The Sekhmet Bed (5 page)

Ahmose nodded. She was not completely convinced, though. So it
was
the rekhet who made Egypt live or die. They
were
important. But Meritamun’s point was well made. “The horses pull the chariot,” she said, “but a driver must guide them. The rekhet are the horses, the priests and nobles together the driver.”

Meritamun smiled. “Nefertari was right about you. You will make a good queen.”

“
I understand now why you’ve chosen Thutmose. And I understand the importance of keeping harmony in Egypt. But I still don’t understand why you’ve set Mutnofret aside. She is just as royal as I am, and she is the First Princess.”

“
Is that why you’ve come? To try to convince me to make Mutnofret queen? It won’t happen, Ahmose. It can’t happen. Mutnofret is the elder; this is true. And she is beautiful, I know. But age and beauty are not enough to guide Egypt through what lies ahead. Mutnofret is as hot-headed as the gods make them – oh, yes, I’ve heard about her temper! – and a hot-headed queen could damn Egypt forever. Mut knows I’ve tried everything I can think of to cool that girl’s heart, but she’s always been an ember waiting to fall on tinder. It cannot be overstated how eagerly the Hyksos wait for Egypt to show a sign of weakness. Any weakness at all. Mutnofret ranting on the throne beside a common-born king may be just what they need to chisel a few holes into our walls.

“
Thutmose will be in a difficult position, as dangerous as any of his battles. He needs every bit of legitimacy we can give him. Today I claimed the voice of Amunhotep to name him the heir. It was barely enough. Thutmose needs the voice of the gods speaking for him, or the priests and the nobles will never be satisfied.”

“
It’s because of me, then. You are breaking Mutnofret’s heart because I’m god-chosen.”

Meritamun pinched the bridge of her nose, as if her head pained her. “The gods know I tried my best with Mutnofret. Her nurse and I, we did everything we could think of to curb the girl. But she was born with too much fire in her. She’s like a wild horse that will not be caught. Setting her loose on a common-born king – even a man experienced in battle – could be disastrous. Thutmose will need unity and peace in his family, not just legitimacy.

“
I’m not without sympathy for Mutnofret, Ahmose. And I know how you love her. I love her, too, for all her fire. She is my own child. My first child! I regret the pain this will cause her. But I can’t go to my death leaving Egypt to face disaster. Caring for this land has always been my life’s devotion. If one thing can be said at my funeral, it will be this: Egypt was so important to me that I sacrificed anything – everything – even the happiness of my daughter – to save it from ruin.”

Because she saw the sadness in Meritamun’s eyes, Ahmose said nothing. But her ka whispered restlessly.
Will I, too, be required to make such a sacrifice? What will be said at the funeral of Queen Ahmose?

“
Mutnofret will not be forgotten, I promise you,” Meritamun said. “She will be Thutmose’s second wife, and a queen in her own right. She will have rooms here in the palace and will attend court, if she chooses. I hope you will treat her as a near-equal, Ahmose. Your duty is to speak with the voice of the gods on Thutmose’s behalf, so none will challenge his rule. But it will be for you and your sister both to love this new Pharaoh and please him. To bear his children.”

The skin on Ahmose’s arms raised into gooseflesh – a prickle of foreboding. “If we are to be near-equals, and both of us queens, who will bear Thutmose’s
heir
?”

Meritamun looked steadily into her daughter’s eyes. “That will be for you to decide.”

FOUR

Ahmose took the spindles and distaffs from Aiya’s arms and helped her sit in the shade of the olive tree. The girl was Ahmose’s dearest friend, a pretty, shy, golden young thing. Aiya was the daughter of a foreign king far to the north; she had been given to the Pharaoh as a peace offering three years ago, along with casks of wine, animal skins, horses, and chests of copper and gold. Aiya seldom spoke of life in the savage north. It must have been a terrible place, and her father a beast of a man. What kind of people sent their daughters to distant lands as
gifts
?

Surely life in the Pharaoh’s harem was better than life in her savage homeland. Aiya seemed happy enough. She was chatty – with Ahmose, at least – and was the best spinner in the House of Women, despite her young age. It was Aiya who had taught Ahmose to spin, and they often passed their afternoons together beneath the largest olive tree in the garden, laughing and gossiping while they dropped their spindles in the shade.

The girl spoke the Egyptian tongue fairly well. Her accent was thick, but she had picked up the language quickly. She wore Egyptian clothing, loved Egyptian music and sang with a pure, clear voice. The only concession she refused to grant Egypt was her hair. She flatly refused to shave her head and wear a proper wig. It sometimes made her the target of snide remarks in the women’s quarters, but Ahmose loved Aiya’s golden hair, and often combed her fingers through it, weaving it with flowers while they passed their hours in the garden.

Aiya was also pregnant – hugely so – and proud of her unborn child. She was certain it was a boy. She would bear the son of a Pharaoh, the last of Amunhotep’s children. The girl was just fourteen, only a year older than Ahmose, but already eager for motherhood.

“
I heard you are soon queen,” Aiya said, playing with the spindle in her lap.

“
You heard rightly, I’m afraid. Mutnofret hasn’t spoken to me in the two days since our mother made the announcement.”

“
Poor Mutnofret.”

Ahmose propped her distaff against her hip.

“
I suppose she has every right to be angry with me, although I didn’t choose this for myself. I would undo it if I could.”

Aiya shook her head. “She should be angry with mother. Ahmose is not for blaming.”

