The Sekhmet Bed (13 page)

When they butchered the bull, Ahmose looked away. She pitied the poor creature, but its strength would go into her father’s ka. It must be done. Eyes closed, she heard the axe fall and looked in time to see Tut receive the bull’s foreleg. He stepped up without hesitating, laid the leg at Amunhotep’s feet. “Strength will be yours as you live forever.” He turned back and took the bull’s hot heart from the priest’s hands. Blood ran down his arms, trickled off his elbows to stain his white kilt. He hoisted the heart so all could see it, then offered it, too, to Amunhotep. “Strength will be yours forever.”

The high priest shouted in a voice like a snapping sail, “Who is the son who loves Amunhotep, he who has gone to live forever with the gods?”

“
I am the son who loves Amunhotep,” Thutmose replied.

“
Then take the netjerwy in your hand, and raise him back to life.”

The priest held a carved tray of white stone. Ahmose craned her neck to see past Tut’s shoulder as he took hold of the sacred metal rod. It was a bit longer than a man’s foot, split into two hooks at one end. It was made from a fallen star, so Ahmose had heard. Miraculous, astounding, that a star could be made of metal, that mortals could forge it into this sacred rod in her husband’s hand. A whisper of envy was in her ear. To touch a piece of the heavens was a wondrous thing.

“
Horus comes,” the priests chanted in one voice. “Horus comes to split the mouth of Osiris with his little finger!”

Tut stepped to the sarcophagus, the netjerwy held out before him like a divine offering. He hesitated, and Ahmose’s heart burned cold. She was sure he’d forgotten the words. Then he turned his head slightly, and she could see the barest hint of his face. Sorrow was written plain there. This was not just his king who Tut sent to the afterlife, but his dearest friend. She wanted to run to her husband, to comfort him. Instead, she squeezed her hands into fists and prayed.

Tut’s voice rose with a power that made her suck in her breath. “With gods’ iron of Upper Egypt, with gods’ iron of Lower Egypt, I, Horus, split open your mouth for you, O Osiris the King. Breathe in the ankh, the breath of life. Awake, and live forever!” He touched the netjerwy to Amunhotep’s golden lips.

The crowd in the valley shouted its acclaim. Ahmose stared around her. Nobles’ wives jumped and sang. The mourners clapped, danced, raised their voices in an ululating cry. Priests wept. Thutmose had come through the ceremony as boldly as any man born to rule. She longed to run to his side, so he could sweep her into his arms and spin her in a circle. But she remembered Meritamun’s words on the barge. She walked to her husband slowly, like a queen, before Mutnofret could reach him first. She allowed herself only a small smile.

“
You did very well.”

“
I had a good teacher.”

“
You’re Pharaoh now in truth, Tut. Look at them. They all love you!”

“
The ceremony was only my first test. My real trial will come on the battle fields.”

Ahmose shivered.

“
Don’t worry,” Tut said. “I’ll keep the fighting as far from our borders as I can.”

“
When will you leave?”

“
Tomorrow night, my love.” He stopped short. There was expectation in his voice.

Ahmose wanted to ask him to come to her bed that night. She remembered the way his hands had made her feel, the way he’d laid her onto the bed so gently. But she remembered Aiya, too, and could not make herself speak the words. Instead, she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll pray to all the gods for your safety.”

“
So will I.”

ELEVEN

Thutmose was gone for Buhen only two days when Mutnofret paid a visit to the rooftop pavilion. She arrived unannounced, brushing past Ineni, ignoring his protests. She sank down on Ahmose’s cushions, fanning herself. “Spinning on the rooftop just like a rekhet woman. How quaint,” she said sweetly. “How does the season find you, dear sister?”

“
Well enough.”

“
You’re not planning on weaving your own cloth and sewing your own dresses, are you?”

“
Of course not. Don’t be silly. Spinning helps me concentrate, that’s all. I do my best thinking when I’m spinning.” Ahmose finished her twist and laid aside spindle and distaff. She brushed her hands together to rid them of clinging flax fibers. “Would you like something cool to drink? You look very sweaty.”

“
That would be most kind. And have your woman bring me some salted fish to eat. I crave salt so. It’s unbearable.”

“
Cravings? So you did conceive before our husband left.”

For an answer, Mutnofret smiled. She looked truly; this was not just a sly cat’s grin. Ahmose couldn’t help but give a small smile in return. Mutnofret had been so miserable and angry since their marriage was announced. If a child would bring her sister real happiness, then Ahmose couldn’t be entirely dismayed. Motherhood might mellow the Second Queen, the way whelping a litter mellowed a fierce bitch. Besides, the baby might be a girl.

“
I only just found out a few days ago. I wanted to wait to tell you until I could be sure. Oh! But I can see you are still not pregnant.”

Ahmose followed Mutnofret’s glance. The knot of her menstrual belt was visible, rumpling the fabric of her dress. She tugged at the garment as if to conceal her failure.

“
It’s no matter,” Mutnofret went on. “You’re still young. I came to ask whether you would like my help at court while our husband is away.”

All of Ahmose’s instincts shrieked at her to reject the offer. Mutnofret would seize the opportunity to make her look like a fool in front of the court. But she saw again Mutnofret leaping to her feet in the throne room the day Amunhotep died, shivering with shock. Could she deny her sister a share in the life she’d always wanted?
Yes, yes!
Her heart shouted.
Deny her, send her away!

