Cranky Ladies of History

by Tehani Wessely

  I could not comprehend it.

  “Who could have done this? What reason would they have?” Mother’s words were quiet.

  The voice that replied from the doorway was familiar and blessedly welcome in this foreign moment. “What other reason is there, Hatshepsut? Ambition.” Senenmut was a friend of my mother and father, and was my tutor.

  Her kohl-smeared cheeks turned to face Senenmut as he came into the room. “But who would benefit?”

  “Who is the heir?”

  “He is but a child.”

  “But other people can use his position to gain power for themselves.”

  Mother stood and wiped her cheeks, leaving smears of black across her face. It made her look fearsome, her eyes glowing like a cat’s in surrounding darkness. For a moment, it felt as if the goddess Bastet herself was in the room. “They wouldn’t undertake something like this.”

  They did not name names, but I knew.

  Senenmut’s gaze was locked on Father’s still form. “Let us see if they managed to survive. That will provide part of the answer.”

  ◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊

  My mewling brother was alive. He was covered in blood from a dead guard, but he was hale and hearty, as his nurse commented with pride. As was his mother, Iset, who wept uncontrollably as she prepared drinks for us. No matter how many times she would smile at me, pray for me, I could not like her.

  I also had trouble liking my brother, no matter that he too was born of a god and that one day, I might rule at his side as queen. It made me a bad person, this ill will that festered within me, and I knew that Ma’at might judge me harshly when my heart was weighed against her feather. But I could not change how I felt.

  Why had they lived and Father died? Couldn’t Osiris have waited a few more years before claiming him?

  “I am glad you are both well,” Hatshepsut said to my brother and his mother. My mother took a sip of wine from a cup Iset handed to her. We were seated in an antechamber next to Iset’s quarters. Servants and slaves were busy removing the dead attackers and guards from her rooms. I did not wish to think about how they would clean the blood and other fluids from the stone floors.

  Hatshepsut waved over one of the guards. “I want a large pyre to be built. See that it is done. I want it constructed in the courtyard of the temple of Osiris. Organise for one of the priests to meet with me immediately.”

  Once the guard left, Mother turned back to face us. First, her eyes lingered on me, then her gaze flickered to my brother, Thutmose. “Someone orchestrated this attack on my husband, and all those closest to him.”

  Iset’s eyes were downcast, her beautiful heart-shaped face dripping tears. “Do you have any idea who?”

  Mother’s eyebrows drew together in sharp lines. “Not as yet. But I will not stop searching. Re, Ma’at and Amun will be on my side. I have ordered that the assassins and any who helped them be cremated.”

  Iset gasped, her hand coming to rest protectively over her heart. I tracked the movement. “That will destroy their ib, ka, ba, khu, and ren—their soul and essence! They will have no second life.”

  Horror sat deep within my own chest, but I did not doubt Mother’s choice. It would cause the architect of this nightmare to think twice about attempting to harm any of us again. The second life was as vital to the ka and ba as was the first.

  “There is no more fitting punishment,” Hatshepsut said, eyes like flints.

  Iset was shaking her head, as if to refute Mother’s claim, but she said, “I cannot believe he is with Osiris now.”

  “My husband, Thutmose II, will live on. I have set the arrangements in motion. Do not be irrational, Iset. He joins godhood forever this day.”

  Iset’s hand came to rest on her son’s shoulder. “And we have Thutmose, the next Neter Nefer.”

  Hearing his name, my brother looked up from his position on the floor, his toy soldiers set up in rows before him. Deciding he did not need to interact beyond this, he went back to his game: war.

  Hatshepsut placed a protective hand over her stomach. “And we have my unborn child.”

  Iset’s gaze came to rest on the swell. “Yes, we do.”

  Abruptly, I stood. I did not wish to linger here with Iset and my brother. My heart beat uncomfortably within the confines of my chest. “Mother, I wish to see Father.” I took the wine from Mother and pretended to take a sip. A strange, sweet smell reached my nostrils.

