Ahmose said nothing to her sister, didn’t even glance at her. Mutnforet was stiff and quiet, waving Prince Wadjmose back to the nurse’s side whenever the boy tugged too hard at her dress. The tension between the two queens was thick enough that it ought to have been visible: layer upon layer of woven reeds, perhaps, or a head-high wall of mudbricks.
From the time it appeared on the northern horizon, it took nearly an hour for the flagship to moor. Ahmose could see Tut’s smile well before the ship reached the shore. She smiled back, unable to constrain her joy with the proper dignity and quietude of her position. She wanted to wave to him, to jump up and down and shout like the rekhet. Instead, she clenched her fists and never took her eyes away from his face.
Before the sailors had even tied the ship into place, Tut had leapt from its side, splashed in the shallow water covering the lowest steps, and was striding up toward her, two steps at a time, like a boy returning from a hunting trip. Ahmose couldn’t hold herself back any longer. She scurried down the last few stairs separating them and threw herself on Tut, arms tight around his neck. He smelled of pitch and sweat. His skin was hot from the sun. His arms were around her waist, strong, sure, as real as stone. He said something into her ear, but the crowd was roaring so, she couldn’t make it out. She shook her head, grinning, and he led her by the hand to the stair head where Mutnofret and the children waited.
Ahmose broke away with difficulty, stood back as the Pharaoh held his second wife close for a long time. When she pulled back from their embrace tears slicked her cheeks. Her eyes were closed, and she was biting her painted lips together. Tut said something to her as well, but if Mutnofret heard she gave no sign.
Then the nurse brought the children forward. Two bright, healthy boys, sturdy and dark-eyed. The Pharaoh looked them over for a long time, his eyes wide with wonder. Then he picked Wadjmose up and tossed him into the air, again and again. The prince’s face flashed panic, then anger; then, as Tut continued to throw him high, the boy smiled wide. Amunmose was too young for rough play. Tut held him gently and kissed his fat cheek. It was good to see them with their father. It was good to see that Tut loved them well, even after so long away. Ahmose should have no trouble convincing him to do what was right.
Two litters had come for them, and more guards as well, to push the crowd back and away. Eagerly, Ahmose climbed onto the two-chaired platform. It was good to have her husband beside her again. The road up to the palace was lined with onlookers. They roared, and threw wildflowers in the litter’s path. The crowd was still too loud for talking, but Ahmose took Tut’s hand and held it with both of her own, relieved to have him beside her again, apologetic for all her many wrongs. She hoped her touch said enough, for now.
***
As on the night of the Festival of Khonsu, Twosre had lit all the lights in the queen’s hall. The tall, slender woman bowed in the anteroom when Ahmose entered. “Is there anything you require, Lady?”
“Some wine, I think. And a bath. I’ll need you to shave my head, as well.” She’d wanted to have it done before heading to the quay, but after hours of offering and singing in thanks, there had hardly been enough time to dress appropriately and ride from Ipet-Isut. She set her wig on a stand in her bedroom and tugged irritably at the long stubble on her head. It itched in the heat. Most unpleasant. Hard to believe she’d allowed her appearance to slide so far. Well, that was at an end now. Her husband was home, home, home! She would rejoice, and send up more prayers of gratitude. And tonight, she would bring Tut to her bed to give him her love, as she had done with Ineni.
She took her time bathing, then oiled her skin with the sweetest-spiciest scent Twosre could find. Her own hands running over the smoothness of her body excited her. It was hard to sit still while Twosre scraped away the hair on her scalp. When she looked proper once more, she dressed in the sheer blue gown and painted her face. She was just sliding a silver torque onto her arm when a sharp clap sounded outside her door. No woman’s hands ever sounded so strong, so ready. She waved Twosre to the door, then hissed after her, “Leave us once you’ve let him in!”
Tut was across the antechamber and through her bedroom door in a few eager strides. She took a step back, all unaware, surprised by his powerful, unfamiliar presence. It had been so long since she’d been alone with him, she’d forgotten how he could dominate a room just by entering it. Words were lost to her. She stared at him, unblinking.
“You’ve changed. Again. You’re a lovely woman now, Ahmoset. It’s what I said on the water steps.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“When you couldn’t hear me. I said, ‘You look like a goddess.’”
Her face flushed. “I suppose I did look more like a child when you last saw me.”
His eyes fell from her face to her breasts, rounding out proud and firm beneath the bright gauze of her dress. He said nothing, just looked.
“I’m eager to hear about your battles. In your last letter you said…” she struggled to recall what he’d said. Her thoughts were all white and dense, river fog. “You said…a fortress at Ugarit.”
“That and more. I’ve made good with the people of Ugarit. A few have sent daughters for the harem. We’ll be trading with them now, and through Ugarit we have access to goods from…” He was still gazing at her breasts. “You’ve changed.”
“You said that already.”
His eyes met hers again. Then he was across the room, and she was in his arms so fast her breath caught. He kissed her; his mouth tasted of barley. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and flicked it past his teeth, as Ineni had done to her. Tut groaned. His hands were rough, urgent on her back and hips. She pushed away from him and went to her bed, started to undo the knots of her dress.
