“Ahmose, be sensible, please. This isn’t just about Mutnofret. She’ll find a way to use this against you, if she can. Continuing to spend time together, alone, will only give her more to build her lies on.”
“But what of our plan?”
“We can still carry it out, when the time is right. We’ll need to communicate by letter, that’s all.”
By letter. Just as with Thutmose. Would all her relationships have to be by letter? Would she be in isolation forever? She kicked hard at a branch lying on the grass. It sailed across the path and clattered into the bushes. “I hate Mutnofret! She ruins everything. Everything!”
Ineni’s gentle hand was on her shoulder. She turned to look up at him. His eyes were sad now, not hungry. “She won’t win in the end, Ahmose. I promise you.”
Sitamun was gone. There was no one to see. She wrapped her arms around Ineni, holding him hard against her. “She won’t win in the end.” Her lips brushed his cheek, a farewell kiss between the best of friends. Then she walked away from him. She looked back only once to see him staring down at his feet, his face burning.
NINETEEN
The Men-Nefer festival was over. The Inundation was drawing to a close. Day by day the waters were lower; more of the Black Land, freshly darkened by rich silt, emerged with every sunrise. Ahmose longed for Thutmose more each day, too. Minding court alone was a heavy burden. She longed for Ineni, as well. She laughed and smiled little now that they must see each other only at court. Ineni was her happiness, and his absence from her daily life was distressing. All Ahmose wanted to do was spin flax. With her heart distant, she was detached from the day-to-day business of running the land. She was irritable, snappish. It was hard to focus on judging and ruling. It was harder to ignore Mutnofret’s impertinence.
Late one morning, court was coming to a blessed end. Ahmose was especially restless, eager to retreat to the coolness of her rooms. Ineni approached the throne and bowed apologetically, first to her, then to Mutnofret. “Great Ladies. There is an urgent dispute. I know you are eager to conclude the session, but the vizier of Waset has sent this case to you. A quarrel between the noble men Djau and Minnakht, land owners on the southern end of the city.”
Ahmose groaned inwardly. “What is the problem?”
“A question of territory. The two men refused to allow the vizier to settle the issue. He’s been working with them for over a week, it seems; they are not giving any ground, either one. The vizier asks that the throne make a final decision.”
“Send them in.”
Minnakht and Djau were much like any other of Waset’s land owners. They were stout men, not heavy from hard work like Thutmose, but soft of body with the round features of those who eat plenty and labor infrequently. They marched into the great hall behind Ineni, looking anywhere but at each other. After they made their proper bows to the throne, Ahmose said, “What is your complaint?”
“Djau has been trying to steal my land, Great Lady.”
“I’ve done no such thing, my queen. As Thoth is my witness! Minnakht tried to put up his field-markers many spans further north than he’s ever done before.”
“The flood knocked them down! I was putting them back up where they fell. Djau is lying about the boundaries.”
“No such thing! No such thing! Minnakht is a scoundrel; everybody knows it, Great Lady.”
“You dare to call me a scoundrel! You poisoned three of my cattle last year!”
“They died because you’re too stupid to keep them out of the barley. They bloated! I won’t be blamed for your lack of…”
Ahmose clapped her hands sharply for silence. The men, fuming, shut their mouths. “If I understand correctly, the field-markers that define the borders between your two estates fell during the flood.” Djau nodded. “And you took your dispute to the vizier.” Minnakht coughed and looked away. “The vizier was unable to find a suitable solution to your problem. Is this because the vizier is poor at his work, or because you two quarrel like little children?”
Neither man answered.
Ahmose drew in a breath to go on, but before she could, Mutnofret spoke up. “Either the two of you will settle this matter between you, or tomorrow I will send the Steward of Cattle to collect half of each of your herds.”
The land owners gaped, but neither spoke. Ahmose’s face burned.
Mutnofret went on, “And if your land-markers are not up within three days in a position that suits you both, the throne will take six spans of land between both your estates. That ought to keep you from fighting with one another in the future.”
Ahmose blinked. Absurd. A punishment that did not fit the crime; indeed, there was no crime here, no reason to threaten fees and seizures. These two men needed an authority to settle their squabble, that was all. But the words were spoken. Words that were Ahmose’s to speak by rights, not her sister’s.
Even so, Ahmose couldn’t contradict Mutnofret. To do so would make the throne look as contentious as these two men. She swallowed her anger, and held up a hand in dismissal. “The second queen has given you her ruling. You may go. Ineni, assign a steward to see that Queen Mutnofret’s wishes are carried out.”
Ineni blanched, holding Ahmose’s eye for a heartbeat. She could read his thoughts on his face: You can’t let her push you like this.
No, I can’t, she said to herself. Tut should have put a stop to it long ago. But Tut wasn’t here now. Ahmose had to look after herself, had to face down Mutnofret herself. This madness will end today.
The moment the great doors closed behind the land owners, Ahmose sprang from her throne and was gone from the hall. She slammed the hall’s rear door behind her. Mutnofret! That detestable scorpion! She’d stung Ahmose for the last time.
