The Sekhmet Bed (The She-King)

by Lavender Ironside

  The knife in Wahibra’s hand caught the light of a brazier, sending a red flash into Ahmose’s eyes. The spell of powerlessness was broken.

  “Wait,” she called out.

  Wahibra looked around at her. His hesitation gave her just enough time. She was at Aiya’s side in two heartbeats, kneeling at her shoulder. She took the girl’s face in her hands.

  Aiya opened her eyes. “Ahmose.” Her voice was thick and low with pain, rasped from hours of crying.

  “Aiya, I’m sorry. If I could change this, if I could stop it….”

  “Take care of my son. Make him a good man. Tell him of Aiya, his mother who loved him best. He is best of all the great men.”

  “Hatshepsu,” Ahmose said, grieving, regretting. “I will, Aiya, my sweet one, the best of my friends.” She bent to kiss Aiya’s forehead, pressed her lips to the girl’s sweat-beaded brow and held them there, tasting the salt of her skin, as Wahibra raised his knife.

  The pain of the blade roused the last strength in Aiya's body. She jerked, her pale limbs convulsing, her eyes opening wide in shock. "No," she cried in a feeble voice. "No!" The midwives bent to hold her down. They pinioned all her limbs against the cushions, while Ahmose stroked her hair, murmuring apologies.

  "You will be with Hathor soon, little mother," the old midwife said. Aiya’s cries were an agony in Ahmose's belly, an accusation in her heart.

  At last they faded. Aiya lay limp and still. Ahmose looked up at the midwife. The old woman shook her head. Slowly, the women removed their hands from Aiya's limbs. From one corner of the pavilion, a harem woman began to sing a prayer of supplication to Anupu, the taker of the dead; and Renenet, fists pressed to her mouth, moaned.

  Wahibra made a horror of Aiya's proud, round belly. Layer after layer of flesh split. Ahmose stared at the bands of red and yellow, exposed in the dim light of the oil lamps. Something a sick shade of blue was lying within the slit in Aiya's middle. Two of the midwives grasped it and pulled it free of the surrounding flesh, tore at its outer skin. Ahmose lurched to her feet and staggered against a lotus pillar, held it hard, willing down the bubble of nausea rising in her throat. They are like scavengers at a carcass.

  And then she understood. It was the baby's caul they ripped away. One midwife inserted a slender reed into its throat, sucking and spitting the fluid from its lungs. The child’s skin was a terrible color, the blue-grey of death. Wet, red-gold hair clung to its scalp. Its little eyes were closed. The midwives rubbed and patted the child, turned it upside down by its feet and watched as cloudy water dripped from its nostrils, but still the baby did not cry, did not move. One by one they stopped their work, until finally the baby was laid at its mother's cold breast.

  The song of Anupu rose again, begging mercy for this unnamed boychild who had never lived at all.

  “Hatshepsu,” Ahmose whispered. “His name is Hatshepsu.”

  No one heard her.

  Wahibra rose slowly from the ground. Aiya's blood had spread around the hem of his kilt. "I am sorry, my ladies," he said to the midwives. "Even had you called me sooner, I doubt this child could have been saved. The mother was just too small, too young. It is a great sadness that both were lost."

  Too young, Ahmose thought. Panic seized her. She took two steps toward Aiya and her baby, then the ground slid sideways beneath her feet. She fell in a heap, head spinning, dimly aware that the harem women were leaping to her side, crowding around her.

  "Let me take her," she heard Renenet say. "She knows me well."

  Her arm was pulled upward painfully, laid around a plump shoulder, her wrist gripped in a firm hand. Renenet lifted her to her feet and pulled her out of the pavilion. Ahmose's legs would not work properly. She stumbled and swayed, leaning heavily against her cousin.

  "That's right, my lady," Renenet said soothingly, dragging her along the path. The heat of the sun beat down, and Ahmose retched, emptying her stomach. Renenet clucked in sympathy.

  After several minutes Ahmose was walking more steadily, although she made no move to take her arm from her cousin’s shoulders. Round a bend in the path, they came across Mutnofret. Her arms were folded, her head high, her face a blank stone, like Meritamun’s on the throne, like a queen’s.

  As they passed, Ahmose’s eyes locked with her sister’s. She stopped, forcing Renenet to halt as well. For a long moment she stood staring into Mutnofret’s deep black eyes. The First Princess didn’t blink, just looked fearlessly at Ahmose.

