The Sekhmet Bed (The She-King)

by Lavender Ironside

  “And that was your grandfather. The one we named you for. After that battle was settled, he sent for a High Priest from the nearest town and we were married right in Kamose’s tent. My dear short-tempered Kamose. He wasn’t Pharaoh for three years. But as impulsive as he was, he never would have been as great a Pharaoh as King Ahmose.”

  Nefertari paused, watching the river and the deep green hills beyond.

  Ahmose waited, but it seemed the old woman had lost herself in thought. She wondered: would she ever have such a life full of adventure? Could she even survive such a thing? She studied her grandmother’s face, deep-creased with age but still with eyes as bright as stars. Ahmose’s chin lifted with pride. What a fortunate thing, to have the blood of such a woman in her veins.

  At length, Nefertari continued her tale. “After just a few weeks, your grandfather sent me back to Waset. Just in time, too. The nobles were beside themselves without royalty to tell them which end to put their wigs on. The country – or the city, at least – was about to erupt into civil war. Fighting, fighting, everywhere fighting as if all the people were little children stealing figs from one another. I almost went out of my mind, tending to all the little children of Egypt. When my husband came home, though, I had my reward.”

  “The title,” Ahmose said.

  Nefertari nodded. “He’d uncovered stories of the God’s Wives of the past while he traveled home, talking to some old priest or other whom he’d befriended. He was high as a falcon after he’d chased the Hyksos out, and he felt like giving gifts, I suppose. For rallying the troops and for putting Waset back to rights, he made me God’s Wife.

  “To share power with a Pharaoh – that was a rich thing. Yet it was a gift with a blade in it, for I lost my privacy and freedom. I never did live quite the same way again. When the priests truly believe you to be the consort of the god, every move you make is seen by hundreds of eyes. I had power, but never again could I go adventuring as I had done with Kamose. I was chained to the temple.

  “Still, I suppose I wouldn’t give it up, if I could live my life again. This house was part of my due as God’s Wife. And much more. So much rich cloth I could have had a new gown for every day of my life, if I’d wanted. More gold and jewels than any woman could ever desire. And these fields and orchards are all mine, too. I am dependent on no one, even in my old age. And I’ve had control over the Amun priests – more or less – for nearly my whole life. Power. Respect. These are good things for a woman to have.”

  Good things indeed. Ahmose considered her grandmother’s words in silence as Meritamun made her way into the shade, set her basket on the table. Ahmose made pleasantries with her mother, but her heart weighed Nefertari’s story carefully. She examined every word of the tale minutely. And one idea stood out above all her other thoughts: if she were the God’s Wife, her word would be like the word of a goddess.

  Meritamun lowered herself onto a stool, sighing, massaging her back with careful hands. A servant came from the recesses of the porch and took over the duty, rubbing between Meritamun’s shoulders until the former queen relaxed, head drooping.

  “You look well,” Ahmose said.

  Meritamun huffed. “My back aches all the time, but otherwise I feel well enough. I never knew how hard it is to run a country until I no longer had to do it.”

  “And I’m only beginning to find out,” Ahmose said. “Ineni is a wonderful steward, and does all he can for me, but I have a job of work every day in the throne room. All the fighting! And the scheming! I don’t know how you put up with it for so long.”

  “I did what I had to do. What Egypt needed me to. That’s the duty of a queen.”

  “That, and having babies,” Ahmose said, frowning.

  “And how goes that job of work?”

  She sighed. “Very well, for the Second Queen. Mutnofret is with child.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. One never knows when the gods will take a child away. The more sons your husband has, the more secure Egypt will be.”

  Ahmose scuffed her sandals against the flagstones. Out on the river, fishing boats crawled along like water beetles, and here and there a pleasure barge sailed. The smallest hints of music, just whispers of pipe and drum, came to her faintly from the Nile’s restless flanks. The sounds were like words in a half-remembered dream, touching her mind and flitting away again before she could seize hold and identify the meaning.

  “And how,” Nefertari said, nibbling a date, “go your attempts at getting a child?”

  Ahmose wanted to lie, to tell them Thutmose had come every night to her bed before he left on his campaign. But her ka wasn’t up to the charade. “I haven’t tried.” There. The words were out.

  Nefertari sighed. “Your spiritual gifts make you valuable to Thutmose, girl. But your sister was always more cunning than you. She has the court in her blood and bones. She knows how to turn one man against another, how to turn a rumor to reality. Don’t suppose that she has forgotten that she was first in line for the throne.”

  “Ineni has already reminded me of this,” Ahmose said impatiently. “I know Mutnofret is a schemer. I know to be wary.”

  “The nobles will assume you are barren,” said Meritamun.

  “Let them. You had only girls, after all, Mother; your right to the throne was never challenged.”

  “I never had a Second Queen nipping at my heels. No doubt if Amunhotep had taken another official wife, I would have been displaced for my failure. What troubles you so?”

  She had begun with the truth. She may as well go on with it. Ineni stood at a deferent distance, chatting with Nefertari’s own steward, but he was still within earshot. Ahmose lowered her voice. “I saw a girl – a friend – killed by birthing. Wahibra cut her open while she still lived, but the baby died, too.” So much time had passed since Aiya’s death, yet still talking of it, remembering it, brought the sting of tears.

