. “I think I would have known if Amun were displeased.”

  “Of course. But it is a shaky time, you see, with the priests agitating the public with tales of Amun’s anger, and the grain stores lower than usual.”

  “That is troubling. But what can I do about it now? We cannot move on the temple yet.”

  “I agree. A shame, but it is as you say. We must wait until the time is exactly right. A woman of your talents, though – you belong in the temple.”

  I belong at my husband’s side, she did not say. It was the right thing to say, she knew, but with each passing day a greater distance opened between herself and the Pharaoh. With Tut away, it was easier to reflect on the difference in how he treated Ahmose and Mutnofret. He may ride with his Great Royal Wife, and call her his dear one, and say Mutnofret’s head was too hot; but his eyes when they looked at the second wife said something else. They were never so eloquent when they were on Ahmose’s face, or on her body. To Tut she was only the woman in his strange dream, holding the shining prince. Until she actually cradled that child in her arms, Tut’s heart would never be hers.

  And Thutmose may swear the dream-son had been promised, but Wadjmose was here now, and thriving. He grew stronger all the time. He was crawling now, and babbling. Soon he would be running about the palace, learning to speak properly, winning hearts at court. It was not Tut’s love for the child she feared – it was the court’s. If the nobles and priests supported Wadjmose as heir, why wouldn’t they clamor to set the mother of Wadjmose on the throne of the Great Royal Wife? The baby complicated everything, and another was growing in Mutnofret’s belly. Ahmose had to find somewhere to belong, and soon.

  They tied the boat to its mooring. Ineni helped Ahmose jump from the lake’s retaining wall to the lush green grass of the garden. His hand was warm and soft – a steward’s hand, so unlike Tut’s, with its calluses and leopard’s-paw strength. They walked down the garden path, close together, in no hurry to return to their duties. It was a fine thing, to have a real friend again. Aiya was long gone, and there were so few people Ahmose could trust.

  A shaded bench invited them. It was set far back from the path, cast in deep green shadow, screened on three sides by a dense stand of high, flame-red lilies. They sat for a time in the evening haze, Ahmose giggling over one of Ineni’s clever jokes. Another stubborn fly had begun to hound her, drawn, she supposed, to her sweet perfume. It landed on her cheek, and she slapped it hard, wincing at the blow, laughing so much she had to blink back tears.

  “It is all over you! Your face is smeared with it.”

  “At least I killed the blasted thing.” She swiped her cheek with the back of her hand, but Ineni made a disgusted face.

  “You just made it worse. Here, let me.” He licked his thumb and rubbed at the smeared fly. His fingertips lingered along the line of her jaw for a moment. The smile faded from his lips; his dark eyes were serious, intense.

  A heat rose up in Ahmose’s middle. All in a moment, she wondered what Ineni’s soft hands would feel like on her body, touching her the way Tut had touched her the night after the wedding feast. And in one moment more, she knew it could never be. What a wicked thing, for the Great Royal Wife to consider such wantonness! Ahmose turned her face away from him, smiling to soften the gesture – and her eyes took in, all at once, a thin form with wide, staring eyes standing among the lilies.

  “Oh!” Ahmose said, reaching a hand toward the woman. But she was gone in a rustle of leaves.

  “Wasn’t that one of your sister’s women?”

  “Sitamun, Mutnofret’s body servant. What was she doing here, I wonder?”

  “Nothing good, I am sure.”

  The sound of fast water filled Ahmose’s head – her own blood rushing in her ears. “She was spying on us!”

  Ineni stood. “I think it is best if we avoi
d each other for a time.”

  “But we weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “That will not be what Mutnofret thinks. I just pray the damage is not already done.”

  Ineni was probably right. He was always right. But Ahmose balked at the idea. Just when she had begun to enjoy a true friendship, just when she had found someone she could trust. It was so unfair, that Mutnofret should drive a wedge between them. Mutnofret had found a way to win. Again! “No. I am not going to stop spending time with you, Ineni. I need your friendship. You are the only thing that makes me happy! Let Mutnofret think what she will.”

  “Ahmose, be sensible, please. This is not just about Mutnofret. She will find a way to use this against you if she can. Continuing to spend time together alone will only give her more ground to build her lies upon.”

  “But what of our plan?”