  Chilled, afraid, wounded, Ahmose choked on her words and staggered away.

  seven

  “She could have spared me,” Ahmose said. “She didn’t have to bring me to the birthing pavilion.”

  “Calm, calm. If you upset yourself you’ll only cry, and smear your eyes.” Renenet shook out Ahmose’s plain green gown. She said doubtfully, “Perhaps Mutnofret thought you would want to be with your friend when she went to the gods.”

  Ahmose shook her head, at once denying her cousin’s words and trying to push the image of Aiya bleeding, Aiya dying, from her mind. All through the morning’s marriage, making offerings at the Temple of Amun, receiving the blessings from the High Priest, she had seen Aiya. While she stood back to watch Thutmose place the salt of marriage on Mutnofret’s tongue, tasting the salt on her own, she had heard Aiya’s dying words. As their litter carried them back to the palace through a throng of cheering rekhet, Ahmose had a mind only for planning Aiya’s tomb, Aiya’s funerary rites. Her wedding day had been one long blur of sadness, with Mutnofret’s radiant smile and coy laugh the only things of real clarity.

  “She did it on purpose, Reni, to throw me. She planned to break my spirit so Thutmose would only love her today.”

  Reni sighed. “I know Mutnofret is jealous and angry. But you cannot let her win. Don’t let her ruin your wedding feast for you, Ahmose.”

  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 the bodies was going as planned.

  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 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? Have 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 she left her old apartment, closing the door behind her resolutely.

  Renenet waited for her in the hall. “Are you sure you won’t wear 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 a wedding feast!”

  Ahmose felt ill. Another of Mutnofret’s deceptions?

  What did it matter? She was r
esolved to be a good queen – the best queen Egypt had ever had. She didn’t need trappings to make the court see her as Thutmose’s Great Royal Wife. 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. Mutnofret would see.

  Ahmose would have preferred a chariot ride to the palace, but it was such a short distance it could hardly be justified. She and Reni climbed into the waiting litter. Renenet drew the curtains, then turned to Ahmose with a look that said words were on their way.

  “Yes?” Ahmose said when her cousin stayed silent.

  The plump woman shook her head. “Just…be careful, that’s 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 she’s like. Be careful of her. She’s not happy with her station, no matter what she may tell you. And when Mutnofret is unhappy, the very gods are unhappy. I know she loves you, but I don’t know how strong her anger may be.”

  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, and 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 the wave.

  ***

  She had arrived early, as it turned out. The magnificent expanse of the great feasting hall was lively with servants. They re-arranged tables, laid bundles of flowers and cones of scented wax here and there. Great bronze braziers were 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, standing together in a corner. The women were gathered in a tight circle, 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’re the queen now, Great Lady.”

  “And my name is Ahmose. That’s what you’ll all call me. Please. I’m not used to this yet.”

  Iryet threw an arm around Ahmose’s shoulders and pulled her into the circle. Ahmose flushed with pleasure and relief, linking arms with the women.

  “We were just talking about your husband, Ahmose. Isn’t he fine! He has teeth like a hare, but that can be forgiven with such muscles to make up for it. Ooh, how I’d like to get my hands on him!”

  Tuyu grinned like a cat. “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’m 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 looked startled. Others were clearly amused. “But doesn’t it hurt?”

  Iryet shrugged. “Maybe the first time. It’s not so bad.”

  There was an awkward silence. Ahmose blushed, ashamed. She had intended to look like a confident queen, 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 must not want to admit they don’t like it. It’s 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’s 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 Mutnforet see the true strength of a queen.

  “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, silly! 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’d been no more than a stranger? But he wasn’t a king then, and she had been only the Second Princess.

  “It will be your first great act as queen of Egypt.” Iryet’s arm slipped out of Ahmose’s, reached across to link with Baketamun on Ahmose’s other side. Queen or no, she was shut out of the circle. The women giggled, watching her expectantly.

  “All right, then.” Ahmose took a deep breath and walked to her husband on weak legs.

  “There’s 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 Pharaoh and less like a soldier. It’s quite a job, I’m 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 isn’t good at talking to pretty women when he doesn’t have a stick to hit nobles with, but he’s always very good at reading lists. 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 was 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 looked around. “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’m 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 Osiris. Her 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 spirit is watching you. Remember that, too. Although you can’t 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 forever.”

  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 of senet, 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 off his wig. She had to help him reposition it; they both laughed as she fussed with it. By the time Ineni appeared to announce the hour, Ahmose was more confident with Thutmose than she’d ever been.