It was the unshakable confidence in the girl's voice that convinced her. Hatshepsut crept from her bed again and stood before her great mirror. Batiret was right. Her breasts were noticeably fuller, and her nipples had gone astonishingly dark, the color of well-polished wood. “Amun's eyes,” she swore.
Panic flooded her, erupted into her stomach to blot out all trace of nausea with an alarming tightness. “Oh – blessed Mut, what shall I do? The Pharaoh has never lain with me, Batiret. And he is in Kush, besides – far beyond my reach, even if I could seduce him. And I cannot – I cannot!”
“Peace, Great Lady. Peace.”
“No – never! Thutmose despises me; he has always wanted me gone. And I have other enemies, too – the High Priest, and Ankhhor.... Now that Iset has had the child....”
Batiret clutched her hands at her own slender throat; Hatshepsut could see that her panic had terrified the girl. Perhaps she thought she was now responsible for the Great Lady's distress, having convinced her mistress of the truth of her condition. The girl's fear gave Hatshepsut a needed focus. With a great effort she smoothed her face, reached out to stroke Batiret's shoulder with a gentle, untrembling hand. “It's all right – I am all right now, good Batiret. Bring me that stew; I need to eat, as you say.”
She forced the stew down her throat and into her unsteady gut. As she ate, she made Batiret recite for her the changes she could expect in her own body as the child grew. But she listened with only half her heart. The time had come for the Pharaoh to take the Great Royal Wife into his bed. More lives than her own depended upon it. Whether he would or no, Thutmose must lay with Hatshepsut.< I }/font>
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hatshepsut arrived at the new fortress twelve days later, and never had she been so pleased to step from the deck of a ship. This had not been the stately procession she embarked upon two years ago, with ostentatious worship at every temple along the river's banks. The gods had granted her a strong, steady wind; her ship raced upstream as fast as a falcon's dive, nosing into every trough between waves along the way, jouncing upward and down a hundred times for every span it traveled forward. She slept aboard her ship when it moored at night, not at cities' quays, but in any sheltered cove or convenient eddy that presented itself. Her back was cramped and achy from the hardness of the deck's planks, and she had grown so used to the continual pitch and sway of river travel that now, on solid ground, she bobbed and stumbled on level footing, her body seeming to crave for that ever-present rocking.
Worst, though, had been the cataracts. She had watched from the prow one morning as the first came into view. The tension of the sail sent a deep, sonorous thrumming through the bones of the ship. Its vibration crept up her legs and shook her tender middle. On the horizon, the straight banks of the river seemed to fracture on many planes, ominous shards of stone surrounded by white foam. As the ship drew closer, the way ahead took on the look of two clawed hands unclasping, hard dark fingers unlacing, the river a wild chaos pouring from malevolent black palms. There was no way to sail past this obstacle; she was no sailor, yet even she could see it. Her crew furled the sail and rowed, an operation which took all day, for each stroke of the oars seemed to pull the ship ahead by only a hand's breadth, and often she had the sensation that they were slipping backward, that in a heartbeat they would be washed all the way back to Waset, in spite of the men rowing tirelessly against the current.
When at last they had cleared the cataract the sun was sinking in the western sky. The captain anchored early and doled out stronger beer than usual to the crew. Hatshepsut did not begrudge them their rest and their reward. The way the boat had shuddered and heeled as they passed between those terrible rocks, she found herself yearning for some strong beer herself.
They made their way past three more such treacherous passages. At the final two, the banks were level enough that most of the crew disembarked and towed the boat past the rapids on several thick lines. Hatshepsut, despite their insistence that the Great Lady remain aboard, had taken to the land to walk the length of the cataracts. That fearful frothing and hissing of the water, the smack of the chopping waves pummeling the boat's hull, the fountains of angry foam spraying onto the deck – it was all more than she cared to face a third and fourth time. Her stomach was still uncertain in the mornings, and she did not wish to give the sailors a show by vomiting over the rail while they towed her southward.