“
I know you’re right, but if I were in her place I think I might feel the same way.” Ahmose licked her fingers and twisted her flax fibers, pulling them smoothly away from the distaff and securing them to her spindle. Her threads weren’t always perfect, but they were usually even and strong. Some day she would spin as well as Aiya, with threads as fine and strong as a spider’s web. She’d had plenty of practice lately. Spinning relaxed her, allowed her mind to focus. It seemed Ahmose had done nothing but spin since the Pharaoh died.

“
When is wedding?”

“
Ten days,” Ahmose said, concentrating on the weight and speed of her spindle instead of on the specter of her wedding. “I hope you’ll sit beside me at the feast.”

“
If baby is not coming!”

“
I can’t wait to meet your son. Have you thought of a name yet?”

Aiya’s smile was shy. “How you say it in Egyptian?” She lapsed into her native tongue, and after all the time they’d spent together, sharing secrets and stories, Ahmose understood the words well enough. “
Of all the great men, he is first
.”

“
Hatshepsu.” Ahmose gave her the Egyptian word. “It’s a good name, Aiya. Very strong. Perfect for the son of a Pharaoh.”

Aiya beamed, her lovely, pale eyes on her spindle. At last she said, “You should visit Mutnofret, tell her your heart.”

“
I’ve been afraid to talk to her. She must be so hurt and so angry. I don’t think I can bear to see her in such pain.”
Or to face her rage
.

“
She needs her sister.”

Perhaps it was true. For all Mutnofret’s fierce temper, she had always been close to Ahmose. There was no one Mutnofret loved or trusted more than her sister.

Aiya should be a priestess, not a harem woman. She always knew exactly what to say. “Maybe you’re right, Aiya. Mutnofret needs me now. I’ll go see her this evening. Gods protect a fool, but I’ll give it a try.”

***

Mutnofret received Ahmose graciously, but her eyes were puffy and red beneath fresh, neatly drawn kohl. They made their awkward greetings, both of them preched tensely on the edges of the ebony stools in Mutnofret’s elegant room. A dish of fragrant figs lay untouched on the table between them. A tiny, silent fly circled the figs.

“
I had no idea this would happen,” Ahmose said, dejected.

“
I know. It’s not your fault.”

“
I went to see our mother. I asked her to take back her decision.”

Mutnofret looked hopeful for a moment. Reluctantly, Ahmose shook her head.

Mutnofret’s mouth turned down, but her eyes remained calm. “I’ve been crying for two days straight. I feel like a fool, but I can’t seem to stop.”

Ahmose laid a hand atop her sister’s. “I don’t blame you, Nofret. I’d cry, too. I
have
cried, in truth. This is so unfair to you. I didn’t want this.
Don’t
want this; you must believe me. But I don’t know how to change it.”

Mutnofret’s chin quivered, but no tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know how to change it, either. I just wish I understood why.”

“
It’s because of my stupid gift. My being god-chosen. Mother thinks it will make the priests and nobles accept Thutmose more readily, if a god-chosen wife stands behind his throne.” Best not to tell Mutnofret the rest of the queen’s reasoning.

Mutnofret rolled her eyes. She pulled her hand out from under Ahmose’s. The gesture stung, but Ahmose chided herself.
She’s hurting. Keep patience
.

“
Thutmose,” Mutnofret said. “You say his name with such familiarity. Have you met him before?” There was a considering, almost light-hearted note in her voice. Trying to take her mind off her anger, perhaps. Ahmose gladly went along. She told her sister of the forbidden night-time ride with the general.

Nofret laughed, clapping her hands at the romance and mischief of it. Her pleasure seemed genuine. “So you think he’s a good man. And he has a taste for adventure, I see. At least that is something. It could have been worse, I suppose. I guess I’d rather be second wife of a good, brave man than first wife of a naked baby.”

“
You must meet him soon, Nofret. I know you’ll love him.”

“
Do you love him?” It was a startling question. Ahmose hadn’t considered it until now.

“
I…I think I do,” she said, just to feed Mutnofret’s cheery mood. “At least, I found him to be…suitable. When we rode together.”

“
Suitable!
How like a queen you sound.” Mutnofret laughed again. There was no barb in her words, and, warming, Ahmose smiled tremulously.

“
I don’t know how to be a queen, Nofret. Not like you do. I’ll need your help. I won’t be able to do it without you.”

This time it was Mutnofret who took her sister’s hand. Their fingers intertwined. “I’ll be right behind you, Ahmose. When do you think I can meet your Thutmose?”

“
Let’s send a message to him tonight. If luck is with us, we can see him tomorrow.”

***

“
He’s not very handsome, is he?” Nofret whispered. “And how old is he? He looks thirty at least.”

They waited beside the palace lake. A breeze stirred the surface of the water, cooling Ahmose’s skin, raising the scent of lotus. Tiny waves lapped at the raised stone lip of the reservoir. Thutmose walked toward them with a stride like a bull’s, purposeful and direct. A little ball of excitement rolled around in Ahmose’s stomach; she shrugged at Mutnofret’s words. She hadn’t considered whether Thutmose was handsome. He was just Thutmose, good at driving horses, strong and kind, with a jackal’s laugh.

“
Good morning, Great Ladies.” Thutmose bowed lower than was necessary, one hand steadying his rather plain wig. He wore the simple white kilt of a soldier, falling in pleats to his knees. The only sign of his new status as Egypt’s heir was a brilliant Eye-of-Horus pectoral laid over his broad brown chest, gold set with cabochons of blue and red and green. “Shall we?” He indicated a small craft moored against the stone wall, a miniature version of the great pleasure barges that sailed the Nile. Food and flasks of wine were laid out on a low platform at the center of the barge.