The Sekhmet Bed (The She-King)

by Lavender Ironside

  “So her baby will be born right with yours,” Ahmose said.

  “Do you think Thutmose is the father?”

  “Mutnofret!” Ahmose stared at her sister. True, the Pharaoh often allowed his most important guests access to the harem, but it was the height of incivility to imply that any harem woman carried a child that was not the king’s.

  “Well? Thutmose often visited the House before he was the Pharaoh. Why shouldn’t he permit his friends…?”

  “Baketamun was your friend! How could you be so coarse?”

  Mutnofret sighed. “Ahmose, you’re so simple sometimes. The world isn’t the way you think it is.”

  “What in the name of Mut is that supposed to mean?”

  “Real life isn’t like the stories. First princesses can be set aside, and women in the king’s harem can have children sired by men other than the king.”

  “I know, but you don’t have to…”

  “You know, you know.” She sighed again, looking away, frowning. “I’m sorry, Ahmose, truly. I didn’t come here to fight. I don’t want to fight with you. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”

  “I know, Mutnofret. This…arrangement…is difficult for you. For me, too. You were raised to be the Great Royal Wife, and I – with my gifts, I could have been a priestess. It’s what I always wanted to do, you know. I wish I still could.”

  “I didn’t know. You never told me.” Mutnofret took her hand. It had been so long since her sister had touched her in kindness that Ahmose’s eyes filled with tears. “You would have been a good priestess.”

  “Wouldn’t it be a lovely thing? The temples are so peaceful. Not like the court at all.”

  “Tell me, priestess, what should I do to be sure my child is healthy, and a boy?”

  Ahmose smiled. “Go to Hathor’s sanctuary at Ipet-Isut. Leave an offering of cow’s milk, and pray to her. Then take a bull calf’s meat to Khnum’s shrine. That should please them. They’ll hear your prayers.”

  “I’ll do that. I’ll tell the gods Ahmose sent me to them. Perhaps they’ll listen doubly hard, if they know I have your blessing.”

  ***

  Week followed week, the Inundation bringing higher waters and hotter days. The smell of water was always in the air. The insects became nearly as miserable to bear as the heat. Ahmose’s pavilion was curtained now in loose-woven linen, sheer enough to let some semblance of a breeze in but tight enough to keep out the worst of the biting flies. Mutnofret was always at court, watching the proceedings silently but ready with good advice whenever Ahmose asked. She was careful to ask often, though Ahmose frequently found herself wondering whether a linen screen could be woven to keep Mutnofret away, too. The Second Queen could be unpredictable at the best of times, and pregnancy and Akhet combined to make her moods and her tongue sharp.

  Akhet was a troubling time for the court. With the fields flooded and Thutmose too occupied with war to build his monuments, many hands were idle. Not just rekhet, but nobles as well. There were more disputes and petitions now than at any other time of the year. Ineni and the other stewards did a fine job filtering out all but the direst conflicts, referring a great deal of them back to local juries. It was a tiring business, though, adjudicating disputes over land or cattle or trade goods. Ahmose was often so exhausted by her work in court that she had small enough energy for reading dreams. Mutnofret hardly seemed to fare better. She was sick most mornings, and had taken to sleeping on her roof – like a rekhet woman, Ahmose was amused to note – soothed by the night’s cooler breezes.

  Thutmose sent letters often. They were addressed only to Ahmose. She had no idea whether he also sent word to his second wife, and Ahmose did not think it wise to ask. Nofret never mentioned any letters from their husband. Rather than risk hurting her feelings, Ahmose asked Ineni to add Mutnofret’s shenu – her name surrounded by the formal royal ring – to the beginning of each letter. The steward did a fair imitation of Tut’s hand. Once the notes had been doctored, Ahmose shared the letters with Mutnofret when she came to the pavilion to visit.

  Buhen is beautiful, one read. The fortress here is strong. Many legions of men, well fed, plenty of horses, spears, and bows. No sign yet of the Kushites. I am hopeful.