  “But Ahmose! That will not happen to you. The women of our line birth easily.”

  “It was her smallness that did it. Wahibra said so.”

  “And you think you’re too small to bear?”

  She nodded.

  “Nonsense,” Meritamun said. She took a bowl of beer and sipped, staring hard at Ahmose over the brim.

  “It is not,” Ahmose said. “Aiya wasn’t any smaller than me. You didn’t see her. You don’t know.”

  “You sound like a goose.”

  “I am the queen. You should remember that.”

  “Oh-ho!” Nefertari chuckled. “So you have a little of Mutnofret in you, do you? That’s good. You’ll need it in the years to come.”

  “I won’t have to behave like Mutnofret if I have your title, Grandmother. That would be enough for me to control her. The nobles and priests, too.”

  “Is that why you came today? And I thought you wanted to see my nice house.”

  Ahmose smiled. “Of course I wanted to see it. In truth, I only thought of asking you about the title on the walk up from the river.”

  “Well, you can’t have it.”

  The rejection was so blunt, Ahmose gasped. “Why not? I’m god-chosen.”

  “It takes more than feeling the gods to wield this kind of power. And so much power is more curse than blessing. Everything you do, everything you say, must be guarded. It’s no way to live a life. I wouldn’t pass the title on to you unless there was no other way for you to sort out your problems, Ahmose. I’ve lived under the eyes of the priests my whole life. It’s only now, as a very old woman, that I get to enjoy a little peace. Even as queen, you have more freedom now than you realize. That will be gone if you become God’s Wife. You’ll have to be perfect all the time to keep the priests behind you.”

  To satisfy them, Ahmose shook her head and spoke of other things. Her voice was light. But the eyes of her heart saw, again and again, Nefertari standing behind the Horus Throne, her hand on the queen’s shoulder. The subtlety and strength of her power. The assurance with which she controlled the one who sat on th
e throne.

  It was not a baby she needed. She was certain of this. She needed the title. And without Nefertari’s blessing, Ahmose would have to be as clever as a spider to make the Amun priests her own.

  THIRTEEN

  Tut had been in Buhen six weeks when Ahmose received this letter:

  Great battle at last. Ranks and ranks of Kushites threw themselves against the fortress. We held them off but ran out of arrows. Had to take to the field with all men, using spears. Lost many horses and men. Captured three Kushite princes as hostages. Killed the rest of their army. Egypt is secure from the south.

  I am wounded. Cut to the leg. Should heal well but my return is delayed. Will set sail for Egypt in two weeks’ time.

  It had taken perhaps a week and a half for the letter to reach her. Tut would be home soon.

  Ahmose set the palace into a frenzy. Every corner was swept of sand, every floor scrubbed until it shone. Scaffolds were brought into the throne room and the great feast hall, and servants hoisted pots of water high up on scaffolds to scrub years’ worth of soot from the ceilings and walls. Gardens were weeded and watered and replanted. The palace was invaded by an army of musicians, playing from sunrise to sunset to buoy the spirits of the workers. Well before the Pharaoh returned, the great palace of Waset looked as if it had just been willed into immaculate being by a goddess, as fresh and inviting as cool water.

  Mutnofret, too, was busy preparing for the Pharaoh’s return. She had new gowns sewn, purchased new wigs and jewels. Her pregnancy was progressing well. She’d been to the temple several times to offer for a boy child, and prayed nightly. Ahmose prayed, too, secretly. There was nothing she wished for more fervently than that her sister should bear a girl. After all, if their own mother had only girls, it was possible that Mutnofret, too, might be so afflicted. Perhaps it was even likely. Who could say? Her dreams were haunted by Mutnofret, leading a pack of nobles to tear Ahmose from the throne as jackals tear at their prey. She often woke shaking.

  At last the day of Tut’s return came. Late in the warm evening glow, while Ahmose spun her flax on the rooftop, Ineni clapped at the head of the stairs. “Great Lady, the Pharaoh! He is returned!”

  Ahmose dropped her distaff and bounced to her feet, as quick as a hare. She was out of the pavilion and pelting down the stairs, brushing past Ineni – all wide, dark eyes and gaping mouth – without a care in the world for a queen’s dignity. She caught herself up just before she reached the courtyard between her hall and Mutnofret’s rooms. The shade of the climbing plant was deep and dark here, cool green-blue like the skin of a melon. She hid herself behind its leaves. Smoothing her gown, she drew deep breaths, eyes squeezed shut, imagining the sight of him, how he would look striding into the palace, the way he’d sit on his throne, his hands laid atop the arms of the great gilded chair like the paws of a sphinx. She could see his face, hear his laugh. She would ride with him again in the hills beyond the city tomorrow – tonight!

  Composed now, but still with a belly full of tickling moths, Ahmose ventured into the courtyard. There was no sign of Mutnofret. She wondered whether her sister had heard the news. Should she tell her? No. Let Mutnofret’s servants do that duty. But then, Mutnofret did have every right to greet their husband. And she did have news for Thutmose. She turned toward Nofret’s chambers, clapped outside the door.

