The Sekhmet Bed (30 page)

“
An heir,” Ahmose said, her voice nearly a wail. “Name Wadjmose heir, Tut! It will appease Mutnofret. It will make her easier to live with.”

“
No.”

“
Why do you do this? Can’t you see how this tears our family apart? Amunmose, then, if Wadjmose displeases you.”

“
Neither of my sons will ever displease me.”

“
Forgive me. But why?”

She knew why. The dream. His accursed dream. He looked at her steadily, stern, expectant. Her arms were still around her body; she dug her nails into her back to keep from looking away from her husband’s fierce eyes.

“
I’m going now. I expect you to be in the palace tomorrow night. You may make your excuses to the temple this evening. You were my wife before you were the God’s Wife. My wife will live with me as a woman, not in the temple as a goddess.”

TWENTY-NINE

Ahmose seldom left her roof-top pavilion anymore. She had left Ipet-Isut defeated, and she came home defeated. She was a useless queen, an absent God’s Wife, no sister at all. Thutmose all but ignored her. She attended court each day as he required, and he would nod a greeting to her, eyes tight, mouth severe, and speak to her only when courtesy prompted him. She was an ornament again, just as in her childhood, set upon her throne for the subjects of the Pharaoh to admire.

Twosre, at least, seemed relieved to be back in the palace day and night. She bustled about cheerily, cleaning, organizing trunks of clothing, polishing gems and rings. Ahmose would often lie on her bed, watching Twosre at her busy-work, feeling a blunt gladness for her servant’s pleasure. Twosre found fulfillment in her work. Twosre knew her duties. Twosre had a purpose, here in Waset’s shining halls. Ahmose had no purpose, no work, no fulfillment. She seldom did more than rest now. It took so much from her to dress herself and bear her husband’s scorn on her gilt throne. Every day, every day. It took so much from her to present herself to the court beside Mutnofret’s radiance, Mutnofret’s confidence. Every day. Her bed was a blessing, her garden a haven. Her hands were idle, her mind fading like a waning moon.

Twosre still brought gossip, and Ahmose allowed it, listened to the woman’s reports with little interest. Had there been a time when tales of Mutnofret’s doings raised her hackles? It was hard to believe it was ever so. The second queen was favored, by Thutmose and by the gods. It had always been this way. Why had Ahmose ever been concerned? The sun set in the west, the Nile flowed north, and Mutnofret was favored. Mutnofret would always win.

Sometimes, in the garden’s shade, she would close her eyes and reach out for the gods. It was harder to do here than in the temple, where the incense and the offerings drew the gods near. She was out of practice now, and her curious, languid distress made it all the harder. Still, sometimes she could touch them. The gods were in a stupor, too, it seemed. They had no words for her, no images – just a misty sort of sorrow, an untenable pity. She seldom tried to reach for them at all anymore.

The New Year came again.
Seventeen
, Ahmose thought with a dull kind of wonder as early morning light crept in through her beautiful pillared wall.
I’m seventeen now
. She should have had sons by this age. Like Mutnofret. Like Aiya. She should have surrendered to the physician’s knife long ago, and spared herself this wreckage of a life.

But Twosre was coming in through the door, clapping briskly. “Up, up! Out of bed! It’s the Birthday of Osiris! Festival!”

There had been a time when the five days of the New Year made Ahmose squeal with anticipation. A long time ago, when she was happy, she had loved the feasts, the parades, and the holy ceremonies most of all.

“
Up!” Twosre seized her hand and pulled. Ahmose came after it, obedient, a tired old hound. “Oh, Lady, when will you come out of this daze?” Twosre stripped her and made her get into the bath. The water was cool, but Ahmose hardly shivered. “It does you no good. It does the people no good, to see you sitting on your throne unsmiling.”

“
I’m nothing anymore.”

“
Nonsense! Goose gabble! Nothing. You’re the queen of Egypt.”

The queen of betrayal. The queen of sadness.
Ahmose sank into her bath up to her chin, cherishing the thrill of self-pity in her stomach. She said nothing.

Twosre made her sit up again. “You’re to ride in the parade.”

“
Again?” She’d done it last year. It had been more exciting then, to be carried on a beautiful painted platform through the city and down to Ipet-Isut. As God’s Wife she had led the services, told the festival story to a crowd of a thousand or more.
A man was drawing water from a well long ago, in the place that would become Waset, our city, brothers and sisters! A voice came from all around him: go back to your people, to your herds and children, and tell them that the great lord has come! Osiris! He who raises the river, he who will grant new life after death. Rejoice, children of the earth, for death is no more and life is eternal!
She’d always loved the story of the man at the well. The Sky-Mother’s Message, it was called. As a child she had dreamed of being the one to stand in the temple forecourt and lead the ceremony. This year, it seemed an impossible task.

“
I don’t have the energy to lead the ceremony. I’m so tired.”

Twosre’s hands paused on Ahmose’s shoulders. “Well, as to that, it seems Nefertari will be leading the ceremony this year.”

Nefertari.
But the God’s Wife tells the story and opens the festival
. Ahmose stared at her bath’s tiled wall. The lilies set there in fragments of faience confused themselves into a meaningless jumble of color. There was one thought clear in Ahmose’s heart.
Thutmose gave the title back to Nefertari
. Only the Pharaoh had the power to do such a thing. Twosre resumed her work, and words came to Ahmose with the rhythm of her servant’s scrubbing. She opened her mouth, and they fell out all on their own. “Tut hates me.”