  Met with Kushite warlord yesterday, read another. Black as night and mean as a hippopotamus. Made threats, would not be consoled. Thinks to take the river, all the way up to the cataracts, for his own. We will teach him his lessons.

  One made her shiver: Surprise attack this morning by Kushite force while we inspected crop fields. Came on us from behind, out of a canyon. Were pinned against river. A near thing. Reinforcements came from the city and surrounded their rear. We crushed them under our heels. Warlord killed by my spear. Kush will think hard before coming against Egypt again.

  And there were more, and still more. The conflict seemed to be rising in intensity, building to some terrible climax. Ahmose looked for his letters with yearning and dread. Would one come from a steward, informing her of the Pharaoh’s death at Kushite hands? No – not Tut, the greatest soldier in all the land. Never.

  Every letter was signed the same way: Loving and missing you.

  ***

  A day came when Ahmose had no dreams to read, no disputes to settle. It was a rare break from her duties. She made arrangements at once for a barque to carry her south to the estate Meritamun and Nefertari shared. She took no one but Ineni and a single guard, and dressed simply, hoping she would not be recognized by the bustling rekhet at the waterside. She was in luck: It was a market day, and most were in the higher streets of Waset, buying and selling. She was still new enough to the throne that her face was not well known, and those who moved about the waterfront – fishermen unloading boats and folding nets, prostitutes hoping for the fishers’ custom, merchants’ slaves driving camels and donkeys to drink, naked children splashing in canal inlets – all these glanced her way and went back to their business, content that she was just another noble lady setting out on a journey.

  Her barque was especially fast and fine. It leaped under the prevailing southward wind, as fleet and responsive as a colt just broken to the chariot. She reclined with Ineni in the soft shade of the curtained hut astern.

  “You seem to be getting on well with your sister, Great Lady.”

  Ahmose nodded. “I suppose she just needed time. I can’t tell you how often I’ve wanted to strangle her since Amunhotep died. Mutnofret can be such a cat when she’s upset. But I’m glad to see she’s coming around. She’s pregnant, you know.”

  Ineni’s eyes widened. “That’s news. Does Pharaoh know?”

  “I haven’t told him in any of my letters. I don’t know whether Mutnofret writes to him. She wants to surprise him with the news when he returns from Buhen, though, so I think not.”

  “And – you, Great Lady?” Ineni fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. Because she had come to regard him as a dear friend, Ahmose answered him forthrightly.

  “No. The Pharaoh and I have not lain together.”

  Ineni blushed. He looked out the shade mesh covering the cabin walls for a long time, watching the east bank glide by. At length he said, “Is there…a problem, Great Lady? As your steward, I will call the best physicians if there is anything amiss.”

  “There is nothing wrong, Ineni. You have no cause to worry.”

  “You…you do not choose to lie with Pharaoh?”

  Ahmose shook her head lightly, smiling.

  “Ah,” he said, his brows falling as if in mild disappointment. “You prefer women?”

  Ahmose laughed. “No, that’s not what I mean. I suppose I prefer no one.”

  Ineni looked at her hard, then, apparently aware that he was treading close to disrespect, coughed and softened his expression with an obvious effort. “Great Lady, may I speak freely to you?”

  Confused, Ahmose shrugged. “All right.”

  “It is critically important that you get a child. A son, if you can.”

  �
�I know,” Ahmose said, vaguely. She wanted to ask why, when Mutnofret was obviously fertile, but to do so would make her seem foolish. Still, Ineni seemed to hear the unspoken question.

  “A queen who cannot do her duty is not secure on the throne. This is especially true when lesser queens wait to take her place. Queens have been displaced before when they could not produce children.”

  “It’s not that I cannot.” She snapped her teeth shut. But the words were already out.

  Ineni was flustered, his fingers tangling in the hem of his kilt. Annoyed with his reluctance, Ahmose gestured for him to speak. He glanced at her, then away. “You …will not?”

