“Do you want me to come along?”
“No, thank you. I’ll manage on my own.” The door shut softly behind Ineni and the anxious Sitamun. “It will be good for me, I’m sure, to see another birth. One that goes well,” she said firmly, as if her words could make it so.
***
Ahmose stood for a long time outside Mutnofret’s door. There was muffled sound on the other side. Even through the walls it had a feeling of urgency, of strain. She could make out no words, but the rustle and bump, the murmur, the urgency of the half-formed sounds brought her close to panic. She would not let Mut’s dream-words into her heart. Lady of sorrow. Mother of the Pharaoh, you will bear no sons. She would not let the words in. She would not! Mutnofret would be well. All would be well. Ahmose breathed deeply, rubbed her fingers back and forth over the Tawaret charm she’d tucked into her blue linen belt. Finally, before the last thread of her courage could snap, she pushed the door open.
The anteroom was empty. The door to Mutnofret’s bedroom hung half open, and the forms of many women passed back and forth across the gap. Ahmose made for it with the pounding heart of a soldier going into battle.
The moment she was inside Mutnofret’s bedroom, the scene of Aiya’s death sprang up before her eyes. The frightened urgency of the women was the same. The dense air of dread was the same. The same holed seat sat in one corner. Was Mutnofret in some trouble, then, too? Would she also die under a hideous knife? No. No, it will be different. All will be well.
“Ahmose.” Mutnofret’s voice called from somewhere in the press of women. She went toward it.
Nofret was lying on her bed, naked, wigless, eyes shut. Her stomach was enormous, a great, swollen thing painted all around with dark lines where the skin had stretched. A midwife bent over the second queen to dab a cool cloth against her cheeks, and Nofret tossed her head. She called for Ahmose again.
“I’m here, sister.” A hundred painful thoughts had run through Ahmose’s mind before she’d entered these rooms. As she had prayed to Tawaret, she’d wondered whether Mutnofret had only summoned her here to play another cruel game with her, to renew her fear of birth. But now – now, seeing Mutnofret in such distress, so helpless, she wanted only to ease her sister’s fears. She took her hand and squeezed.
“You must try to relax, Great Lady.” A woman bent over Mutnofret, patting her forehead with another damp cloth. Well into the season of Peret, the days were cool and pleasant; yet here in the confines of Mutnofret’s room, with so many crowded around the bed, the air was stifling. “Relax everything, right down to your bones.”
Mutnofret’s stomach tensed, heaving; she groaned deep in her throat. Her hand tightened around Ahmose’s fingers.
“What’s going on? Tell me what’s happening,” Ahmose demanded.
“She has begun her labor, Great Lady. The baby is making his way to the door.”
“I know that. What is it doing to my sister?”
“Tiring her; that is all.”
“When will the baby be out?”
“I do not know, Great Lady,” the midwife said. With a shiver, Ahmose recognized the same woman who had presided over Aiya’s doomed delivery. “Only the gods know. Some babies come very quickly; a few hours. Others take days.”
“Days?” She was dizzy just thinking about any woman remaining in such a state for days.
“The second queen is young. It is her first child. I think perhaps he won’t be born until late in the the night-time.”
Mutnofret panted. Her arms went limp. The pain had subsided, it seemed. Ahmose was beginning to sweat from the heat of so many bodies.
“Are so many women necessary right now, if the baby won’t arrive until night?”
The midwife looked annoyed at so many questions, but Ahmose was the Great Royal Wife, and could not be brushed away. “No,” she said hesitantly. “Your sister, Great Lady. She ordered that we all attend her.”
“She needs fresh air.” We all do, gods know. “Clear some space.”
“She may walk, Great Lady. It would do her good. It will speed the baby’s coming. We’ve tried to coax her out of bed, but she refused.”
“Get up, Mutnofret.”
Nofret groaned and shook her head side to side.
“Mutnofret, you can’t stay like this until night. Get up and walk with me in your garden. You should be in a proper birthing pavilion anyway, not here.” She tugged on Nofret’s hand. Slowly, carefully, still with her eyes squeezed shut, Mutnofret sat, then stood. The midwife helped Ahmose guide her to the garden door. The fresh air roused her; her eyes opened and she took several deep, shaking breaths. “Why is she in her rooms and not in the women’s garden?”
“Great Lady, she refused to go.”
“But the birthing pavilion is in the women’s garden.”
“Of course, Great Lady, but…”
“It’s improper for the second queen to give birth squatting on her bed like a rekhet. Set up a pavilion out here, in Mutnofret’s own garden,” Ahmose said, struggling not to shout. Why should she have to tell these women their business?
The women buzzed, then one spoke up. “Great Lady, it will take time, and we haven’t the supplies.”
“Do you know Ineni, my steward?”
The woman nodded.
“Tell him Queen Ahmose commands him to procure the supplies this very hour. He will make it happen. Jump! Your queen has given you orders!”
The midwife offered to walk with them, but Ahmose waved her off. Mutnofret seemed to be regaining some strength, now that she was out in the cool garden air. Ahmose tucked herself under Nofret’s arm, and they took steady, even steps back and forth through the garden. It was a pretty place:, peaceful and private, if rather small and confined. Mutnofret took measured breaths. Now that she had a task her mind seemed to focus and her fear dispel.
