She walked for a long time, her eyes on Waset. To the left and right of the roadway fields of flax stretched away, bright and alive, waiting for the reaping. She stopped over a culvert to watch men at work on a canal, setting new bricks into place, shoveling debris from the bed. Was the tension in their faces from their work, or from worry? Their fields were marked with cairns, but the crop did not stretch all the way to the rock piles. Growth ended a good three spans short, the intervening space between crop and boundaries sere and lifeless. She shuddered and walked on.
Chariots passed her, coming and going. None was the one she wanted, though. She reached the crossroads and sat down on the cairn that marked it, waiting, watching the people going about their lives. It was strange to be out among them, unrecognized. At court they were formal. In the temple, they were reverent. Here, where no royalty and no gods watched them, they joked and quarreled, they held hands, they picked their noses and spat on the ground. Children being herded by tired mothers screamed and caught beetles in the roadside weeds. Men driving fine ladies in chariots shouted at the rekhet to clear the way. Goatherds drove their flocks by, whistling. A string of cattle plodded past, led by a tall boy, his little brother perched on the withers of the lead beast.
She waited a long time. The sun was dipping low, darkening its face as it neared the far red bluffs to the west. She was about to turn back for the temple when she saw Ineni’s chariot. It was pulled by a pair of spotted horses. Her heart leapt to see him, lean and upright, coming toward her at a dust-kicking trot, his dear face serious and drawn. She waved to him.
“Well,” he said, drawing rein. He gave her his hand, pulled her into the chariot. The touch of his skin against hers skipped her heart. “I never would have recognized you.”
“Oh, Ineni! Has it really been so long?” She hugged him. She kissed his cheek. “I’ve missed you! You got my letter. I’m so glad.”
“All right, all right. I’ve missed you, too, but we may be recognized, even out here. Let’s go.” He turned the horses past the cairn. They left the hard-packed surface of the main road, and here the horses’ hooves made a soft, scraping sound on the loose soil of a farm path. The road lifted toward the low crest that marched past Ipet-Isut to Waset, the same place she’d often gone to ride with Tut. There were no guards now, though, as when she rode with her husband. No one was on this road but Ahmose and her steward.
“What’s this all about, then?” Ineni said, when they were sure no one was nearby to hear.
“I just had to see you. I needed a friend. The harvest looks so poor, and Mutnofret has just had another son…you’ve heard of that, of course.”
“Yes, I have.”
“I just needed to be with you again, Ineni. I always felt so happy and free with you. I’m so troubled now, all the time. It’s hard to work at court all day, and to lead the prayers every night. I knew it would be difficult, being God’s Wife, but I didn’t understand how it would really be.”
Ineni said nothing. The horses’ hooves crunched up the path. Ahmose wavered, steadying herself with a hard grip on the chariot’s rail, waiting. At last he said, “I’ve missed you, too.” There was a curious tension in his voice.
The sun was nearly below the horizon now. It sent out a last flame, a bright defiance of the oncoming night. Ahmose tucked herself beneath Ineni’s arm, pressed her body against his, rested her head on his chest. She heard him swallow hard. She was frightening him, perhaps. He’d always been so shy. But she didn’t care. She’d been too long without company, and she needed to feel his closeness.
Ineni reined in on a hilltop. They climbed down from the chariot. He hobbled the horses, adjusted their harnesses, looked anywhere but at Ahmose.
“Come here,” she said, filled suddenly with a shaking hot confidence. There was a large flat stone sunk into the ground, a natural bench. She sat on it, and like a fish drawn to bait, Ineni came to her. He sat beside her, tense, ready to dart away like a wary carp. She wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him in place, and kissed his cheek. He turned his face to hers before she could pull away, and his lips hesitated just a breath away from her own.
The moment hung heavy between them, the heart-shaking, prickling moment. Then Ahmose leaned forward, so slightly. Their lips touched. Their mouths opened together. His tongue grazed the roof of her mouth, pulled her toward him, circled inside. She gasped through her nose and Ineni’s smell overwhelmed her: sweet herbs, and papyrus scrolls, and dust from the road, the faintest taste of myrrh. It was a wicked thing. Her heart should be Tut’s. But Tut wasn’t here, and he’d never looked at her the way Ineni did. And no one could see them but the spotted horses.
Decided now, determined, he loosened the knot of her dress. It fell to her waist. Her shoulders and breasts were bare. He dipped his head to kiss each breasts. She was wordless and breathless. She wanted him. She didn’t know how, or why. She couldn’t have named exactly what it was she wanted so badly then, but she wanted it fiercely. His hand was on her knee, on her thigh, moving upward to where the fire burned. His fingers brushed her gently there, and she moved her legs apart, eyes squeezed shut with the sweetness of anticipation.
Something rough and warm pressed against her back. He had laid her down on the rock, his mouth busy at her neck, his hand clever and soft beneath the rumpled dress. There was a sound. From her own throat, she thought, a sigh, a moan, a surrender. She was floating away on a warm river. She had cast off all her lines, and she was floating, rushing with this strange current. He was steering her along like a captain steers a new-made barque, and now the current was faster, driving harder, spinning. She urged him on with little gasps, wordless cries. She clutched at his shoulders. She sank under the waves, where there was no air, no light, just the crash of water all around her, and then drifting, drifting, drifting.