  Ahmose sighed. “I just need time, that’s all. My sister needed time to adjust to her role as Second Wife. I need time to…to…”

  Ineni nodded. “It is a dangerous thing, bearing children. Even men know this. Still, Great Lady, as your sister’s belly grows larger she will creep that much closer to your throne.”

  “That’s stupid. Giving birth, even to a son, doesn’t mean she can be First Queen. I’m god-chosen. Thutmose needs me to legitimize his rule in the eyes of the people.”

  “The people need Thutmose to keep the Kushites and the Hyksos at bay. Once he’s done this, he has no more need of you, Great Lady. When he has restored their sense of security, he will need nothing to legitimize his claim to the throne. Their gratitude toward him will be more powerful a token than any god-chosen wife. Please forgive my speaking so harshly, but it must be said, for your own good.”

  Ahmose sat back, stunned to silence. Impossible, that Tut could have no need of her once Egypt’s enemies were defeated. They talked together, shared leisure together; he wrote to her, and not, so far as she knew, to Mutnofret. Tut valued her – if not as a woman in his bed, then at least as a god-chosen emblem to hold up before those who might question his right to rule. He treated her as if he valued her, even if he did not desire her.

  But what if his affection for her was a sham to keep Ahmose content with her temporary role? What if, indeed, he only needed her until he’d put down the uprisings at Egypt’s borders? Then, with his capability proven at last to the drivers of Egypt’s chariot, would he be free to set her aside, to fully love his beautiful and fertile Second Queen?

  Her mouth tasted of ash, just at the thought of her Tut casting her aside, just at the possibility that he could even be capable of casting her aside. For Mutnofret! For the one who carried his child, his heir. And what would become of her then? Sent back to the House of Women, where she would be lucky if Tut visited one day out of twenty, and she would have to compete for his attention with the harem?

  She saw Thutmose from another angle then, not her laughing, boyish husband who skipped rocks across the lake, but a soldier – a general – more skilled than any in Egypt with strategies and schemes. She quailed.

  “What am I to do, Ineni?” Her lips were numb, her ears ringing.

  “You must conceive a child, Great Lady. You must do it as soon as you can. I’m glad for you if your sister is treating you kindly again. But leave no room in Mutnofret’s heart to hope for the throne. I have known the both of you for only a short time, but I think I know already which she would choose, if she had to pick between her sister or her birthright.”

  The captain called out the landing. Relieved, Ahmose staggered to her feet. The rowing-men were leaping ashore, tying the barque fast to the water steps. Ineni offered his arm, and she took it gratefully.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Great Lady.”

  “I know, Ineni.” She sucked in a deep breath. “You’re right, of course. Mutnofret probably hasn’t changed. She’s always been too wily to give in just like that. I’d allowed myself to hope she had settled, that’s all. I must still look out for her tricks.”

  “And a prince?”

  “Being god-chosen isn’t enough to keep my husband’s heart. I can see that now. Even the best of men can be swayed by a son. A son changes everything.”

  “I – I’m glad to hear you’ll try,” Ineni said. His voice was dry. Its dryness reminded her of Nefertari, her leather voice, the brittle strength of her old hands. She recalled how, on the funeral barge, Nefertari had laid a hand on Meritamun’s leg to quiet her. How in the throne room Nefertari’s hand had tightened on Meritamun’s shoulder, and the queen had sprang to her feet with the crook and flail.

  “It’s not a son I need, but power,” she said quietly.

  Ineni didn’t hear her over the sailors joking and splashing. But when he asked her to repeat her words, she only shook her head and led him on toward Nefertari’s estate.