  “We can still carry it out when the time is right. We will need to communicate by letter, that is all.”

  By letter. Just as with Thutmose. Must all her relationships be by letter? Would she be in isolation forever? She kicked hard at a branch lying on the grass. It sailed across the path and clattered into the bushes. “I hate Mutnofret! She ruins everything. Everything!”

  Ineni’s gentle hand was on her shoulder. She turned to look up at him. His eyes were sad now, not hungry. “She will not win in the end, Ahmose. I promise you.”

  Sitamun was gone. There was no one to see. She wrapped her arms around Ineni, holding him hard against her. “She will not win in the end.” Her lips brushed his cheek, a farewell kiss between the best of friends. Then she walked away from him. She looked back only once to see him staring down at his feet, his face burning.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE MEN-NEFER FESTIVAL WAS OVER. The Inundation drew to a close. Day by day the waters sank lower; more of the Black Land, freshly darkened by rich silt, emerged with each sunrise. Ahmose longed for Thutmose more with each new day, too. Minding court alone was a heavy burden. She longed for Ineni as well. She laughed and smiled little now that they must see each other only at court. Ineni was her happiness, and his absence from her daily life was distressed her. All Ahmose wanted to do now was spin flax. With her heart distant, she was detached from the day-to-day business of governing the Two Lands. She was irritable, snappish; it was impossible to focus on judging and ruling. It was yet more impossible to ignore Mutnofret’s impertinence.

  Late one morning, as court drew to a blessed end, Ahmose felt especially restless and eager to retreat to the coolness of her rooms. Ineni approached the throne and bowed apologetically, first to Ahmose, then to Mutnofret. “Great Ladies, there is an urgent dispute. I know you are eager to conclude the session, but the governor of Waset has sent this case to you: a quarrel between the noble men Djau and Minnakht, land owners on the southern end of the city.”

  Ahmose groaned inwardly. “What is the quarrel?”

  “A question of territory. The two men refused to allow the tjati of Waset to settle the issue. He has been working with them for over a week, it seems; they are not giving any ground, either one. The tjati asks that the throne make a final decision.”

  “Send them in.”

  Minnakht and Djau were much like any other of Waset’s land owners. They were stout men, not heavy from hard work like Thutmose, but soft of body with the round features of those who eat plenty and labor infrequently. They marched into the great hall behind Ineni, looking anywhere but at each other. After they made their proper bows to the throne, Ahmose said, “What is your complaint?”

  “Djau has been trying to steal my land, Great Lady.”

  “I have done no such thing, Great Lady, as Thoth is my witness! Minnakht tried to put up his field-markers many spans further north than he has ever done before.”

  “The flood knocked them down! I was putting them back up where they fell. Djau is lying about the boundaries.”

  “No such thing! No such thing! Minnakht is a scoundrel; everybody knows it, Great Lady.”

  “You dare to call me a scoundrel! You poisoned three of my cattle last year!”

  “They died because you are too stupid to keep them out of the barley. They bloated! I will not be blamed for your lack of…”

  Ahmose clapped her hands sharply for silence. The men, fuming, shut their mouths. “If I understand correctly, the field-markers that define the borders between your two estates fell during the flood.” Djau nodded. “And you took your dispute to the tjati.” Minnakht coughed, looked away. “The tjati was unable to find a suitable solution to your problem. Is this because the tjati is poor at his work, or because you two quarrel like little children?”

  Neither man answered.

  Ahmose drew in a breath to go on, but before she could, Mutnofret spoke up. “Either the two of you will settle this matter between you, or tomorrow I will send the Steward of Cattle to collect half of each of your herds.”

  The land owners gaped, but neither spoke. Ahmose’s face burned.

  Mutnofret went on, “And if your land-markers are not up within three days in a position that suits you both, the throne will take six spans of land between both your estates. That ought to keep you from fighting with one another in the future.”

  Ahmose blinked. Absurd. A punishment that did not fit the crime; indeed, there was no crime here, no reason to threaten fees and seizures. These two men needed an authority to settle their squabble; that was all. But the words were spoken – words that were Ahmose’s to speak by rights, not her second wife's.

  Even so, Ahmose could not contradict Mutnofret. To do so would make the throne look as contentious as these two men. She swallowed her anger, and held up a hand in dismissal. “The second wife has given you her ruling. You may go. Ineni, assign a steward to see that Lady Mutnofret’s wishes are carried out.”