The rock had cooled. The sky was dark. The spotted horses stamped and switched their tails. She sat up, shivering.
Ineni’s eyes were wide. “I…I didn’t plan to…”
“It’s all right.” She tugged at the rough dress, and he helped her re-tie it at her shoulder. It was all right. More than all right. Ineni…her sweet Ineni! Was this what she’d wanted from him all along? All their times walking in the garden, rowing on the lake…was this what it all led to?
“I shouldn’t have. I got carried away. Great Lady, forgive me.”
“Don’t call me that.” She stood. Her legs were so weak. There were lights in Waset below, torches being carried through the streets, braziers burning near windows. For the quickest heartbeat, she wanted to admonish him, but she couldn’t. This was bad, this was wrong. She was Tut’s. And she did love Tut, truly. Tut was so far away, though, and Ineni had kissed her, and put his hand under her dress, and Tut had never looked on her with Ineni’s eyes. “When can I see you again?”
He didn’t say a word for a long time. Then, at last, “Whenever you want to, I suppose. But I won’t…I won’t step out of place again.”
But she wanted him to. She understood it now, why women and men did what they did together. She and Ineni couldn’t lie together, of course. He might get a child on her, and that was as out of the question for him as it was for her husband. But this. This they could do. They could be lovers, if it was in secret.
At least until Tut returned. Just until then.
TWENTY-THREE
The Festival of Khonsu would be thinly celebrated this year. With the stores near empty and the harvest disappointing, not even the palace could afford a great feast. Still, Ahmose planned a stylish celebration with dancers and poets enough to make up for the bland food.
After spending all her nights at the temple for three months and more, it was disorienting to be back at the palace again by night. The courtyards in the moonlight, the fountains in the purple dusk, the richly dressed servants hurrying through the yards with reed torches: all these struck her – half awed, half appalled – as any traveler to a foreign land is struck. The palace was a softened, myst
erious place by night, dark shapes against a dark sky. There was a dizzying half-familiarity in the pillars and halls. She passed through her courtyard and paused at the stairs to the roof of her hall. They shone pale and clean in the evening glow, swept free of spider webs, waiting for her feet. With all the time she’d spent on the throne and in the temple, Ahmose hadn’t been up to her rooftop sanctuary since before she’d worn her wings. Did her pavilion still stand, or had the servants dismantled it? There was no time to find out. She must prepare for the feast.
Twosre was waiting in the queen’s apartments. All the braziers were lit, the magnificent painted walls dancing with copper light.
“Come, Lady,” Twosre said, all bustle and efficiency. “We don’t have much time.”
Twosre had laid out the finest of Ahmose’s things, her best gowns and largest jewels. Ahmose held out her arms to be dressed, then lowered them again.
Twosre frowned at her, shaking out the folds of a shining blue gown. “Is there something wrong, Lady?”
“I think I ought to dress more simply tonight. The court sees me always as a queen. Let them see me tonight as a priestess.”
Perhaps it was just the darkness of night that made her feel this way. Or perhaps it was Mutnofret. Ahmose hadn’t seen the second queen for weeks. After her dismissal, Mutnofret had stayed well away from court functions.
Twosre found a clean shift in one of Ahmose’s trunks and held it up, shaking her head. “Not nearly as beautiful as your blue gown, Holy Lady.”
“I’ll wear it all the same. Help me put it on.” It was pure white and softly pleated. Ahmose chose a plain belt of gold links, and considered one wig after another in her mirror. Finally she waved them all away, and set the small God’s Wife circlet on her bare head. Silk ribbons of many colors fell from the crown to frame her face.
“You can’t go wigless!” Twosre was scandalized.
“Why not? I’m the God’s Wife. Who’s to stop me?”
“Everyone will think you look peculiar.”
“I am the bride of the god,” Ahmose said, patting her servant’s cheek. “Let them think what they will. The priests do as I say, and the second queen is under my control. What do I care what a lot of drunk nobles think?”
“As you will, Holy Lady.” Twosre sounded doubtful, but she pulled the stopper from a jar of perfume and trickled some of the heavy oil onto Ahmose’s head. Ahmose smiled at herself in the mirror, tossed her ribbons from one shoulder to the other, watched with approval the way the white shift shaped itself to her body. The perfume made the chamber rich and warm with the scent of galbanum. She swept from her hall brimming with confidence, a flower open to the sun.
Even in the outer reaches of the palace the noise of the feast reached her. Cymbals crash-crashed, flutes keened, the higher notes coming more clearly, more sharply across the intervening night. Pillars reared up above her, hot night air giving way as she strode through this land, a conquering warrior, the righteous bringer of maat.
