The Sekhmet Bed (12 page)

Tut encouraged her to resume her dream-reading. The pavilion provided a natural place to do so; it was neither as public as the court hall nor as private as her apartments. Twosre saw to her needs as she listened to the dreams of noble women and palace servants. Word spread quickly through the city, and by the time the Inundation was well underway Ahmose was being petitioned by Waset’s rekhet. Soon she could not manage the demand for dream-reading on her own. Tut devoted Ineni to the queen’s service, and under his careful eye Ahmose’s days were well planned.

Akhet was a good time for a funeral. The very land sang hymns of rebirth as the river raised its fertile hands above the valley. The royal family set out from the palace an hour after sunrise, carried in their litters down through the streets of Waset where the air was still and thick with the smell of fish and refuse. Tut and Ahmose rode together on a great throned platform carried by sixteen men, Mutnofret on a smaller litter immediately behind them. Even this early in the morning, even during the Inundation when there was no race to plant or harvest and sleep could be had more freely, the rekhet crowded the route from palace to river. They cheered and waved as Ahmose and Tut passed, holding children up for a view, jumping to see over the heads of the crowd.

Behind them, the wails of a throng of paid mourners rose into the sky. They channeled the grief of the family, lamenting and scooping dust onto their heads, tearing their garments, shaking fists at the sun. Amunhotep had been a great Pharaoh, long-reigning and strong. He had many mourners; their cries were like those of the great flocks of geese in early Shemu, each individual voice merging into one relentless cacophony. Ahmose smiled to hear it. It was right that Amunhotep should be loudly mourned. Her father had been a great man.

At the head of the procession Meritamun and Nefertari rode litters directly behind the king’s coffin. They had moved out of the Waset palace just before the wedding, taking up in an estate on the bluffs to the south of the city. Ahmose had not seen either woman since her wedding feast. She wondered how her mother and grandmother felt today. Did their hearts cry out as loudly as the mourners? Nefertari, at least, must be sorrowful. She had only one living child left – Meritamun – and the twist of her daughter’s spine was slowly taking her life away. She, too, would die before the old God’s Wife.

At length they reached the water steps where the royal barge was moored. It was broad and deep, fitted with two masts and bristling with oars. Its sides were painted red and white, the colors of Egypt’s two crowns. The litter lowered. Tut gave his hand to Ahmose to lead her down the steps and onto the barge.

He went back right away to lead Mutnofret aboard. Ahmose watched as Mutnofret and Tut walked hand-in-hand down the great steps to the mooring. Though she was at odds with Mutnofret, she still felt keenly her sister’s disappointment at being second wife. She believed it was possible to find some stabile ground with Mutnofret, in spite of their rivalry for Tut’s affections.

As for Tut, he kept his word to Ahmose. He did not try to return to her bed, but he came to her during the day, and often. It was well known around the palace that Ahmose and the Pharaoh often rode together in the evenings, taking their chariot out into the fields, past ancient temples and tiny villages, sometimes so far they could see the desert lying red and hot on the eastern horizon. And most days they shared the morning meal, too, in Ahmose’s garden or in Tut’s lush courtyard. She had heard no rumors that the Pharaoh invited Mutnofret into his leisure. Perhaps Ahmose was to be the Pharaoh’s companion, and Mutnofret was to be his brood mare.
I can live with such an arrangement
, she thought, smiling.

Ahmose found Nefertari and Meritamun beneath a shaded canopy. She sat upon a bench with them and sipped wine while the lines were cast off. The barge shoved away from the city’s shore. It lumbered out into the water, wavering; then the current took it and it shuddered a deep rumble against the rising Nile. The oarsmen shouted to each other as they churned the current, steering the craft deftly so its nose pointed upstream. Fabric snapped hard in the wind; the sails raised, bellying out into the brisk southward breeze. The barge steadied, pulled, cut through the chopping waves with increasing speed. Waset receded. Several yards downstream, another barge carrying the hired mourners cast off. They were on their way to the western shore.

“
You’re doing well as queen, I hear,” Meritamun said.

“
I’m doing my best. I suppose that’s all I can do.”

“
And how is Mutnofret taking it?”

“
Better. She fights with me less, but I see her less, too. I think she just avoids me.”

“
I hear she is trying for a son.”

The unasked question hung stagnant in the air between them. Ahmose said nothing, turning her eyes to a small troupe of dancers performing in the center of the barge.

“
And you?” Meritamun, apparently, would not be put off.

“
We have…we have tried,” Ahmose said carefully. It wasn’t a lie. She had tried.

“
I’m glad to hear it. Sons are important for any queen.”

“
You never had sons, Mother.”

“
If I had, none of us would have to face this mess now. Think on that, Ahmose.”

“
I’m doing all I can do,” she said, a bit sharply. “I’m still new to womanhood. Perhaps I need time to…”

“
I know you love your sister, Ahmose, but recall what she is like. Mutnofret is powerful, in her way. And we put you behind the throne for a reason. You must remain the Great Royal Wife. Give your husband no reason to set you aside. If he does, there is no telling how the people may react to him.

“
You allow him to dote on Mutnofret in public. Yes, I know he’s affectionate toward you around the palace. I’ve heard. But only the servants see what goes on in the palace. What do the people see today on this barge? The Pharaoh walking hand in hand with his second wife, and now he sits on the other side of the boat with her while you have tucked yourself away with a couple of old women. What must they all think, Ahmose? And more importantly, what must Mutnofret be thinking? I won’t have you risking Egypt’s security by failing to…”

Nefertari laid a dry, bony hand on Meritamun’s leg. Just that, and the former queen fell silent.