She broke into a run, flying through the colonnades, her eyes dazzled by the whip of light and shadow as she sprinted past pillars and arches. She threw open the door to Mutnofret’s apartments. Sitamun, spinning in the corner below Mutnofret’s goddess tapestries, jumped to her feet with a yelp of alarm. Ahmose snapped her fingers and pointed at Sitamun’s heart as if her finger could shoot flames. “Sit down. Your mistress is coming soon, no doubt. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.” She stalked into Mutnofret’s bedroom and shut the door.
Ahmose leaned against the wall beside the door and tried to slow her breathing. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel the furious pulse behind her eyes. Mutnofret sitting on her stupid throne as if she owned Egypt. Mutnofret issuing her ridiculous judgments before Ahmose could even open her mouth. Mutnofret making love to Tut in this very bed. Mutnofret!
Feet scuffled in the anteroom. The outer door shut softly. Then silence. Sitamun must have fled. Wise of her. Mutnofret would surely be cross once she realized her servant had allowed Ahmose into the bed chamber. Ahmose closed her eyes and steadied her heart. Strength. Ferocity. Confidence. She would snip the sting right off Mutnofret’s tail.
The outer door opened. Footsteps: confident, even stride, coming across the anteroom. Mutnofret!
The bedroom door opened, blocking Ahmose from her sister’s view. Mutnofret strolled into the room like a cat, all upright posture and crackling air of haughtiness.
“I suppose you think you’re terribly clever, Mutnofret.”
She jumped and spun. When her eyes found Ahmose, standing with crossed arms beside the door, she frowned.
“What are you doing in my chambers? Get out.”
“I am the Great Royal Wife, and I go where I please.”
“Not into my private rooms, you don’t. Get out before I summon guards to haul you out.”
She ignored the threat. If Mutnforet called guards, Ahmose would just send them away again. They couldn’t touch her. Not on the word of a second wife. “Threatening to take land from nobles? That’s the way you think to solve a dispute?”
“It got them to settle, didn’t it?”
“And it will turn them against the throne. A fine job you’ve done.”<
br />
“At least I moved decisively. At least I didn’t sit on my backside and shiver like you always do.”
“It’s not your place to speak before me at court. I am the Great Royal Wife. I have authority over you.”
Mutnofret’s black eyes were piercing. “It is my place, not yours. You’re a usurper. The throne is mine by birth, mine by right. You’re a thief, Ahmose.”
The unfairness struck Ahmose like a blow. She hadn’t wanted to be a queen, let alone the Great Royal Wife. If she had her way she would spend her days spinning and serving the gods, not settling land disputes between fat, petulant nobles. She only did what the gods required, what she was made to do. She was queen because she had no choice.
Ah, but Tut. She wanted him as she didn’t want the throne. She wanted his company, his respect, his love. She would do anything to keep Tut for herself. Even rule a nation. She hardened herself. For Tut, she turned her heart to bronze. “If you ever speak to me in that manner again, I will have you caned. Do you understand me?”
Mutnofret’s face registered shock, then instant derision. “Caned! You! You who can’t make a single clear judgment on your golden throne! You will have me caned! Tell me, little Ahmoset, how would you have settled the dispute? Had a steward bring a map, and waste time with surveyors and builders, and put up a wall between those men’s farms?” That was precisely what Ahmose would have done. She must have blushed, for Mutnofret’s mouth curled with contempt. “A waste of time and funds. Those two fools will settle the problem by themselves now, and the Pharaoh’s treasure won’t need to be tapped. If you thought like a queen, you’d have seen that.”
“Now their hearts are turned against you, and gainst the king. If you thought like a person instead of like a crocodile, you’d see that.”
“Thutmose doesn’t want their hearts. He wants their taxes.”
“Tut wants their loyalty. That’s what he needs. Have you already forgotten that our husband isn’t of royal blood? If he doesn’t have the nobles and priests united behind him, the throne won’t be his for long. And that means it won’t be yours for long, either.”
“Tut. How cute.”
Ahmose was brought up short. She made her hands into fists and pressed her nails deep into her palms to keep herself from smiling. So Mutnofret had never called him Tut. He’d never given his second wife this secret name to use. The knowledge that she shared something with her husband even Mutnofret couldn’t touch filled her with a wash of power. She felt like Sekhmet, the lioness, crouching to spring, to take down her prey. She stepped close to Mutnofret, so close that her sister drew back and crossed her hands over the bulge of her belly. “I’ll cane you myself, Mutnofret. Believe it. I have a duty to Egypt. My work is to rule while Thutmose is gone. If you continue to interfere, I’ll stripe you like a runaway slave. Stay out of my way and let me do my work.”
She turned to leave. She wanted to walk away, to push Mutnofret’s rage and bitterness behind her forever and never look upon it again. But the desperation in Mutnofret’s voice stopped her before she could pass through the bed-chamber door. “And what is my work, now that you’ve taken all I lived for?”