  Hatshepsut looked at me, the dark smears of pain still on her cheeks. “Of course. We shall go to the temple.”

  “I shall come too,” Iset said, rising gracefully to her feet.

  Rudeness was not a virtue, but my heart told me that Mother should not drink any more of the strange smelling wine. I set it down on a table, away from Mother. “No, I wish to be with Father and Mother alone.”

  Iset’s stare met mine, unblinking like a snake. “Thutmose is the heir. He has a duty to spend this time with his father.” She stretched her hand out to rest maternally on Thutmose’s shoulder. He did not look up at the contact.

  “Then he shall do so after Neferure has paid her respects and prayers,” Mother said. “As you shall wait until after I have done the same.”

  Iset nodded, eyes downcast, but her knuckles grew white on her son’s shoulder. Thutmose let out a soft whimper.

  It was only when Hatshepsut said, “Come then,” that we left.

  “You must not be rude to Iset,” she said when we reached the corridor.

  “This time is for you and me, Mother. She must wait as is custom.”

  “That is why I held firm. But she is family and deserves respect.”

  I held my tongue.

  Reaching the temple of Anubis through a series of tunnels and passages, we entered a large sandstone room that felt cool to the skin. Father was positioned in the centre of the room on a large embalming table. His head lay on a rest, his eyes open to the ceiling; staring into the second life that awaited him. Two priests of Anubis walked around the chamber chanting prayers and casting spells to protect Father’s body. Each carried pots and bowls that spoke of foreign scents and the richness of the earth. Their masks were fearsome in the brazier-lit room, shadows of jackals dancing in their wake.

  A priest placed a small table near Father while another set a dish of palm wine on its surface. He dropped pieces of linen in the bowl to soak. After watching them grow wet, I picked up a damp cloth and began to wash Father’s arm. Mother did the same with his leg. Sores were visible on his torso and neck. The wound on Father’s chest was an ugly, garnet-stained gash.

  The priests’ chants became comforting in their sacred monotony. Under their hum, I murmured, “I think Iset put something in your wine.”

  Mother’s hand jerked before continuing its smooth strokes. “Nonsense. Iset is a friend and family. We have known each other since we were small.”

  “She does not like me. She is jealous of you.”

  “That does not mean she tampered with my wine.” Hatshepsut put a hand on my shoulder. Her fingers brushed against the cloth that had been used to bind my wound. “You will marry Thutmose one day. It is important to be kind to family.”

  My jaw set. “I will not marry that fool.”

  Mother recoiled at my vehemence. “Neferure! That is uncalled for.”

  “Father is beyond this world. We no longer have his light or wisdom, and all Thut does is play with his toys.”

  She had no reply. We continued to wash Father until Iset arrived. Her gaze locked on Mother’s belly, but she said nothing. She had to all but shove Thutmose into the room. I heard her speak of ‘duty’ and ‘responsibility’.

  Once we entered the God’s Wife’s chambers, Mother let out a small sigh. “It will not be easy, the next few months.”

  Fingers coiling around the garnet and carnelian charms I wore around my neck, I stared at Mother’s back. She still wore the blood-soaked linen from the attack, but some of the stains looked fresh. “Mother, I think you are
bleeding.”

  Turning to me, she opened her mouth to reply, but froze, her eyes wide. Blood trickled in a growing stream down her leg. She stared at me as a small puddle began to form at her feet.

  “Get a priest of Taweret and Sekhmet quickly.”

  I turned and ran.

  A swnwt came with the priest and priestess, but they could do little. They placed amulets and chanted spells. They inserted special charms into Mother, but the blood flushed them out. She grew pale and clutched at her stomach as cramps rocked her.

  “This much blood is not natural,” the priestess of Taweret said to the priest of Sekhmet.

  They began chanting more spells. The swnwt reached up to an amulet that hung from a leather strap around her neck. “I must stop the bleeding.”

  Mother shook her head, rocking with pain. “My son!”