Servants in their short wigs and plain linens grew more plentiful as she approached the great hall. They bore trays of drink and food, towels clean and soiled, cones of perfumed wax. As she passed, some of them stopped to whisper. Was this how Mutnofret felt at the wedding feast, turning every head as she passed? The guards at the great hall’s doors bowed to her, murmuring her name and titles. When she nodded, they shoved open the doors.
The long room was filled with the upper class of Waset. A throng of servants waited along the walls, balancing trays of beer and watered wine, simple loaves of bread and dense cakes and withered fruits. A poor enough feast, yet there was no lack of celebrants. The crowd’s mood seemed festive enough, in spite of the small harvest. Ahmose was glad to see it.
She entered the room and walked solemnly to the Horus Throne. As she crossed the long hall, voices rippled behind her like a boat’s wake. Her ribbons floated in the breeze of her steps, trailing her rich dark perfume. The God’s Wife would make an impression tonight.
When she was seated, Mutnofret entered, beautiful as always, and fashionably dressed. The second queen’s eyes avoided Ahmose’s until she was halfway across the hall. When she did look up at the Horus Throne, Mutnofret’s eyebrows jumped. It must be startling, Ahmose knew, to see such an exotic and striking figure as herself on the throne, in the white shift of a holy priestess, with her scalp shining and bare. She nodded to her sister, calm and sure.
Mutnofret took her throne gracefully, avoiding Ahmose’s eye. She was happy, though, not petulant. The light mood of the crowd seemed to buoy her. Perhaps the sisters would pass a pleasant night between them. Ahmose hoped it would be so. She wouldn’t hesitate to send Mutnofret away again, if need called for it.
Ahmose listened to recited poetry, sipped wine, watched troupes of dancers and acrobats until late into the night. At last, feeling sleepy, she excused herself to walk in the garden. The night was not unpleasantly warm, and she wandered down to the lake’s edge, recalling how she’d watched Tut skip stones across the water. That had been so long ago. She cupped handfuls of water, splashed them over her shoulders.
“I hoped I’d see you here tonight.”
“Ineni.” Ahmose turned from the lake’s wall. He wore a long, pleated kilt, his bare chest and shoulders pale in the moonlight.
“You are beautiful, Ahmose. You should have feasts more often, so I can look at you more.”
“Be careful,” she whispered. “What if someone hears us?” The garden was not empty. Men and women wandered here and there, laughter rising on the night. From a nearby flower bed, densely planted, came a sigh and a moan. Ahmose’s skin tingled.
“Why don’t you come for a walk with me?”
“Are you drunk? Don’t be stupid!”
“Maybe a little. Drunk. Drunk from looking at you.”
“Oh, Ineni. You’ve had too much wine. No, don’t come closer…” for he’d taken a step toward her, smiling foolishly.
“All right, then,” he said, backing off, grinning at her. “I’ll just go over there. Into those myrrh trees. All alone.”
He laughed, walked away, casting looks back over his shoulder at Ahmose. She sat on the lip of the lake and watched him go, her pulse alive in her stomach and cheeks. Ineni disappeared into the myrrh grove. The leaves and branches closed around him, blotting out the bright white blur of his kilt and the brown of his back. For a long time she sat unmoving, the water drying on her shoulders and shift. Far up the path, the forms of a man and woman bent around each other, tangled in an embrace. Ahmose watched the man’s hands travel down his lover’s back, describe the arc of her hips with a graceful sweep. From the flower bed, a woman’s voice cried wordlessly, breathless and urgent.
Ahmose counted a hundred heartbeats, looked cautiously around the garden, and walked calmly toward the myrrh grove. This is stupid, stupid, she told herself. Their rides were bad enough, and far too frequent. But at least in the chariot they were alone, out in the hills beyond the fields, and Ahmose was disguised. Stupid, stupid, but the night was in her blood now, and wasn’t she the queen? Wasn’t this palace hers, after all? Stupid, dangerous, but when she pushed through the branches Ineni was waiting for her. His skin was warm. It smelled of the trees.
When Ahmose returned to the feast, flushed and shaking with excitement and guilt, she entered the hall to find Sitamun bending over Mutnofret’s shoulder, whispering. The second queen found Ahmose’s eyes, studied them while her servant spoke into her ear. And she smiled.
TWENTY-FOUR
The day after the Festival of Khonsu was muggy and uncomfortable with flies. It seemed impossible that the flood could be so low, with such a day as today, with the air so wet and dense that every breath tasted of reeds and mud. Ahmose waited on her cairn for the spotted horses and scratched her itching skin through the coarse linen dress. The sky was strangely subdued, hazy, as though gauzy fabric stretched from horizon to horizon.
There was hardly another soul on the road. Between the light t
raffic and the dampness of the air, there were no distant banners of dust to give travelers away. She saw Ineni first as a dark speck fading out of Waset, detaching itself from the wall of the city, growing, forming itself into tiny horses and shrunken chariot as he drove toward the crossroads. She was on her feet and smiling before she could make out his face.
Ineni pulled the horses to a stop. She ran to the chariot, took his hand with a welling excitement under her heart.
The Sekhmet Bed (The She-King) Page 18