The fortress rose bright and strong on the western bank, situated on a rocky promontory with a commanding view of river, valley, and desert. New-quarried stone gleamed in the sun. It was magthe} , sheze="+0">Tnificently built, three watch-towers, a high wall, and a low barracks and stable within, roomy enough to hold a hundred men and twice as many horses. Not quite half those numbers occupied it now, but as Thutmose came into his power and continued the work their father had begun, it would fill to capacity and make the southern border ever more secure, and ready the lands of Kush for Egypt's inevitable advance. And it was due to her own wisdom in dealing with Retjenu that this fortress had come to be. She nodded gravely toward its walls as if the fortress had saluted her, raised its stony palms to her presence in thanks. Mine, she thought, watching tiny dark men move along its walls, gesture from its towers. I made this come to pass. It is mine.
Beyond the fortress, in an open grassland a short distance to the south, the Pharaoh's camp stretched in the sun, lazy as a garden cat. The keening of pipes skirled above the din of quay and fortress. She followed the sound to the great tent at the heart of the encampment, a tall pavilion of blue and white cloth peaked by a massive cedar pole, its walls undulating lightly in the river wind. Around its edges clustered the tents of his guards, his advisors, his horse-keepers and huntsmen, the dancers and musicians and servants who entertained him. The grasses all about his camp lay flattened, crushed into mud, rutted by the wheels of chariots and hand-carts. Here in this rough country there were no litters to carry her, but she paid no mind to the mud that flecked her feet and dulled the brightness of her sandals.
The guards on Thutmose's pavilion bowed hastily when they saw her emerge from the mill of the camp crowd. She gestured them aside. When they hesitated, Nehesi shoved between them, held the flap of the tent wide for her to enter. From its cool, dark depths came the scent of roasted meat and onions. Her mouth watered. She had eaten sparingly that morning, fearing to vomit; now, as her eyes adjusted to the dimness she found the joint of beef on its bed of ruddy, wine-soaked onions as keenly as the hawk finds the hare. Beyond the food, Thutmose crouched on a gilded throne, gaping at her. She could practically hear the tiny child within her crying for the meat. Her hunger was suddenly terrible, driving. She pushed into the tent and made directly for Thutmose's table. Without a word of greeting to the king, she tore a piece of meat from the bone. It was tender, dripping with red juice, invitingly warm in her hand. She bit into it and eyed her husband, eyebrows raised in an ironic reflection of his own surprise.
“Good meat,” she said, mouth full. “You surely took the best cooks out of Waset.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I missed my husband. I craved for his company.” She sucked her fingers, licked the savory juice from her palm, then helped herself to another piece. “Is that so difficult to believe?”
Thutmose said nothing, only watched in disgust as she ate through several handfuls of beef as quickly as she could. A serving woman appeared with a carved chair – not as beautiful as Thutmose's throne, to be sure, but suitable. Hatshepsut lowered herself into the seat and turned her attention to the onions. At last the ferocity of her hupanynger was somewhat tamed. “In truth, I wanted to see the new fortress. It was I who commissioned it, I who found the goods to pay for it. Why shouldn't I see it with my own eyes?”
“Then why didn't you sail south with me when I left Waset?”
“The moods and whims of women,” she replied, shrugging. “What news in the south?”
Thutmose sighed. He plucked the linen towel f
rom his own lap and flung it at her; she snatched it from the air, dabbed primly at her mouth. “Scouts have reported Kushite raiding parties in the hills to the west and south, but they seem intimidated by the activity here at the garrison. They have not attempted an advance. It's impossible for anyone to get a clear idea of their numbers, but these Kushite forces are always disorganized. Their numbers hardly matter. They could scarce stand against Egypt before the fortress. Now they may as well be a fly attacking a bull. How long are you planning to stay?”
“Why, my dear brother, I could almost believe that you are not happy to see me. No, don't fret. There is work that needs doing in Waset. The Hathor Festival needs planning, and the harvest will be in soon. I would hear the tallies from the overseers myself. If I do not see to these things, who will? Surely not you.”
He scowled at her. “How is my son?”
