The She-King: The Complete Saga

by L. M. Ironside

  “I have 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.

  “You should be a priestess, not a harem woman. You always know exactly what to say. You are right, Aiya. Mutnofret needs me now. I will go to her this evening. Gods protect a fool, but I will 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 perched 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 fruits.

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

  “I know.”

  “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 would 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 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.” She thought better of disclosing to Mutnofret the rest of Meritamun’s reasoning.

  Mutnofret rolled her eyes. She pulled her hand out from under Ahmose’s. The gesture stung, but Ahmose chided herself. She is hurting. You must 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 is 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 would rather be second wife of a good, brave man than Great Royal Wife of a naked baby.”

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

  “Do you love him?”

  It was a startling question. Ahmose had not 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 Great Wife 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 Great Royal Wife, 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 will be 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 had not considered whether Thutmose was handsome. He was simply 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, 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 Iteru. Food and flasks of wine were laid out on a low platform at the center of the barge.

  Thutmose climbed onto the lake’s lip, then offered a hand to Mutnofret. She hiked up her skirt and took his hand, cheeks coloring when her skin touched his. Ahmose, watching, bit her lip.

  When Mutnofret had lowered herself gracefully to a stack of cushions, Thutmose turned to help Ahmose aboard. “I swear I’ve met you someplace before,” he said with a wink. Ahmose giggled, which brought a horsey grin onto his face. When his hand closed around hers, a shaky heat flared through her. Her palm tingled with the memory of his rough, callused fingers even after she had seated herself by Nofret’s side.

  Thutmose loosed the ropes holding the barge, then found the quant and poled them toward the center of the lake. “And so the great journey began,” he said. “The lucky soldier stole the two beautiful daughters from their father’s house and put them on his magic boat. He took them far away down the Iteru, where nobody would be able to find them….”

  “You don’t need to steal me,” Mutnofret said. “I’ll come along willingly.”

  “Will you, now?” Thutmose let the boat slow, then tucked the quant into the hull. The barge drifted. He made his careful way to the table, strong arms stretched low to counter the boat’s rocking. “Let’s have some breakfast, shall we?”

  There was honey for their bread, and berries in milk, and two kinds of cheese. Ahmose could barely eat, her stomach fluttered so. She recalled how close she had stood to Thutmose in the chariot, how strong he had looked standing on the crest of the hill in the moonlight, and her skin felt much too hot in the sun. She had never been closer to a man than she had been to Thutmose, and here he was again, sharing the morning meal. She kept glancing at the shapes of the muscles in his arms and shoulders, the path of a raised vein that ran over the outside of his arm like a tiny brown river. His very maleness fascinated her.

  As they talked, Thutmose would sometimes give his big, barking laugh. The first time he did it Mutnofret blinked, obviously taken aback by his uncouth manner. He was unlike the noblemen Mutnofret was used to, Ahmose knew. But as the First King's Daughter became accustomed to Thutmose’s sense of humor she soon began striving to make him laugh, coaxing the humor from him with ribald stories or bawdy jokes. At first, Ahmose laughed right along with Thutmose. But as he paid more attention to Mutnofret, each of his smiles brought a twinge of jealousy. Soon Mutnofret reclined on her cushions, stretching in the sun, eyes closed, head back, soft neck bared. Her body was long and round, like curves of the river, as ripe as Iset and lovely as a song.

  “Mmm, the sun feels so nice, don’t you think?”

  Thutmose only sipped his wine. But his eyes wandered from Mutnofret’s face down the line of her throat to her breasts, to her softly rounded belly and hips, curving bright through her sun-soaked linen. Ahmose bit her lips together and looked away, sharply aware of the smallness of her own breasts, the hard angles of her young body. Beside Mutnofret, she was as plain as a pebble. She wished they were back on the shore again.

  “I’ve brought you both some little gifts,” Thutmose said. “What about it? Are you interested?”