Ahmose looked back at her sister. Mutnofret’s arms and legs trembled faintly, whether from the excitement of the confrontation or from fear of her threats, she could not tell. But still, her sister stood straight and proud, a queen by birth, a queen to her center.
“Give the Pharaoh an heir,” Ahmose said. “That is the only work you need concern yourself with.”
“A brood mare,” Mutnofret said. Her lips pressed together, twisted. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Ahmose remembered the sight of Mutnofret alone on the queen’s throne, hand raised to an empty, dark hall. “I was raised to be the Great Royal Wife, and you have reduced me to a brood mare.”
Ahmose left her standing there with Tut’s baby in her belly.
“Does Tut know you’re in bed with your steward, Ahmose?” Mutnofret’s screech carried through her anteroom. Ahmose kept walking, never once looking round. “Have a care your precious nobles and priests don’t find that out. I wonder where their hearts would lie then?”
***
Ahmose made herself walk slowly across the courtyard. Obviously Sitamun had told what she’d seen in the garden before the Men-Nefer festival. And what else had that vile gossip seen? How often had she been sent to spy on Ahmose? Ineni had been her only comfort, her only joy in the dark days since Tut sailed north. Any gesture, any word between them could be interpreted as romantic. A dagger of guilt twisted in her belly.
Ahmose remembered how she and Mutnofret had vowed to be sisters first, sisters forever, and remembering made her chest tighten. How quickly they’d forgotten their promise. How quickly hate had taken hold of their hearts. There was a rent between them now that a thousand-thousand stitches could never mend. And would it open further? Would the gods drive this wedge between Ahmose and Tut, too? Unthinkable. Impossible. Unbearable. She would give it all up – her privacy, the palace itself – to ensure Tut was still hers. She would move against Mutnofret’s schemes. Decisively. Today.
Back in her apartments, she sent Twosre to find Ineni. She dragged a flat box out of one of the great standing chests that held her gowns. Inside was a swath of linen dyed the perfect crimson of beaded blood. She tied it tightly, and though her hands shook, they did not fail.
The garment was stifling, and so snug it was difficult to walk. But it accentuated every curve of her young body. It turned her into the very image of ripening. The red cloth was knotted beneath her breasts, exposing them. She painted her nipples with oil and coated them with gold dust, so that they shone like sun-discs. Her finest wig went onto her head, and her brilliant alabaster vulture crown atop it. The goddess’s wings, worked in stone so fine and smooth they glowed like a full moon rising, fell to either side of her face. She didn’t need her mirror to know she looked like a vision. She felt it. She felt Mut singing in her heart.
Ineni wasn’t long in coming. Twosre helped him bear in a long box, longer than a man’s height and more than wide enough for a stout man to lie inside. When Ineni straightened from his burden and looked at Ahmose, his eyes lit with a hungry fire. She looked like womanhood itself, she knew. Perfect.
“What is all this?” Twosre frowned.
“I’m striking a blow against evil today,” Ahmose said. She came toward Ineni and the box, her hips swaying like a bed of reeds in the confines of the red dress. Ineni swallowed hard.
“Great Lady, where are you going?” Twosre’s voice was pitched high with worry.
“To Ipet-Isut. To pay a little visit to the High Priest of Amun. Ineni, do you have the letter?”
He pulled a scroll of papyrus from his belt. “It’s ready. A litter is coming. The bearers will meet us in the courtyard.”
“Make sure Mutnofret is distracted so she doesn’t see me leave. I won’t have her pulling some trick to ruin my plan.”
There was a note of fear in Twosre’s voice. “I don’t understand.” Ahmose turned to her, reached out in reassurance.
“Don’t worry. The gods are with me. They always have been. They have a job for me to do, today and always. Egypt is mine, whatever Mutnofret thinks. The gods gave the land to me, and I will be its steward.”
Ineni lifted away the lid. He held them up, one in each hand: two perfect wings, white as stars on water. There were dozens of feathers on each, strong, long, lightweight. She stretched out her arms.
He showed her how they worked, how her upper and lower arms fitted into the braided-linen loops. His fingers were deft and soft against her skin. She couldn’t bend her arms with the wings on, of course, but that hardly mattered. When she turned about and held the wings wide for Twosre to see, her servant gasped. The white feathers swept out, impossibly light, impossibly beautiful. She was winged in her ka, winged in truth. She could spring up like a bird, it seemed, and fly over the Black Land.
Twosre half-sank into a bow, as if she stood before
the goddess made flesh. “You’re Mut,” she said.
“And today, I go to wed Amun.”
TWENTY
It was easier to ride in the litter with the wings off. They were laid carefully beside her on cushions, a barrier between herself and Ineni.
“Mutnofret thinks we’re lovers.” The sun, sliding down the sky, illuminated the litter’s blue curtains and cast Ineni’s face in cool planes. The steward said nothing. “Ineni, as dear as you are to me, we can never be lovers.”
“I know.”
The Sekhmet Bed (The She-King) Page 16