Hatshepsut smiled. “Well. Strong. He grows faster than you would believe. He was crawling when I left Waset. His nurses say he will learn to stand before long, and if the gods smile on him he'll soon have a few words in his mouth, too.”
She loved the boy. She could not hide the fact. To think the small shimmer of life inside her would soon be a baby as lively, as real as Little Tut. She resisted placing her hands upon her stomach. Instead she reached for more meat to feed the child. It demands meat...he demands meat. Surely a babe that craved for flesh so intensely must be male. She drew in an apprehensive breath. Never before had she considered what might become of Little Tut and Iset if she, Hatshepsut, bore a son. I cannot think on that now. Not now. I must do the work set before me here, in this place, on this day. Protect the child first – protect Senenmut, protect myself. Once that is done, time enough to worry over the rest. Heirs were not always chosen from the obvious stock of children. Had not her own father, a common-born soldier, been raised up as Pharaoh in the face of great need?
Thutmose stood, stretched. A scurry of servants appeared from the tent's shadows and cleared away the remains of his meal. “I am going out riding with the fort's general. I'll tell my servants to see that you are given the finest bed in the harem tent.”
“The harem tent?”
“Of course. You don't expect the Pharaoh to travel without a few of his favorite women to entertain h="+im, do you?”
Since siring his son, the king had most definitely grown into a man's appetites. “I am the Great Royal Wife. I do not sleep in a harem tent.”
“You do not sleep with me, either. I can only imagine you kick like a donkey in your sleep. I will not suffer it. Don't scowl so, sister. The harem tent is much finer than my own, believe me, and the women will be honored to entertain you. Now I must go. In a few hours the light will have faded too much for driving in the hills. I shall see you for the evening meal, I suppose.”
Thutmose ducked through the tent's doorway. It rippled in the breeze of his passing while Hatshepsut sat wordless, staring at the place where the king had been.
***
Thutmose's mobile harem consisted of six women hand-picked by the king himself. Tabiry, dark-skinned with a full mouth, always smiling, was the most senior of the six, and she had taken on something of the role of leader. Dressed in a gauzy blue gown, belted and gemmed with baubles impractical for travel, she bowed Hatshepsut into the harem tent. It was, as Thutmose had said, far more pleasant than his own. Its walls of red cloth cast a warm, soothing glow upon the interior. A thin cedar pole held the peaked roof high; the circular smoke flap at its apex was drawn back, and a shaft of daylight fell into the pavilion, setting a column of motes to shining. In the center of the tent a great mattress of goose down lay upon a reed-woven platform. Cushions of silk and soft sheets of linen lay scattered across the mattress. Small braziers stood to either side, unlit at this hour but well blackened from the regular burning of oil for light and incense for mood. Hatshepsut could well imagine the frolics that took place between those braziers. Arrayed along the tent's rear wall were six modest beds and stacks of traveling chests, no doubt containing more wispy gowns, jewels, and other necessities of travel.
Each of the six women was hardly dressed at all, but wore the lightest, most open weaves, their young bodies on full display. Beside them, Hatshepsut felt rather a poor excuse for a Great Lady in her travel-rumpled dress of a sturdy, serviceable weight. I am as plain as a servant compared to them. But Tabiry and her women paid no heed to her dress, except to coax her out of it. They sent for a large basin of water, washed the grime of travel from her body with their own hands while she stood in the shaft of golden light at the tent's heart. Tabiry dressed her in one of her own fine gowns, and as the afternoon edged toward evening, Hatshepsut lay upon the great central mattress with the harem women, playing senet and laughing to the quiet accompaniment of a flute.
She cringed as Tabiry took two of her pawns. “You play a vicious game, Lady Tabiry. Do you ever challenge the Pharaoh to senet?”
“He hasn't much heart for senet, Great Lady.” Tabiry's voice was rich and musical, reverberating in her lovely throat like two harp strings chiming together.
“We play other games with the ki>
“Does the Pharaoh always bring the six of you when he travels?”