  The two women and one man stared at Hatshepsut. The swnwt spoke, “He is lost.”

  Mother’s head dropped back.

  The swnwt opened the large amulet that was on the end of the leather strap, and pulled out a pinch of dried red stems. “I will need some warm oil, honey, water of carob, and milk.”

  The priest of Sekhmet shook his head. “We should pack her vagina to keep the blood within.”

  I feared that if Mother lost any more blood, she would become empty.

  “What does this mixture do?” I asked the swnwt.

  The woman looked at me. “It should contract her uterus and stop the bleeding.”

  “What does this?” the priestess of Taweret demanded.

  “It is a very rare plant. I obtain it from Crete. It’s called a crocus.”

  “Make this concoction now.” I did not care to hear more. It was the will of the gods if it would work, but Mother had to receive the potion for it to have any chance.

  The priest began, “But I said—”

  “My mother will need your aid through spells and prayer. It will be in the hands of the gods and Father.” I thought for a moment. “We will need a priest of Amun. Having the presence of her own father should help.”

  The priests and swnwt began to talk in low voices. Being the granddaughter of the sun god himself should have lent me the authority I needed, but they still resisted. “Mother was sired by Amun himself; he came to the God’s Wife disguised as Thutmose I. Why do you stand there? Order the priest!”

  A servant ran to the door.

  I turned to the swnwt. “We will administer the potion now. How do you know about this medicine?”

  The swnwt spoke as she mixed the ingredients together. “I heard about it from a trader. There are many herbs that when used with the right incantations, will cure most ailments.”

  Whispering the words of a spell, the swnwt tilted Mother’s head forwards and poured the liquid between her pale lips. Moments later, the bleeding finally slowed, and relief spread through me. I looked at the swnwt with wide eyes. Knowledge was power.

  And I wanted to be knowledgeable.

  Six years later

  “You must not allow this opportunity to go to waste,” Hatshepsut said to Thutmose III, my brother the co-regent. Scrolls of papyrus and clay tablets lay spread out on the table between them. Mother, Iset, Iset’s Vizier, Senenmut and a dozen nomarchs all watched my brother. My brother ignored her and the rest of us. He was staring intently at an arrangement of soldiers before him: they were displayed on a flat piece of timber that could be carried from room to room.

  While I found his behaviour childish, Senenmut told me that Thutmose was a master of military tactics. I remained sceptical. Egypt did not need war, but prosperity through trade, building projects, and facilities for the poor.

  “We do not need to trade with the Nubians. We can enslave them,” Iset said and nodded at Thutmose.

  He blinked at the word ‘enslave’. He looked at the two women opposite him, one a former God’s Wife and the other, God’s Mother. “Our army would not win such a battle at this stage.” Thutmose’s gaze rested on his mother.

  “I agree with my nephew,” Hatshepsut said. “We can undertake this effort in peace.”

  “Why do we need to do it at all?” Iset challenged.

  Iset rarely defied Mother openly. After Father’s journey to the underworld, Iset had bowed publicly to Mother’s wisdom; Hatshepsut had been trained to rule by her father, Thutmose I. The first few years had been prosperous. But then rumours started to swirl through the currents of the Egyptian court; Iset worried that Mother wanted the throne for herself.

  Foolish woman.

  If Mother wanted the throne, it would already be hers. It was Mother’s birthright. And so I—with the covert help of Senenmut—murmured reminders of Mother’s ancestry, and of Grandfather Thutmose’s desire for her to rule after his journey to the second life. Of the Oracle of Amun’s prophecy that Mother would one day wear the double crown.

  Mother remained silent for several heartbeats, watching Iset eat grapes and drink wine, both costly imports. “Trade is the river through which we obtain food, goods, and communication. Good trade is vital to a strong country.”

  “Without it,” I said into the following quiet, looking pointedly at Iset’s wine, “you would be drinking beer right now.”

  Iset dismissed my comment with a wave of her hand. “Beer is for peasants.”