  Sitamun, Mutnofret’s big-eyed, thin-bodied servant, opened the door.

  “Is Mutnofret receiving visitors?”

  “Yes, Great Lady. Please come in.” The woman stood aside, bowing. Mutnofret’s antechamber was small, but richly decorated. Certainly Ahmose’s servants had picked through the best of the wedding gifts for her own rooms, but what was left to Mutnofret was not lacking in lush beauty. An intimate seating area was arranged in one corner, the walls above the chairs and table hung with fascinating paintings on red linen: stories of the goddesses, illustrated by a skilled hand. A tray with the leavings of a meal had yet to be cleared away. There were several bowls. Mutnofret must have just been entertaining a group of friends. Ahmose waited in the center of the chamber, fists on her hips, while Sitamun gathered up the tray and straightened the furniture.

  After a long time, Mutnofret drifted out of her bed chamber. She was dressed beautifully, in a new yellow gown that clung to her, accentuating her swollen breasts. Her wig was heavily beaded in gold; it framed her face with an aura of light. “Sister,” she said, smiling.

  “I came to tell you, Mutnofret. Our husband has returned.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful news.” Mutnofret did not sound surprised. Ahmose wondered how she’d known so soon. “I suppose we should go to see him, then. But you look a proper mess. Let’s tidy you up before we go.”

  Ahmose was a mess indeed. She’d been on her feet all day, walking in her garden, plucking leaves absently, tossing bread crumbs to birds, while she thought of power and sons, of thrones and priests. Her gown was wrinkled, her face dry with the afternoon’s dust. Mutnofret took her hand and led her into the bed chamber, sat her down at the dressing table.

  “You need to look the part, little sister,” Mutnofret said. There was no malice in her voice. Once more she spoke as if there had never been any rift between them. It’s the baby in her. It gives her assurance. She thinks I am no threat so long as I remain a virgin. But she is wrong.

  She set out a bowl, filled it with water from a pitcher, and unstopped a jar of soap. Ahmose washed, scooping the myrrh-scented soap into her hands, scrubbing the day’s thoughts away.

  “A queen is expected to be pretty and perfect all the time.” Mutnofret drizzled oil into a pot, stirred in malachite powder. She whipped it into a paste, dipped a small brush, and gently painted Ahmose’s eyelids. “Make yourself beautiful and your husband will always love you.”

  “You know all about being beautiful,” Ahmose said. She couldn’t keep a touch of jealousy from her voice.

  Mutnofret reached for the kohl pot. She didn’t hesitate, but Ahmose saw a quick spark flare and die in Mutnofret’s eye. Then the kohl brush was coming at her; Ahmose closed her eyes and allowed Mutnofret to line them.

  “It’s a thing you can learn, too, Ahmose. You really should take more care of your appearance if you’re to be queen.”

  I am queen, Ahmose thought. She said nothing.

  Mutnofret applied the rouge to her cheeks, then oiled her lips and dusted them with rouge, too. “Don’t lick it all off.”

  Ahmose smiled at her. “How do I look?”

  “You need another dress. Let’s go back to your rooms and I’ll help you choose one.”

  It was the first time Mutnofret had been in the apartments of the Great Royal Wife since they passed to Ahmose. She looked around at the opulence, the soaring space at least twice as wide and high as her own rooms. Mutnofret’s face remained blank but for a muscle that twitched once, twice, in her jaw.

  To keep her sister’s mood light, Ahmose joked and gossiped as she led Mutnofret to the wardrobe. They sorted through Ahmose’s garments, Nofret casting some aside and placing others into a neat stack. Finally, she picked through the stack, considering each weave, and at last held up a bright blue dress of thin linen. It was nearly as thin as the one Mutnofret had worn to their wedding feast. Ahmose blushed. She only ever wore this one about her apartments on warm days. She would never even consider going out into the palace dressed in this gown.

  “It’s awfully thin,” she said in a small voice.

  “Of course it is! Your body is starting to develop, Ahmose.” Mutnofret sounded less than enthusiastic about it. “You should show it to our husband.”

  “All right.”

  Mutnofret knew what she was doing, surely. With Thutmose’s child inside her, the Second Queen thought she had no more need of tricks. And this help with dressing – Ahmose truly looked beautiful now, not like a child at all. It was almost as if Nofret was making amends for her deception at the wedding feast. Ahmose stood still while her sister tied the dress, adjusting it two o
r three times so it draped just so, both revealing and concealing the features of her body. Her breasts, her hips were like brown stones under flowing water, to be glimpsed and hidden again by the wash of blue. She took a few shaky breaths while Mutnofret stood back to look her over.

  “Some jewels, I think. Where are they?”

  Ahmose pointed to her jewel boxes, stacked neatly against one wall. Mutnofret’s eyebrows rose; perhaps Ahmose had more than she did. But all the same, Nofret rummaged through them until she found the right pieces to complement the blue dress.

  “Now you look a queen,” she said quietly, fastening a necklace of overlapping gold leaves.