“Wait,” he said.
Her hands fell, uncertain, at her sides.
“I didn’t intend to come here and do this. I thought you’d still be too shy.”
“What did you intend, then? I thought after so long away you’d want to do this.”
“I do. I do. But we need to sort out a few messes first, Ahmoset.” His voice was gentle, but the words pricked her with fear. What does he know?
“This business of spending all your nights at the temple. It’s not maat.”
“But I can’t stay here with Mutnofret, Tut. I am here for court every day. Isn’t that enough? Mutnofret is wicked. She threatened me recently.”
“Threatened you? With what?”
“She threatened to…to hurt me.” It was true, in a sense. She crossed her arms over her half-bared breasts, as if to hold back the rest of the story – the rest of what Mutnofret knew.
“The floods, Ahmose. Something in my kingdom is not maat, and your spending so much time at the temple is the only thing that’s changed.”
“Mutnofret is not maat. The gods never wanted her to be queen. They gave it to me. She’s a danger in the palace, Tut.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Has Mutnofret been telling you not to listen to me? She would. She’s been awful, awful since you’ve been gone. You were with her the whole past hour, weren’t you?”
“What of it?”
“And I your Great Royal Wife!”
“Don’t you start with this, too.” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know why any man would have more than one wife. At least the harem women stay out from under my wig.”
“She’s mad, Tut! She’s mad with jealousy. She wants to destroy me. She hates that I’m the Great Royal Wife; she’ll do anything to bring me down.” Like a struck spark, a solution flashed in her head. She said it before she could think. “Divorce her! Set her aside!”
“What?”
“She’s dangerous, Tut, I tell you! She’ll tear us apart if she can.”
“Stop it. You sound like a petulant child.”
Ahmose pulled back, stung as if he’d slapped her.
“All those nights in the temple haven’t been good for you, I think.” His chest stirred
under his golden pectoral, the jeweled Eyes of Horus staring at her in rebuke. He was breathing heavily, and his gaze was hard and cold. At last he said, “This business with the Temple has allowed you to separate yourself from your sister too far. We’re a family, Ahmose. The royal family. We must be together, as one being, as one body.”
“I can never be as one with her.” Tears came to her eyes. So easily. Like a child. She swiped at them, angry and ashamed.
“You will be. Your husband requires it. Your king requires it. You will move back here to your apartments, day and night, and you will be a dutiful wife.”
“I am the God’s Wife.”
Tut was silent. He turned away from her. Her lips trembled; she looked at his back, at the space between them, and felt defeated.
“I won’t accuse you of lying,” he said. “I won’t accuse you of stealing. I won’t believe such terrible things about my wife. My god-chosen wife. I don’t know the truth of what’s happened, but I know what I will and will not believe.”
Ahmose could say nothing. She hugged herself tighter.
“Move back to the palace,” he said. “Mutnofret will attend court again. And you will sit beside her, and be at peace with her. I won’t have my wife making such a fool of herself.”
Ahmose choked on a lump in her throat. It was half sob, half scream of rage. It fought to come out, and all it made was a weak coughing sound.
Tut turned and looked at her. “You’ve made poor choices, Ahmose. You’re young. I know what it’s like to be young and to have power. I wasn’t much older than you when I led my first troop into battle. I know. I know the trouble we can get ourselves into, when we’re young.”
The forgiveness in his voice was too much to bear. She needed no forgiveness; she was the God’s Wife. She deserved no forgiveness; she was wicked.
“You need guidance. You need a husband to help you see which choices you should make.”
“So I must leave my praying, and spend all my nights here, alone in my bed while you lie with Mutnofret. And what will the people think of me? What reason will we give them for my abandoning my duties at the temple?”
“I’m sure that clever steward of yours can think of a reason. Why don’t you ask Ineni?” Tut bit the name off sharp. Ahmose glanced at his face, then away again. A slick, treacherous silence fell between them. When Tut spoke again, his voice was light, as if what he said was of no consequence. “Incidentally, Ineni has asked to be released from service. He’s off to become an architect. I expect we won’t be seeing him around Waset anymore. A shame. He’s a bright lad.”
Ahmose stilled her face. She stilled her heart. What he said was of no consequence. “I wish him well,” she said, as if it didn’t matter at all. Then she saw Mutnofret’s sly smile again, her crackling eyes at the Festival of Khonsu, Sitamun whispering in her ear. She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it. She could not give up what little power she had over Mutnofret. Her life would be a constant misery. “You must leave Mutnofret, Tut. Send her away. Please.”
“I won’t hear that kind of talk anymore, Ahmose.” His voice was powerful, commanding. It was the voice of a general, the voice of a king. Ahmose shrank. “Mutnofret is the mother of my sons and my wife. It is your duty to find a way to live with her peacefully.”
“An heir,” Ahmose said, her voice nearly a wail. “Name Wadjmose heir, Tut! It will appease Mutnofret. It will make her easier to live with.”
“No.”
“Why do you do this? Can’t you see how this tears our family apart? Amunmose, then, if Wadjmose displeases you.”
“Neither of my sons will ever displease me.”