“Usually,” Tabiry said. “We have the heart for it – for living in tents, for being uprooted. Not all the women of the harem could be satisfied with such a life.”
Rekhetre rolled onto her back, stretched her thin arms above her head. “And we get along well with each other.”
“The Pharaoh is lucky in you; I can see that.” She studied the senet board, making as if she were musing over her next move. But her thoughts were all for the confinement of this tent. She must not spend the night here, lovely and welcoming as it may be. “Do you suppose he will visit us tonight?”
The women seemed to hold their breath as she skipped her pawn across the board. At last Tabiry cleared her throat. “I do not think so, Great Lady. No doubt he will be tired from his ride in the hills.”
Surely the gods themselves could not conceive of a chariot ride taxing enough to keep a fourteen-year-old king from enjoying six women at once. Hatshepsut did not need to hear the real reason. Tabiry was too tactful by half to speak it aloud. The king does not love you. He would rather stay far away.
So she must contrive her own way into his bed. Very well. Thutmose may have no stomach for the senet board, but Hatshepsut was rather a keen player. She claimed two of Tabiry's pawns herself and waited for the woman's next move, smiling.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Hatshepsut let herself into Thutmose's tent while the last red glow of the evening still lingered on the western horizon. The Pharaoh was just finishing to tie on a fresh kilt; the old one, dulled with the dust of the surrounding hills, lay draped over one of the carved chests at the foot of his bed.
“How was your ride, husband?”
He looked up sharply at the sound of her voice, but when he saw her, standing in the light of an oil lamp, his mouth relaxed from its habitual scowl. She stood wrapped in Tabiry's delicate gown, a fall of open blue linen as light as eastern silk, through which her breasts and navel showed plainly. The harem women had adorned her with their gems, singing love songs as they slid golden cuffs onto her arms, rings onto each finger, a stylish wig of long, thin braids onto her head. They had painted her face and scented her body with an air of happy conspiracy, whispering advice on how best to please the Pharaoh. It had been easy to secure their complicity once she had admitted to them how she suffered in her loneliness, how her heart longed day and nigh st
One of them, Keminub, much given to dreamy sighs and fits of wistfulness, had tears in her wide, earnest eyes by the time Hatshepsut finished confiding her tragic tale. “He will be unable to resist you, Great Lady.” Keminub had fastened the necklace at Hatshepsut's throat and stood back to appraise her virginal beauty. “Go to him; you will see. You will fall into his arms and be a maiden no more!”
Thutmose stared at her, and did not answer. Neit
her did he smile to see her, dressed as beautifully as any of his six pets. But he did not frown, and she took that for a small victory. She came toward him, walking slowly to make her hips sway, as Tabiry had shown her. “Your ride – it was good, I trust?”
“Er – yes. The general is a good man, very wise and brave. We talked...we talked of the garrison's capabilities, and its needs. We shall need to find fifty more men at least before the general is satisfied, but I still say the Kushites are no real danger here.” He stared at her breasts as he spoke.
“You said you would see me for supper, and here I am.”
“My servants will be along with the food shortly.” He looked thoughtful, considering her hips, her thighs through the sheer blue mist of her dress. “Why are you dressed that way? I have never seen you wear the like before.”
“I wanted to make your evening pleasant; that is all. Shouldn't a wife do these things for her husband?”
Thutmose raised his eyes to her own, squinting warily as if he might discern her true purpose in her face.
“Look, Thutmose. You and I have been at odds since we were children. But we are not children anymore; we are the Pharaoh and the Great Royal Wife. We have a land to rule together.” She reached out, made herself touch his arm, run her fingers down the soft skin on the inside until his shoulders tensed. “It is time we set our quarrels aside. Don't you agree?”
He waited, considering her words. “You do look nicer than usual. The color suits you. And when you paint your face like that, it's softer and more appealing.”
She forced a smile. “Thank you.”
“I have never noticed your body before, but it's...” he lifted his hands, made a rapid gesture, empty palms fluttering as thought he juggled words, searching for the right one. “...It's womanly.”
The Crook and Flail Page 20