The She-King: The Complete Saga

by L. M. Ironside

  She had not shaved her head in weeks. She had sunk so far into a depression that tending to her appearance was like carrying a boulder up a hill. The only service she’d requested was plucking. Each stab of pain as her hairs were pulled from her legs, her armpits, her groin, was a penance. She could not even say anymore what sin needed punishing. I seemed her sins were innumerable and garish, and each bled into the next, paint pots spilled on a cold floor.

  A merciful breeze had come up while she slept. It stirred the mat of tight-curled hair on her head. It carried the smells of the river, papyrus plants and fish and hippopotamus dung. She closed her eyes and breathed it in deeply, so deeply that her lungs ached. She pushed it all out again quickly, sucked in another taste of air. Again and again she did this, until she was dizzy enough that she had to lean hard against the garden wall until her head cleared. When she could walk once more, she wandered aimlessly through the paths of her garden, tearing leaves from the plants and letting them fall from her hands, tangling and untangling her thoughts. Soon another pair of feet walked beside her own, pacing out this restless route. Twosre. They said nothing as they walked; Ahmose had no words.

  Dusk slipped into darkness. Night birds called intermittently beyond the palace walls. Servants came to tend to Ahmose’s apartments, murmuring and laughing. When they finished, torches and braziers snuffed out. The great palace of Waset darkened. At last Twosre said in her fig-and-earth voice, “What troubles you, Holy Lady?”

  “You should not call me that, Twosre. I don’t deserve it.”

  Twosre stopped walking, gazed at Ahmose steadily.

  Ahmose stopped her pacing. She said, “My family – we are broken. Destroyed. my sister hates me, my grandmother has cursed me, and I have offended the gods. Oh, how I have sinned. The river – the famine – it’s my doing. I am sure of it. All my doing.”

  “Not even the God’s Wife is perfect.”

  “I’m not…”

  Twosre raised a hand. The gesture silenced Ahmose. “How you came by the title makes no difference. Do you serve weak gods? Would they have allowed this thing if it was not their will?”

  Ahmose shook her head dully. There were wads of linen stuffed inside her heart; thoughts refused to form.

  Twosre seemed to take the gesture for acquiescence. “I have heard the Pharaoh returns to Waset.”

  “I read his letter. He should be near the Delta by now, I would guess. Two weeks, perhaps a few days more.”

  “You do not seem happy about this.”

  “It’s not that I am unhappy. I’ve missed him so much. But I feel I’ve made such a mess of things here. Mutnofret, and Nefertari....”

  “Sometimes the gods give us a terrible road to walk, Holy Lady. It is sacrifice after sacrifice at every step. Some pay a higher price than others.”

  “Ah, that we do.”

  “Be joyful,” Twosre said. Her voice was a balm. “Your husband returns. Egypt is safe. And in Ipet-Isut, the priests dance and sing more than they ever did before. You have done much good, whatever your sins may be. Whatever your sins may be.”

  Ahmose remembered the rain on the bluffs, Ineni with the spotted horses whirling around him, the drops falling on his back. She remembered Nefertari’s curse curling in her hands. She remembered Mutnofret’s apologetic smile in the forecourt of the Temple. Nofret, my sister, my only sister. And she remembered the men in the fields, their thin, dusty crops, the barren earth. She hoped with all her heart that Twosre spoke the truth. If her life ended tonight and she met Anupu in the echoing black of the underworld, her heart would bend the scales until they broke.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  THERE WAS NO BODY HANGING from the bow of the ship this time. Thutmose’s fleet sailed into Waset at mid-day. Ahmose and Mutnofret stood at the head of the water steps, a nurse holding baby Amunmose on her hip while Wadjmose tugged at his sidelock with one hand and held Mutnofret’s skirt with the other. A dozen guards surrounded the royal family, keeping the pressing crowd well back. There were cheers, shouts, victory songs among the rekhet and nobles who thronged through the city streets and crowded the shore. Pleasure barges sailed out onto the bright green river; wealthy men and women took their mid-day meals on the cool water, watching the return of Egypt’s victorious army. The varied music coming from so many boats was a confused, vibrant jumble.