“
Never say that. Your husband does
not
hate you. He is the Pharaoh, Great Lady. You seem to forget that sometimes, if you’ll forgive my saying so.”

“
I’ve never forgotten it.” Her voice quavered, though no tears came to her eyes. Perhaps she had cried that river dry. “We used to be close, Twosre. He used to spend his time with me. We used to ride together. We used to talk.”

“
That was before.”

Before the war. Before the princes. Before Ineni. How was she to face her subjects today? How could she face her grandmother at the temple? How could she ride in her gilded litter behind her husband’s and know that he would feel no urge to glance back at her and smile?

“
Out now, and I’ll shave you.”

Obedient, mindless, Ahmose took the offered hand and came from the bath. It was best to do as she was told now. Better to be like a puppet, made to dance and sing by another’s hand, than to be like a queen.

She was dressed, perfumed, beautiful and empty-headed, never minding Twosre’s scowls. Her servant wanted her to set this shadowy illness of the heart behind her, she knew, and dimly, distantly, the part of her that wanted to please tried to do just that. She fought to summon up a smile and painted it on her lips. Then the absurdity of smiling when her heart was in a tomb redoubled the formless pain. She had to blink hard to keep sudden tears from ruining her kohl.

Twosre made her sit down to breakfast and told her to eat. Ahmose did as she was told. She tasted nothing of her thin porridge and hard bread.

There was a clap outside her anteroom door. Twosre and Ahmose both looked up from the meal. Who could be calling on the Great Royal Wife at this hour, when preparations for the festival were underway all over the palace?

Twosre puttered over to the door and opened it a crack. A thin, high voice leapt into the room.

“
I must see the queen!”

“
She’s busy. She’s eating.”

“
Please, Mistress Twosre. It’s so very important. You must let me in.”

“
Let her in.” The command in Ahmose’s own voice startled her. Twosre looked round, eyes wide, then stepped back, swinging the door open.

It was Sitamun, Mutnofret’s skinny servant. Her big eyes watered. She ran across the room and fell to her knees beside Ahmose’s chair. “Don’t go to the festival, Great Lady. You must stay away.”

“
What?” The words pierced Ahmose’s haze. “What’s going on? Speak up!”

“
Lady Mutnofret. She plans something – something to humiliate you.”

“
Do you think I’m so stupid as to trust your words? You’ve spied on me and betrayed me to my vile sister.”

Sitamun’s face crumpled. “Great Lady, please, I beg your forgiveness. I did only what I was made to do. I have never wished you ill. Mutnofret…Mutnofret requires me to…to tell her things. Mut frowns on me for betraying the God’s Wife. I am afraid of her wrath. But I am Mutnofret’s servant; what can I do?”

“
If you truly fear Mut’s wrath, you can atone for your spying by telling
me
things. What is Mutnforet planning?”

“
I wish I knew. All I can tell you for certain is that she told me you’re to get your
payment
today at the festival.”

Ahmose’s face flushed hot. She tasted her breakfast on her tongue suddenly, the sweetness of honeyed porridge so cloying she wanted to retch. “Isn’t it enough?” Her voice was high and loud, desperate, angry, violent.

Twosre was at her side, one hand steady on her shoulder. “Calm, calm. It won’t do you good to get worked up.”
Not in front of Mutnofret’s creaure,
Twosre’s hand said.

“
Calm is not for Mutnofret,” Ahmose replied, though her words were more controlled.

“
Great Lady, she plans something to mortify you.” Sitamun held her palms out now, as if appealing to a goddess. “She’s relishing it. I can see it in her face. She’s been as smug as a crocodile all morning. Stay away, I beg you. Claim illness. I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. I don’t want to see you harmed. You’re favored by the gods – everybody knows it – and Mut will curse me for the part I’ve played in harming you. Oh, Mut, forgive this miserable servant!”

Moments before, Ahmose had been reveling in the surrender of control. It was pleasant enough to be under Twosre’s command. Twosre would never do her any harm. But to give command to Mutnofret? As well throw herself into a crocodile’s pool as allow herself to be the plaything of the second queen.

Her sister’s challenge fanned the last ember back to light. The temple was not her home anymore, Ineni was gone, Tut wanted nothing of her. There was not a thing left for her at all, but this: to put Mutnofret in her place at last. In this one battle she would claim her victory.

“
Whatever happens to me today, Sitamun, the gods have heard your heart. You will be forgiven. Do you want me to find a new assignment for you in the palace? Or perhaps in the temple?”

Sitamun’s eyes widened. Her hands shook. “Can you, Great Lady? Oh, please.”

Ahmose waved at the woman, a quick, ready dismissal. “It will be done. Go now, and clean your face up. Don’t let Mutnofret know where you’ve been.”

Sitamun stood in paled, shaking silence for a long moment, then bowed, and crept away.

“
I’m ready to go to the temple, Twosre. It’s time.”

“
You don’t believe that creature, do you? No doubt that’s exactly what Mutnofret told her to say, to lure you out! Sitamun feels guilty…
bah!
”

“
It doesn’t matter whether she’s telling the truth, or whether Mutnofret intends to draw me out today. I am going to the festival to face my sister, no matter what her
payment
may be.”