  “Thutmose, you should sign this agreement,” Hatshepsut attempted, pushing the scroll towards him.

  “My son will sign no such thing. The gold wasted on this venture could keep this court fed for weeks.”

  Days, more like.

  “And furthermore, I think we should have a month-long celebration to commemorate Thutmose’s seventh regnal year. This gold would go towards funding such an important event.”

  Hatshepsut remained silent, as did I.

  Thutmose finally looked up from his toys and met his mother’s stare. Then he glanced at Hatshepsut. “I will sign the agreement, Aunt.”

  Iset’s hand slammed down on the table between them. “You will do no such thing.”

  Thutmose’s eyes locked on his mother’s. They were the same: long-lashed, dark and pretty. “It is my authorisation, not yours, that is required.”

  “I am God’s Mother and you are too young to make this decision.”

  Thut drew himself up, looking over the heads of his soldiers. He reined in a visible flinch when he met his mother’s cold stare. “I am Neter Nefer.”

  Iset flicked a hand, dismissing his comment.

  Thut looked to Mother beseechingly, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Taking a deep breath, he said, voice wavering, “My will is law.”

  ◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊

  “You need to marry Thutmose as quickly as can be arranged.” Mother was seated on a delicate wooden stool carved from ebony. Gold filigree marked its sides and back.

  I sat opposite her, on an identical chair in our quarters. My words were more forceful than hers, and far less quiet. “No.”

  “Neferure, you must. Iset is taking over; her role as God’s Mother outweighs mine. If Thutmose had been my son, or had my son lived, this would not be an issue.”

  “But your son didn’t live,” I said the words quietly.

  A sound of crashing stone nearby was shocking in the otherwise quiet. Indistinct voices reached us, and then we heard screams. Mother grabbed her dagger and I plucked a ceremonial khopesh that hung from the stone wall. It was not designed for action, but it would do.

  Men burst into the room, their faces obscured by masks of the Set animal. Five of them and two of us. Not fair odds; the men would die. Grunts and groans sounded from the outer hall; a battle raged within the corridors of the palace. Mother leapt into action, feinting right then ducking low, slicing an attacker’s belly open. The man folded in on himself as he tried to keep his innards from falling out.

  I spun to my closest attacker, hacking with the khopesh, deflecting his blow. Surprise lit his eyes. He had not expected me to fight. But I had learned from the attack I survived on
the cusp of womanhood; to be unprepared was to be dead. There were too many people who lived in the palace who would gain from Mother’s and my deaths.

  The blade of my khopesh was blunt, and my hacking left more bruises than wounds. I needed to make the man bleed dry, until he was nothing more than meat. The guards emerged from the entrance, bloody and furious. The attack did not last long beyond that. Afterwards, I realised my arm had been sliced; I quickly placed my free hand over the wound. Blood was the river of life, and I could not bear to lose a drop.

  Mother ordered that Thutmose be checked, her concern for him foremost in her mind.

  I was unsurprised to hear both he and Iset had survived.

  ◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊∆◊

  A moan reached my ears.

  Lifting the netting that hung over Iset’s bed, I slid onto a stool next to her prone form. She lay on her back, head propped up by a headrest crafted from rich ebony. Gold bangles and chains draped her arms and neck; amulets of healing and longevity draping her form. Carefully, I placed the small brazier I had carried through the empty palace halls at my feet.

  I studied the woman who had worshipped Set with such blind, hidden dedication, etching her face into my memory. A new groan emanated from Iset, and she clutched at her belly before rolling to her left, vomiting into an amphora beside her bed. It wasn’t until she turned back that she noticed me. “Neferure?”

  The pungent stench of illness permeated the room. “Hello, Iset.”

  “What are you doing here? I heard you were also cursed by illness?”

  Not unless drugging myself with purgatives counted as being cursed.

  “I feel remarkably improved,” I said.

  I had been checked by a swnw two hours ago, while I was vomiting and defecating uncontrollably. After he left to enjoy Thutmose’s coronation day, I took a remedy I had taught myself.