  Ahmose said nothing to her sister, did not even glance her way. Mutnofret was stiff and quiet, waving Wadjmose back to the nurse’s side whenever the boy tugged too hard at her dress. The tension between the two wives was thick enough that it ought to have been visible: layer upon layer of woven reeds, perhaps, or a head-high wall of mud bricks.

  From the time it appeared on the northern horizon, it took nearly an hour for the flagship to moor. Ahmose could see Tut’s smile well before the ship reached the shore. She smiled back, unable to constrain her joy with the proper dignity and quietude of her position. She wanted to wave to him, to jump up and down and shout like the rekhet. Instead, she clenched her fists and never took her eyes away from his face.

  Before the sailors had even tied the ship into place, Tut leapt from its side, splashed in the shallow water covering the lowest steps, and was striding up toward her, two steps at a time like a boy returning from a hunting trip. Ahmose could hold herself back no longer. She scurried down the last few stairs separating them and threw herself on the king, arms tight around his neck. He smelled of pitch and sweat. His skin was hot from the sun. His arms wrapped around her waist, strong, sure, as real as stone. He said something into her ear, but the crowd was roaring so, she couldn’t make it out. She shook her head, grinning, and he led her by the hand to the stair head where Mutnofret and the children waited.

  Ahmose broke away with difficulty, stood back as the Pharaoh held his second wife close for a long time. When she pulled back from their embrace, tears slicked her cheeks. Her eyes were closed; she bit her painted lips together. The king said something to her as well, but if Mutnofret heard she gave no sign.

  Then the nurse brought the children forward, two bright, healthy boys, sturdy and dark-eyed. The Pharaoh looked them over for a long time, his eyes wide with wonder. Then he picked Wadjmose up and tossed him into the air, again and again. The Royal Son’s face flashed panic, then anger; then, as Tut continued to throw him high, the boy smiled wide. Amunmose was too young for rough play; Tut held him gently and kissed his fat cheek. It was good to see them with their father. It was good to see that Tut loved them well, even after so long away. Ahmose should have no trouble convincing him to do what was right.

  Two litters had come for them, and more guards as well, to push the crowd back and away. Eagerly, Ahmose climbed onto the two-chaired platform. It was good to have her husband beside her again.

  The road up to the palace was lined with onlookers. They roared, and threw wildflowers in the litter’s path. The crowd was still too loud for talking, but Ahmose took Tut’s hand and held it with both of her own, relieved to have him beside her again, apologetic for all her many wrongs. She hoped her touch said enough, for now.

  As on the night of the Festival of Khonsu, Twosre had lit all the lights in the hall of the Great Royal Wife. The tall, slender woman bowed in the anteroom when Ahmose entered. “Is there anything you require, Lady?”

  “Some wine, I think, and a bath. I will need you to shave my head as well.” She wanted to have it done before heading to the quay, but after hours of offering and singing in thanks, there had hardly been enough time to dress appropriately and ride from Ipet-Isut. She set her wig on a stand in her bedroom and tugged irritably at the long stubble on her head. It itched in the heat. Most unpleasant – hard to believe she had allowed her appearance to slide so far. Well, that was at an end now. The Pharaoh was home, home, home! She would rejoice, and send up more prayers of gratitude, and tonight, she would bring Tut to her bed to give him her love, as she had done with Ineni.

  She took her time bathing, then oiled her skin with the sweetest-sp
iciest scent Twosre could find. Her own hands running over the smoothness of her body excited her; she found it difficult to sit still while Twosre scraped away the hair on her scalp. When she looked proper once more, she dressed in the sheer blue gown and painted her face. She was just sliding a silver torque onto her arm when a sharp clap sounded outside her door. No woman’s hands ever sounded so strong, so ready. She waved Twosre to the door, then hissed after her, “Leave us once you’ve let him in!”

  Tut was across the antechamber and through her bedroom door in a few eager strides. She took a step back, all unaware, surprised by his powerful, unfamiliar presence. It had been so long since she had been alone with him, she had forgotten how he could dominate a room just by entering it. Words were lost to her. She stared at him, unblinking.