“Forgive me. But why?”
She knew why. The dream. His accursed dream. He looked at her steadily, stern, expectant. Her arms were still around her body; she dug her nails into her back to keep from looking away from her husband’s fierce eyes.
“I’m going now. I expect you to be in the palace tomorrow night. You may make your excuses to the temple this evening. You were my wife before you were the God’s Wife. My wife will live with me as a woman, not in the temple as a goddess.”
TWENTY-NINE
Ahmose seldom left her roof-top pavilion anymore. She had left Ipet-Isut defeated, and she came home defeated. She was a useless queen, an absent God’s Wife, no sister at all. Thutmose all but ignored her. She attended court each day as he required, and he would nod a greeting to her, eyes tight, mouth severe, and speak to her only when courtesy prompted him. She was an ornament again, just as in her childhood, set upon her throne for the subjects of the Pharaoh to admire.
Twosre, at least, seemed relieved to be back in the palace day and night. She bustled about cheerily, cleaning, organizing trunks of clothing, polishing gems and rings. Ahmose would often lie on her bed, watching Twosre at her busy-work, feeling a blunt gladness for her servant’s pleasure. Twosre found fulfillment in her work. Twosre knew her duties. Twosre had a purpose, here in Waset’s shining halls. Ahmose had no purpose, no work, no fulfillment. She seldom did more than rest now. It took so much from her to dress herself and bear her husband’s scorn on her gilt throne. Every day, every day. It took so much from her to present herself to the court beside Mutnofret’s radiance, Mutnofret’s confidence. Every day. Her bed was a blessing, her garden a haven. Her hands were idle, her mind fading like a waning moon.
Twosre still brought gossip, and Ahmose allowed it, listened to the woman’s reports with little interest. Had there been a time when tales of Mutnofret’s doings raised her hackles? It was hard to believe it was ever so. The second queen was favored, by Thutmose and by the gods. It had always been this way. Why had Ahmose ever been concerned? The sun set in the west, the Nile flowed north, and Mutnofret was favored. Mutnofret would always win.
Sometimes, in the garden’s shade, she would close her eyes and reach out for the gods. It was harder to do here than in the temple, where the incense and the offerings drew the gods near. She was out of practice now, and her curious, languid distress made it all the harder. Still, sometimes she could touch them. The gods were in a stupor, too, it seemed. They had no words for her, no images – just a misty sort of sorrow, an untenable pity. She seldom tried to reach for them at all anymore.
The New Year came again. Seventeen, Ahmose thought with a dull kind of wonder as early morning light crept in through her beautiful pillared wall. I’m seventeen now. She should have had sons by this age. Like Mutnofret. Like Aiya. She should have surrendered to the physician’s knife long ago, and spared herself this wreckage of a life.
But Twosre was coming in through the door, clapping briskly. “Up, up! Out of bed! It’s the Birthday of Osiris! Festival!”
There had been a time when the five days of the New Year made Ahmose squeal with anticipation. A long time ago, when she was happy, she had loved the feasts, the parades, and the holy ceremonies most of all.
“Up!” Twosre seized her hand and pulled. Ahmose came after it, obedient, a tired old hound. “Oh, Lady, when will you come out of this daze?” Twosre stripped her and made her get into the bath. The water was cool, but Ahmose hardly shivered. “It does you no good. It does the people no good, to see you sitting on your throne unsmiling.”
“I’m nothing anymore.”
“Nonsense! Goose gabble! Nothing. You’re the queen of Egypt.”
The queen of betrayal. The queen of sadness. Ahmose sank into her bath up to her chin, cherishing the thrill of self-pity in her stomach. She said nothing.
Twosre made her sit up again. “You’re to ride in the parade.”
“Again?” She’d done it last year. It had been more exciting then, to be carried on a beautiful painted platform through the city and down to Ipet-Isut. As God’s Wife she had led the services, told the festival story to a crowd of a thousand or more. A man was drawing water from a well long ago, in the place that would become Waset, our city, brothers and sisters! A voice came from all around him: go back to your people, to your herds and children, and te
ll them that the great lord has come! Osiris! He who raises the river, he who will grant new life after death. Rejoice, children of the earth, for death is no more and life is eternal! She’d always loved the story of the man at the well. The Sky-Mother’s Message, it was called. As a child she had dreamed of being the one to stand in the temple forecourt and lead the ceremony. This year, it seemed an impossible task.
“I don’t have the energy to lead the ceremony. I’m so tired.”
Twosre’s hands paused on Ahmose’s shoulders. “Well, as to that, it seems Nefertari will be leading the ceremony this year.”
Nefertari. But the God’s Wife tells the story and opens the festival. Ahmose stared at her bath’s tiled wall. The lilies set there in fragments of faience confused themselves into a meaningless jumble of color. There was one thought clear in Ahmose’s heart. Thutmose gave the title back to Nefertari. Only the Pharaoh had the power to do such a thing. Twosre resumed her work, and words came to Ahmose with the rhythm of her servant’s scrubbing. She opened her mouth, and they fell out all on their own. “Tut hates me.”
The Sekhmet Bed (The She-King) Page 21