“
Ahmose was a good choice,” the God’s Wife said, her voice like worn leather. “Be still, Meritamun.”

The crew furled the sails in the middle of the river. They were well upstream of the water steps on the western shore. Now they would coast, under guidance of the oars alone, to their mooring. Ahmose loved to ride the river downstream during the Inundation. It was exhilarating: the rush of wind, the dizzying expanse of the river, the shouting, white-tipped waves. She let Meritamun’s tirade slide off her shoulders, and smiled as the oarsmen turned the barge nose-north. They flew down the river, angling always to the west. Gulls followed the boat, screaming over the music, squabbling over bits of food, dropping their treasures into the water. When the boat neared the moorings, the oarsmen backed water and the barge shuddered, jolted, boomed, slowing ponderously, until it coasted to the water steps. Men leapt ashore, carrying ropes, tying to stone pillars as thick as a circle of gossiping women.

Refreshed and cheered by the ride, Ahmose jumped to her feet. Nefertari grabbed her hand, motioned for her to bend her head close.

“
You were a good choice, Ahmose, but Meritamun is not wrong. You have a battle ahead of you, as surely as your husband has his own war.”

Nefertari bobbed her dark old head toward Mutnofret. She was across the barge from Ahmose, her hand lying lightly on Tut’s arm. He said something to her as the dancers finished their performance, and she laughed, her long, slanted eyes sparkling in the sun.

“
The woman who bears the Pharaoh’s sons has his heart,” Nefertari said. “And the woman who has the Pharaoh’s heart has at least as much power as the God’s Wife of Amun.”

***

They made the journey to Amunhotep’s waiting tomb on foot. The mourners made a sorrowful music down the length of the ravine, thick and green with flourishing growth. Tut walked with Ahmose. She was glad to be in his company, wary all over again of Mutnofret’s smiles. Nefertari’s words worried at her ka.

Tut had never seen a royal funeral before, and Ahmose quietly rehearsed the Opening of the Mouth with him as they walked. In truth, she had never seen a royal funeral either, but as the daughter of a Pharaoh the ancient ceremony had been required learning. Tut must not place a single foot wrong. Her reputation as a god-chosen woman would only gain her husband a measure of credence among the priests and nobles. Today, he had to be the very embodiment of Horus, conquering death, resurrecting the father. If he could give a convincing show as Horus, it would be harder for them to doubt his right to the throne.

“…
And then the bull is butchered,” Ahmose said, “and you are given…?”

“
The foreleg. I point it at his body.”

“
To convey its strength,” she confirmed. “And after that?”

“
The iron.”

“
Do you remember the words you must say?”

They went over the entire ceremony three times as they walked, their rehearsal well hidden by the wailing of the mourners. Behind the mourners the priests and nobles came, their fine clothing caked with dust from the dozens of feet that went before.

A few of the higher priests were already gathered outside Amunhotep’s tomb, preparing for the day’s work. They raised their hands when they saw Thutmose. He returned the greeting, a gesture of confidence, strength.

You will do well, my love. You must do well.
She looked up at Tut’s face, stoic and bold in the sun. A shadow passed over him from above, darkening his features, sliding up over the tall, white spire of his crown. She followed the shadow’s path. A bird circled above them with pointed wings and long, straight tail. She grabbed Tut’s hand.

“
Look, Tut!”

He followed her eyes, his free hand going up to steady the crown. “A falcon.”

“
Horus blesses us.” Ahmose smiled, opening herself to the gods’ glow.

The High Priest raised his arms to the sun as the last of the procession drew up around the tomb. “Let the setem priest be awakened!”

Thutmose stepped forward. Ahmose’s eyes were on his back, broad and strong and straight beneath a wide jeweled collar covering his shoulders. He made the ritual response in a voice that rang off the red walls of the ravine. “The setem priest has risen.”

The High Priest draped a leopard skin around Tut’s shoulders. He did not move, but stared straight ahead as the priest adjusted the skin. He was as untouchable, as unmovable as a god.

The bearers of the coffin emerged from the crowd. They laid it on the ground, then with great care lifted the lid and raised Amunhotep’s body. It did not look like a man at all; it was a man-shaped bundle, an unfinished statue wrapped in white linen, crowned with a smiling golden mask. They laid it on a platform of sand. The priests crowded around, fanning incense over the body and singing.

Awake!

Be alert as a living one,

Rise fresh every morning,

Awake!

Healthy forever more,

A thousand thousand thousand times will you awake.

Awake!

The gods protect you.

Protection surrounds you every day.

Awake!

Your son Horus has come to raise you

You will fly forever as a falcon flies.

Awake!

Awake,
Ahmose whispered in her heart.
Father I never knew, awake and live forever.
She felt a pang of regret. She had never known Amunhotep as Thutmose had. Surely any man who was so loved by her husband had been worth knowing. She imagined her father striding through the sky, laughing with pleasure as his funerary rites were carried out by the mortals below.
I hope I will please you as queen, Father. I hope I will be a good wife to your friend, and make you proud.

The singing done, the body blessed, Amunhotep was returned to his simple coffin. Men emerged from the darkness of the open tomb bearing a beautiful outer sarcophagus, carved and adorned with lapis, carnelian, and gold. They lifted its lid and nestled Amunhotep’s coffin inside; the wails of the mourners surged. The priests stood the brilliant sarcophagus upright against the tomb’s outer wall. It was splendid. The artisan had done well, capturing Amunhotep’s features perfectly in gold and enamel. The way the morning sun caught the gilding made Ahmose’s heart swell.
To be immortal, to live forever in happiness like a god. To be golden like Ra.