“Thank you for coming,” she said weakly.
“Of course.”
“I know…I know you dislike birth.”
Ahmose said nothing.
“It means much to me that you’re here.” She stopped abruptly, groaning.
“Lean on me,” Ahmose said. Mutnofret sagged into her. The full weight nearly buckled Ahmose’s knees. She stood very still while the pain took its course, then subsided. Mutnofret straightened, and Ahmose bent her knees one after the other to ease her own pain.
“I do think the walking helps. At least it gives me something else to think about.” Mutnofret tried a tiny laugh.
“Have you thought of a name?” Ahmose asked, a further distraction.
“I haven’t wanted to. I thought to name him before he was born might curse him.”
Or her. Ahmose smiled. “With all the praying you’ve done, I doubt this baby could be cursed.”
They walked a long time. The midwife brought chairs outside so they could rest, but always chivvied Mutnofret back to her feet after a few minutes. Ahmose began to grow tired, and the midwife’s assistant took her place, propping Nofret up, supporting her through the pains.
“I’m glad you came, Great Lady,” the midwife said as they watched the scene in the garden. “I believe we never would have gotten her out of that bed. It’s dangerous to delay labor that way. So many things can go wrong.”
Ahmose didn’t want to think about that.
The afternoon stretched on. At last, poles and bolts of cloth arrived. Gratefully, Ahmose set about directing the servants in setting up a makeshift pavilion. Soon its walls were waving gently in the cool breeze.
“Now you’re ready to give birth like a proper lady,” Ahmose said to Mutnofret, taking over walking duties again. She expected a wan smile, but Nofret’s eyes were half closed and she breathed heavily, moaning with each breath. Sweat glistened on her lip and forehead. “I can’t do this,” she muttered.
“What?” Ahmose leaned closer.
“I can’t. I can’t do it!”
“Mutnofret. Of course you can.”
“Anupu take me!” Her voice ros
e to a wail. Ahmose shrank back, cringing from the words, from the change in her sister’s behavior. A moment ago Mutnofret had been plodding about as resolute as Hathor’s cow, and now she was crying out to die! So this is how it starts. How the danger begins. Mutnofret would die, huge, frightened, in pain, and Ahmose would live the rest of her life knowing she let her sister go to her tomb without ever truly mending the break in their love. The midwife and her women leapt into action, steering Ahmose away, surrounding Mutnofret, guiding her to the pavilion. One brought the ugly stool from inside Mutnofret’s bed chamber; another struck a small brazier alight and tossed herbs into the fire. One woman piled linens inside the pavilion. They were just like the linens that had soaked up Aiya’s blood.
If Nofret could not do this thing – Nofret, the brave one, the brash one – then what woman could? Dizziness took hold of Ahmose’s head. She clutched at something hard and steady – the back of one of the chairs. Her legs trembled.
“Come, Great Lady, come,” the midwife said to Mutnofret, easing her toward the pavilion where death waited.
Nofret screamed.
Blackness crept up before Ahmose’s eyes, obscuring Mutnofret’s feet, legs, the obscene swell of her belly, and finally her face, mouth stretched open in a wail of pain that Ahmose no longer heard. The world had gone silent.
***
“Ahmose. Great Lady.” The voice was a whisper. A hand shook her shoulder. She sat up in her own bed, and cried out in pain. A white fire leapt into her head, just above her left ear. The room was awash in late afternoon light. It hurt her eyes. Ineni perched on a stool beside her.
“What happened?”
“They tell me you fainted. You hit your head on a chair. No one could leave Mutnofret, so somebody called for me.”
“You carried me back?”
He flushed. “With the help of a guard.”
“Where is Twosre?”
“Gone to help with the birthing.”
“My sister?”
“Last I heard, she is doing well. The midwives are not afraid for her.”
It was good news, but she felt only dread. The look on Mutnofret’s face. Her scream. She had implored Anupu to take her life away. “I can never do it, Ineni.”
His look darted from her eyes to her lips to her hands, as if he might find some words to say there. He reached out to pat the back of her hand, awkwardly. The gesture was so sweet, so informal, that she lost all countenance and threw her arms around his neck with a childish impulsivity. Tears stung her eyes. Ineni’s arms were around her in an instant. He rocked her very gently. Finally he pulled back, a stony look on his face. He would not meet her eye.
“I saw Aiya die, and now Mutnofret in that state, calling out for death. I cannot bear a child.”
“But it will cost you the throne. Sooner or later, it will. If Mutnofret has a son – when she has a son – it will cost you everything.”
“No, it won’t. You have the letters? And the feathers?”
“It’s a hard thing. Few hunters are taking the right kinds of birds. It will take longer than I had hoped, unless…”
“Only egrets and sea-birds. No ibis. No vultures. Those are sacred.”
“Sea-birds don’t come so far south. Not often.”
“Can you send to the North for feathers?”
“Ah, I can try.”