  Ineni blanched, holding Ahmose’s eye for a heartbeat. She could read his thoughts on his face: You cannot let her push you like this.

  No, I cannot, she said to herself. Thutmose should have put a stop to it long ago. But Thutmose was not here now. Ahmose had to look after herself, had to face down Mutnofret herself. This madness will end today.

  The moment the great doors closed behind the land owners, Ahmose sprang from her throne and was gone from the hall. She slammed the hall’s rear door behind her. Mutnofret! That detestable scorpion! She had stung Ahmose for the last time.

  She broke into a run, flying through the colonnades, her eyes dazzled by the whip of light and shadow as she sprinted past pillars and arches. She threw open the door to Mutnofret’s apartments. Sitamun, spinning in the corner below Mutnofret’s goddess tapestries, jumped to her feet with a yelp of alarm. Ahmose snapped her fingers and pointed at Sitamun’s heart as if her finger might fire burning arrows. “Sit down. Your mistress is coming soon, no doubt. If you know what’s good for you, you will keep your mouth shut.” She stalked into Mutnofret’s bedroom and shut the door.

  Ahmose leaned against the wall beside the door and tried to slow her breathing. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel the furious pulse behind her eyes. Mutnofret sitting on her throne as if she owned all of Egypt. Mutnofret issuing her ridiculous judgments before Ahmose could even open her mouth. Mutnofret making love to Tut in this very bed. Mutnofret!

  Feet scuffled in the anteroom. The outer door shut softly, then silence filled the second wife's apartments. Sitamun must have fled. Wise of her – Mutnofret would surely be cross once she realized her servant had allowed Ahmose into the bed chamber. Ahmose closed her eyes and steadied her heart. Strength. Ferocity. Confidence. She would snip the sting right off Mutnofret’s tail.

  The outer door opened. Footsteps: a confident, even stride coming across the anteroom. Mutnofret!

  The bedroom door opened, blocking Ahmose from her sister’s view. Mutnofret strolled into the room like a cat, all upright posture and crackling air of haughtiness.

  “I suppose you think you are terribly clever.”

  Mutnofret jumped, whir
led around. When her eyes found Ahmose standing with crossed arms beside the door, she frowned.

  “What are you doing in my bedchamber? Get out.”

  “I am the Great Royal Wife, and I go where I please.”

  “Not into my private rooms, you don’t. Get out before I summon the palace guards to haul you out.”

  She ignored the threat. If Mutnofret called the guards, Ahmose would only send them away again. They could not touch her – ot on the word of a second wife. “Threatening to take land from nobles? That’s the way you think to solve a dispute?”

  “It got them to settle, did it not?”

  “And it will turn them against the throne. A fine job you’ve done.”

  “At least I moved decisively. At least I did not sit on my backside and shiver like you always do.”

  “It is not your place to speak before me at court. I am the Great Royal Wife; I have authority over you.”

  Mutnofret’s black eyes were piercing. “It is my place, not yours. You are a usurper. The throne is mine by birth, mine by right. You are naught but a thief, Ahmose.”

  The unfairness struck Ahmose like a blow. She had never wanted to be a king's wife at all, let alone the Great Royal Wife. If she had her way she would spend her days spinning and serving the gods, not settling land disputes between fat, petulant nobles. She only did what the gods required, what she was made to do. She was Great Royal Wife because she had no choice.

  Ah, but Tut – she wanted him as she did not want the throne. She wanted his company, his respect, his love. She would do anything to keep Tut for herself, even rule a nation. She hardened herself. For Tut, she turned her heart to bronze. “If you ever speak to me in that manner again, I will have you caned. Do you understand me?”

  Mutnofret’s face registered shock, then instant derision. “Caned! You! You who can’t make a single clear judgment on your golden throne! You will have me caned! Tell me, little Ahmoset, how would you have settled the dispute? Sent for a map, and wasted time with surveyors and builders putting up a wall between those men’s farms?” That was precisely what Ahmose would have done. She must have blushed, for Mutnofret’s mouth curled with contempt. “A waste of time and funds. Those two fools will settle the problem by themselves now, and the Pharaoh’s treasure need not be tapped. If you thought like a Great Royal Wife you would have seen that.”