But the eyes inside her, the eyes of her ka, saw Mutnofret’s eyes red from crying, and she felt guilty. Dimly, she heard herself say, “If you wish. I’ll be glad of your company.” She shook her head to still her heart’s anger. It was howling at her. She masked the gesture by brushing at the air as if warding off gnats, though none were near.
Stupid, stupid, stupid,
her heart said, beating fast.

Ahmose said, “I heard a rumor from the House of Women. Did you? Baketamun is also with child.”

Mutnofret pursed her lips. “No, I did not hear. That’s good news.” She didn’t sound as if she thought the news good.

What did she have to fear, though? Baketamun was not a wife, nor even a princess; her child would not be royal, and therefore not an heir to compete with Mutnofret’s baby. Unless, of course, Thutmose decided to be as unorthodox as his predecessor in matters of inheritance. That was a troubling thought, even for Ahmose. Would her Tut choose a friend or a soldier to succeed him on the throne, rather than a child of his own blood? He’d have more right, more precedent, than any Pharaoh who had come before. The nobles might accept such a thing once, but twice?
No, not Tut. He wouldn’t do it,
Ahmose thought. Then
, Would he?

“
So her baby will be born right with yours,” Ahmose said.

“
Do you think Thutmose is the father?”

“
Mutnofret!” Ahmose stared at her sister. True, the Pharaoh often allowed his most important guests access to the harem, but it was the height of incivility to imply that any harem woman carried a child that was not the king’s.

“
Well? Thutmose often visited the House before he was the Pharaoh. Why shouldn’t he permit his friends…?”

“
Baketamun was your friend! How could you be so coarse?”

Mutnofret sighed. “Ahmose, you’re so simple sometimes. The world isn’t the way you think it is.”

“
What in the name of Mut is that supposed to mean?”

“
Real life isn’t like the stories. First princesses can be set aside, and women in the king’s harem can have children sired by men other than the king.”

“
I know, but you don’t have to…”

“
You
know,
you
know.” She sighed again, looking away, frowning. “I’m sorry, Ahmose, truly. I didn’t come here to fight. I don’t want to fight with you. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”

“
I know, Mutnofret. This…arrangement…is difficult for you. For me, too. You were raised to be the Great Royal Wife, and I – with my gifts, I could have been a priestess. It’s what I always wanted to do, you know. I wish I still could.”

“
I didn’t know. You never told me.” Mutnofret took her hand. It had been so long since her sister had touched her in kindness that Ahmose’s eyes filled with tears. “You would have been a good priestess.”

“
Wouldn’t it be a lovely thing? The temples are so peaceful. Not like the court at all.”

“
Tell me, priestess, what should I do to be sure my child is healthy, and a boy?”

Ahmose smiled. “Go to Hathor’s sanctuary at Ipet-Isut. Leave an offering of cow’s milk, and pray to her. Then take a bull calf’s meat to Khnum’s shrine. That should please them. They’ll hear your prayers.”

“
I’ll do that. I’ll tell the gods Ahmose sent me to them. Perhaps they’ll listen doubly hard, if they know I have your blessing.”

***

Week followed week, the Inundation bringing higher waters and hotter days. The smell of water was always in the air. The insects became nearly as miserable to bear as the heat. Ahmose’s pavilion was curtained now in loose-woven linen, sheer enough to let some semblance of a breeze in but tight enough to keep out the worst of the biting flies. Mutnofret was always at court, watching the proceedings silently but ready with good advice whenever Ahmose asked. She was careful to ask often, though Ahmose frequently found herself wondering whether a linen screen could be woven to keep Mutnofret away, too. The Second Queen could be unpredictable at the best of times, and pregnancy and Akhet combined to make her moods and her tongue sharp.

Akhet was a troubling time for the court. With the fields flooded and Thutmose too occupied with war to build his monuments, many hands were idle. Not just rekhet, but nobles as well. There were more disputes and petitions now than at any other time of the year. Ineni and the other stewards did a fine job filtering out all but the direst conflicts, referring a great deal of them back to local juries. It was a tiring business, though, adjudicating disputes over land or cattle or trade goods. Ahmose was often so exhausted by her work in court that she had small enough energy for reading dreams. Mutnofret hardly seemed to fare better. She was sick most mornings, and had taken to sleeping on her roof – like a rekhet woman, Ahmose was amused to note – soothed by the night’s cooler breezes.

Thutmose sent letters often. They were addressed only to Ahmose. She had no idea whether he also sent word to his second wife, and Ahmose did not think it wise to ask. Nofret never mentioned any letters from their husband. Rather than risk hurting her feelings, Ahmose asked Ineni to add Mutnofret’s shenu – her name surrounded by the formal royal ring – to the beginning of each letter. The steward did a fair imitation of Tut’s hand. Once the notes had been doctored, Ahmose shared the letters with Mutnofret when she came to the pavilion to visit.

Buhen is beautiful,
one read.
The fortress here is strong. Many legions of men, well fed, plenty of horses, spears, and bows. No sign yet of the Kushites. I am hopeful.

Met with Kushite warlord yesterday,
read another.
Black as night and mean as a hippopotamus. Made threats, would not be consoled. Thinks to take the river, all the way up to the cataracts, for his own. We will teach him his lessons.

One made her shiver:
Surprise attack this morning by Kushite force while we inspected crop fields. Came on us from behind, out of a canyon. Were pinned against river. A near thing. Reinforcements came from the city and surrounded their rear. We crushed them under our heels. Warlord killed by my spear. Kush will think hard before coming against Egypt again.