She nodded. It would take time to make the right preparations, but it would work. It had to work. She and Ineni had devised the cleverest plan under the sun. It would not fail. She thought of Nefertari, of Meritamun dying, and shoved away creeping guilt. She had no time for guilt. No time, if she was to save her place in this world. Her place at Tut’s side. People do horrible things, when they are at war.
“Keep working at it,” she said. “I know now I can’t bear a child. Whatever Tut’s dream meant – whatever my dream meant – I can’t bear a child. This is my only way to hold on.”
SEVENTEEN
When Twosre brought the news that a prince was born, Ahmose sent her away. Not in anger, but so she could have privacy to reflect on what she would say, what she would do. As she sat quietly in her garden, stretching her legs along a bench beneath a canopy of winter-dried vines, nursing her aching head with wine and honey, Twosre arrived with more news. Baketamun’s child had come early that morning, just hours after the prince. A girl.
She remained in her garden for some time, alone, preparing to meet her nephew. She took great care with her appearance, just as Mutnofret had taught her, applying her paints with a careful hand, choosing the most select of her gowns, the most impressive of her jewels. When she looked the part of the Great Royal Wife, she departed for Mutnofret’s apartments.
Mutnofret welcomed Ahmose into her bed chamber. The second queen walked stiffly and sat on her bed with great care, wincing, but the smile hardly left her face. Ahmose was dimly glad for her sister’s happiness. But inwardly, she frowned at the wrinkled red baby lying on the bed. Mutnofret scooped him up and pulled a heavy breast free of her loose white gown. The boy sucked and smacked loudly. Mutnofret grinned.
“What are we to call the new prince?” Ahmose asked, watching the greedy little thing wave his weak hands.
“Wadjmose. His name is Wadjmose.”
“He looks healthy and strong.”
Mutnofret looked up, a reply on her lips. Then her smile widened. She was looking past Ahmose’s shoulder. She laughed; not her usual throaty, low laugh, but a girlish giggle. Ahmose didn’t need to look around to know that the Pharaoh had arrived to greet his son.
“Well!” Tut brushed by Ahmose to sit at Mutnofret’s side. His weight pulled the bed down so Mutnofret’s body slanted against his. She leaned her head on his shoulder for a brief moment, and he reached around her to pull her in tighter. Ahmose chewed her lip. “He’s a fine boy,” Tut said, his voice rounded and warmed by pride.
“Wadjmose,” Mutnofret said.
“A perfect name.” Tut reached to touch the boy. Without releasing the nipple, Wadjmose clutched a wrinkled fist around Tut’s finger. “Strong grip! The gods are good; he has his father’s hands. Let’s hope he doesn’t grow up to have his father’s teeth!”
Ahmose stepped closer, determined not to be overlooked. “Have you chosen a wet nurse yet, Mutnofret?”
“I had a few in mind, but I don’t have to make a decision for a few days. Oh, it would be divine to nurse him forever!”
“You’ll ruin your breasts,” Ahmose said sensibly. “What about Baketamun? She gave birth to your daughter early this morning, Thutmose.”
“Did she? I’m doubly blessed! Has a man ever had a finer day?”
“I can’t take Baketamun out of the House of Women to nurse my child. She won’t want her breasts ruined, either. She’s the daughter of a great man, after all. No, it will have to be a servant. I suppose if none of the women in the palace can do it, I can find a nurse from among the rekhet.”
Ahmose was annoyed. If she could get Baketamun’s daughter into the court, perhaps Wadjmose would lose his novelty, and some of his inevitable power over the nobles. And over Thutmose.
“You won’t want to take the time away from caring for him, though, to find a nurse. You only have a few days to nurse him, after all,” Tut said. “Ahmoset, why don’t you find the prince’s nurse? I know you’ll choose a good one.”
The last thing Ahmose wanted to do was interview big-breasted rekhet to nurse her treacherous nephew, but she was so pleased to hear her name on Tut’s lips that she nodded like a fool. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“Oh, will you, Ahmoset?” Mutnofret beamed at her. “It would be such a help.”
“Of…of course, Nofret. I’ll do it today.” The sooner she had it done, the sooner she could return to life as it was before the child arrived.
“There’s a good aunt,” Tut laughed. “And this evening, Ahmoset, I’ll take you on a ride. All the way out to the desert! I want to look on the whole land. I could shout from the palace roof, I’m so t
hrilled. Was ever a man as blessed as me?”
***
“You found a good nurse for Wadjmose?” Tut reined the horses to a walk.
Far to the west, across river and valley, the horizon was blurred with dust. A wind storm out in the dunes. The sunset would be especially beautiful tonight. Ahmose was glad to be here with her husband, gliding in their chariot along the crest of the hills above the valley. The waters of Akhet had receded, leaving behind deep black silt. From their vantage in the sky, it seemed all of Egypt lay dark and fresh below them, unrolled along the banks of the river like a dropped scroll. Planting would begin soon, the farmers treading the fields with bare feet, spearing holes into the earth, dropping seeds, praying for an abundant growing season. Same as it had been forever, all the way back to the beginning of the world. It was a time for nurturing, for making things grow. Children, yes; and plans, too.
The Sekhmet Bed (The She-King) Page 14