  “You have changed. Again. You’re a lovely woman now, Ahmoset. It’s what I said on the water steps.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “When you could not hear me. I said, ‘You look like a goddess.’”

  Her face flushed. She said modestly, “I suppose I did look more like a child when you saw me last.”

  His eyes fell from her face to her breasts, rounding out proud and firm beneath the bright gauze of her dress.

  “I am eager to hear about your battles. In your last letter you said…” she struggled to recall exactly what he had said. Her thoughts were all white and dense, a river fog. “You said…a fortress at Ugarit.”

  “That and more. I have made good with the people of Ugarit. A few have sent daughters for the harem. We will trade with Ugarit now, and through their land we have access to goods from…” He still gazed at her breasts. “You’ve changed.”

  “You said as much already.”

  His eyes met hers again. Then he was across the room, and she was in his arms so fast her breath caught. He kissed her; his mouth tasted of barley. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and flicked it past his teeth, as Ineni had done to her. Tut groaned. His hands were rough, urgent on her back and hips. She pushed away from him and went to her bed, started to undo the knots of her dress.

  “Wait,” he said.

  Her hands fell, uncertain, at her sides.

  “I did not intend to come here and do this. I thought you would still be too shy.”

  “What did you intend, then? I thought after so long away you would want to do this.”

  “I do. I do. But we need to sort out a few messes first, Ahmoset.” His voice was gentle, but the words pricked her with fear. What does he know?

  “This business of spending all your nights at the temple – it is not maat.”

  “But I can’t stay here with Mutnofret, Tut. I am here for court every day. Isn’t that enough? Mutnofret is wicked; she threatened me recently.”

  “Threatened you? With what?”

  “She threatened to…to hurt me.” It was true, in a sense. She crossed her arms over her half-bared breasts, as if to hold back the rest of the story – the rest of what Mutnofret knew.

  “The floods, Ahmose. Something in my kingdom is not maat, and your spending so much time at the temple is the only thing that has changed.”

  “Mutnofret is not maat. The gods never wanted her to be your wife; they gave it to me. She is a danger in the palace, Tut.”

  “I am not so sure about that.”

  “Has Mutnofret been telling you not to listen to me? She would. She’s been awful, awful since you’ve been gone. You were with her the whole past hour, weren’t you?”

  “What of it?”

  “And I your Great Royal Wife!”

  “Don’t you start with this, too.” He threw up his hands. “I cannot see why any man would have more than one wife. At least the harem women stay out from under my wig.”

  “She’s mad, Tut! She’s mad with jealousy. She wants to destroy me. She hates that I’m the Great Royal Wife; she will do anything to bring me down.” Like a struck spark, a solution flashed in her head. She said it before she could think. “Divorce her! Set her aside!”

  “What?”

  “She is dangerous, Tut, I tell you! She’ll tear us apart if she can.”

  “Stop it. You sound like a petulant child.”

  Ahmose pulled back, stung as if he had slapped her.

  “All those nights in the temple have not been good for you, I think.” His chest stirred beneath his golden pectoral, the jeweled Eyes of Horus staring at her in rebuke. He was breathing heavily, and his gaze was hard and cold. At last he said, “This business with the Temple has allowed you to separate yourself from your sister too far. We are a family, Ahmose. The royal family. We must be together, as one being, as one body.”

  “I can never be as one with her.” Tears came to her eyes, so easily. Like a child. She swiped at them, angry and ashamed.

  “You will be. Your husband requires it. Your king requires it. You will move back here to your apartments, day and night, and you will be a dutiful wife.”

  “I am the God’s Wife.”

  Tut was silent. He turned away from her. Her lips trembled; she looked at his back, at the space between them, and felt defeated.

  “I will not accuse you of lying,” he said. “I will not accuse you of stealing. I won’t believe such terrible things about my wife – my god-chosen wife. I don’t know the truth of what has happened, but I know what I will and will not believe.”

  Ahmose could say nothing. She hugged herself tighter.

  “Move back to the palace,” he said. “Mutnofret will attend court again, and you will sit beside her and be at peace with her. I will not have my wife making such a fool of herself.”

  Ahmose choked on a lump in her throat, half sob, half scream of rage. It fought to come out, but when it escaped her lips all it made was a weak coughing sound.