  TWELVE

  Nefertari’s home, a spacious brick building with an enormous pillared porch, stood on a high hill overlooking a great orchard. Beyond the orchard, fields of barley, sun-gold, ran down to the Nile. Fishing boats and traders’ barges moved over the shining water, slow-motion, dancers in a dream. Ahmose and Nefertari sipped beer in the shade of the porch, watching the boats sail far below, while Meritamun wandered through her little garden, cutting herbs and flowers, laying them the old, flat basket she carried propped against one thin hip. Away from the eyes of the court at last, the former queen had given up the oversized wigs that hid her deformity. Now fashionable rows of tiny braids swung around her face as she bent, slowly, carefully, like a very old woman, over her flowers.

  “Her back troubles her more every day,” Nefertari said, hardly louder than a whisper.

  “Can the physicians do nothing?”

  “Nothing. The magicians seem helpless, too. They’ve tried all the spells and charms. My daughter will leave me soon, too, just like my son.”

  “Grandmother…” Ahmose laid her hand on Nefertari’s shoulder. But she could think of nothing to say. In the short time since Meritamun had moved out of the palace, her back did seem more twisted, her movements weaker and more timid.

  “It’s a terrible thing, for a mother to outlive all her children.”

  “Let’s talk of something happier. Tell me a story from when you were the queen of Egypt.”

  “Oh, cats’ whiskers. You don’t want to hear about that. You have your own stories to tell by now.”

  “But I do want to hear it. Tell me about how you came to be God’s Wife. I’ve never heard the story.”

  Nefertari allowed a tiny smile. “Oh, if you insist. Pour me another bowl of beer. My throat is dry. Good girl.” She took the lacquered bowl from Ahmose’s hands, and sat for a time watching the bubbles on the beer’s surface. Her tired old eyes were warm and distant. “When I married my brother – not your grandfather; I speak of my elder brother, Kamose – I was not much older than you. Our father had just died, and Kamose was burning with desire to drive the Hyksos invaders out of Egypt. He had always dreamed of it, always talked of it. When the throne passed to him, he said, ‘I will not be a mere statue. I will not sit still while foreigners control my land.’

  “But Kamose was always a hot-head. More bravery than sense. He went north to make war on the Hyksos settlers, to toss them out of Egypt if he could. The Hyksos were growing restless, and making demands: pushing hard, you see. So Kamose went to throw them right out of the empire. We all asked him to reconsider. The whole family, and all his advisors. He had so little experience in battle, and the Hyksos had been rooted into Egyptian soil for more than two hundred years. But he wouldn’t be dissuaded. When it was clear we couldn’t keep him from the Hyksos, I begged him to take me along. I insisted. I thought I might protect him somehow, or curb him maybe. We were both young and stupid, so he agreed.

  “Those were the best times of my life, and the worst. The voyage north, seeing the pyramids – ah! Such beauty! Oh, and the cities we visited on the way, my girl – the feasts they gave us! What an adventure!

  “And it all ended so badly.

  “Poor Kamose was killed in the first battle, almost immediately. Our army broke to pieces. The Hyksos very nearly defeated us, then. I was at camp in Kamose’s tent, and a wounded sol
dier brought me the news of his death. The Hyksos were still slaughtering Egyptians on the battle field. I had to do something, so I made the slaves hitch a chariot and outfit me with armor. I took a spear, but that was all. And I prayed that the gods would lead me to the heart of the battle.”

  Ahmose leaned her arms on the table, staring at her grandmother. She was distantly aware that her mouth hung open like a beached carp’s, but she couldn’t seem to close it. In her heart’s eye she saw Nefertari, young and stern and strong and beautiful, shining in a man’s armor, holding a great spear like a scepter. Her heart drummed in her chest. War drums.

  “I was all that kept Egypt together, then. I rode out of the hills and onto the battle field, waving my spear as if I knew what to do with it. Afterward all the soldiers swore I was glowing like the sun. Maybe it was the gods’ light on me. Who can say? I rallied them, pulled them back into the hills and into a draw where the Hyksos couldn’t get at us. We waited for my younger brother to come – he’d been scouting, you see – and he led the troops back out into the fray.