  Tut turned and looked at her. “You have made poor choices, Ahmose. You’re young. I know what it’s like to be young and to have power. I was not much older than you when I led my first troop into battle. I know – I know the trouble we can get ourselves into when we are young.”

  The forgiveness in his voice was too much to bear. She needed no forgiveness; she was the God’s Wife. She deserved no forgiveness; she was wicked.

  “You need guidance. You need a husband to help you see which choices you should make.”

  “So I must leave my praying, and spend all my nights here alone in my bed while you lie with Mutnofret. And what will the people think of me? What reason will we give them for my abandoning my duties at the temple?”

  “I am sure that clever steward of yours can think of a reason. Why don’t you ask Ineni?” Tut bit the name off sharp. Ahmose glanced at his face, then away again. A slick, treacherous silence fell between them. When Tut spoke again his voice was light, as if what he said was of no consequence. “Incidentally, Ineni has asked to be released from service. He is off to become an architect. I expect we won't be seeing him around Waset anymore. A shame. He is a bright lad.”

  Ahmose stilled her face, stilled her heart. What he said was of no consequence. “I wish him well,” she said, as if it did not matter at all. Then she saw Mutnofret’s sly smile again, her crackling eyes at the Festival of Khonsu, Sitamun whispering in her ear. She could not do it. She could not give up what little power she had over Mutnofret. Her life would be a constant misery. “You must leave Mutnofret, Tut. Send her away. Please.”

  “I will not hear that kind of talk, Ahmose.” His voice was powerful, commanding. It was the voice of a general, the voice of a king. Ahmose shrank. “Mutnofret is the mother of my sons and my wife. It is your duty to find a way to live with her peacefully.”

  “An heir,” Ahmose said, her voice nearly a wail. “Name Wadjmose heir, Tut! It will appease Mutnofret. It will make her easier to live with.”

  “No.”

  “Why do you do this? Can’t you see how this tears our family apart? Amunmose, then, if Wadjmose displeases you.”

  “Neither of my sons will ever displease me.”

  �
��Forgive me. But why?”

  She knew why. The dream – his accursed dream. He looked at her steadily, stern, expectant. Her arms were still wrapped around her body; she dug her nails into her back to keep from looking away from her husband’s fierce eyes.

  “I am going now. I expect you to be in the palace tomorrow night. You may make your excuses to the temple this evening. You were my wife before you were the God’s Wife, and my wife will live with me as a woman, not in the temple as a goddess.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  AHMOSE SELDOM LEFT HER ROOF-TOP pavilion anymore. She had left Ipet-Isut defeated, and she came home defeated. She was a useless chief wife, an absent God’s Wife, no sister at all. Thutmose all but ignored her; she attended court each day as he required, and he would nod a greeting to her, eyes tight, mouth severe, and speak to her only when courtesy prompted him. She was an ornament again, just as in her childhood, set upon her throne for the subjects of the Pharaoh to admire.

  Twosre, at least, seemed relieved to be back in the palace day and night. She bustled about cheerily, cleaning, organizing trunks of clothing, polishing gems and rings. Ahmose would often lie on her bed, watching Twosre at her busy-work, feeling a blunt gladness for her servant’s pleasure. Twosre found fulfillment in her work. Twosre knew her duties. Twosre had a purpose here in Waset’s shining halls. Ahmose had no purpose, no work, no fulfillment. She seldom did more than rest now. It took so much from her to dress herself and bear her husband’s scorn on her gilded throne, every day, every day. It took so much from her to present herself to the court beside Mutnofret’s radiance, Mutnofret’s confidence. Every day. Her bed was a blessing, her garden a haven. Her hands were idle, her mind fading like a waning moon.

  Twosre still brought gossip, and Ahmose allowed it, listened to the woman’s reports with little interest. Had there been a time when tales of Mutnofret’s doings raised her hackles? It was hard to believe it was ever so. The second wife was favored, by Thutmose and by the gods. It had always been this way. Why had Ahmose ever been concerned? The sun set in the west, the Iteru flowed north, and Mutnofret was favored. Mutnofret would always win.