  Mutnofret sat up at once and leaned forward, closing her eyes and holding out her hands. Thutmose lifted a leather bag from beneath their small table. He pulled out of it a little bundle wrapped in blue fabric, dropped it into Nofret’s palms. She opened her eyes, then opened
the cloth. “Oh! What is this stone?” It was a pendant made of some shiny, bright white rock, carved in the shape of a crouching lioness.

  “Not a stone,” Thutmose said. “Ivory. It’s so white because I only just had it carved for you yesterday. I asked your mother about you; she said you are as fierce as anything the gods ever made. I thought a lioness would be perfect. I hope you like it.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Mutnofret said, clutching the pendant to her heart. “And carved for me. Oh, the detail is so fine! I shall wear it at our wedding feast. Look, Ahmose.”

  She held the lioness out so Ahmose could examine it. It was indeed a marvelous carving. The snarling mouth was treacherous with sharp white teeth. Its eye was a tiny, hard, sparkling flake of obsidian. Thutmose must have paid plenty to commission such a skilled carver.

  “And here is your gift, Ahmoset.” She blushed. Only Nofret and her childhood nurse ever used the familiar form of her name. It made her delightfully giddy to hear Thutmose address her with such affection.

  He handed her a red cloth bundle, larger and heavier than Mutnofret’s. She squeezed it through the cloth without unwrapping it. It was about as long as her hand and bumpy. Another carving, then.

  When she peeled back the red cloth, the face of the goddess Mut looked back at her. She gasped. The carving was exquisite. Mut’s face, arms, and bared breasts were of rosy alabaster; her hair was jet; her carnelian dress was polished to a brilliant sheen. The double crown of Egypt was upon her head, ivory and red jasper, as delicate as a feather, translucent in the morning light

  “To beautify your worship, my god-chosen wife.” Thutmose’s words were light, as if this gift were a mere bauble, as if calling her wife was all in a day’s jesting. But Ahmose’s hands clutched the statue of Mut as if they would never let go, and her heart held onto his words as if their sound was the breath of life.

  Ahmose turned to show her gift to her sister. Nofret’s smile was tight. It never touched her eyes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I BELIEVE YOU WERE RIGHT about Thutmose,” Mutnofret said.

  She had invited Ahmose to bathe with her after supper. They lay in Mutnofret’s tiled pool, relaxed and quiet. Crushed herbs floated on the water; their earthy scent rose upon the steam. Two of Nofret’s women arrived, carrying a kettle of hot water between them. They upended it into the bath, and the heat crept up Ahmose’s legs, made her shiver with delight.

  Meeting Thutmose, flirting with him, seemed to have brought Mutnofret around. She was still hurt, of course; sometimes it showed. But Nofret seemed committed to renewing the closeness she and Ahmose had enjoyed until that mad day in the throne room.

  “How was I right?” Ahmose asked lazily.

  “He is suitable.” Mutnofret rolled over in the water. When she propped herself on her elbows, her back swept down into the bath; her buttocks rose out of the water again, two perfect round islands.

  Ahmose sat up and crossed her arms over her small breasts. “I’m glad you like him. I am sure he likes you as well. I think he will be a good husband, don’t you?”

  “Mm, much better than a baby for a husband. What strong arms he has.”

  Ahmose’s face burned. The bath was far too warm. “I think I am ready to get out now. Will you scrape me?”

  Nofret rose, elegant as an ibis taking wing. The water streamed from her body, sparkling in the light of the bath’s braziers as it ran off her rounded flesh. She reached a hand down to help Ahmose to her feet. Her eyes traveled down Ahmose’s body; the corner of Nofret’s mouth quirked.

  “What?”

  “You need a plucking, little sister. Let me call one of my women. They are very good; they never miss a hair.”

  While they waited for the woman to come with her tweezers and ointments, Ahmose and Mutnofret scraped each other’s skin with curved copper strips, flinging the water from their bodies to the ground, where it puddled about their feet. The sensation was invigorating after the languor of the hot bath.

  “And how is your little Northern friend?” Mutnofret asked, sliding her scraper down Ahmose’s back.

  “Aiya? As well as can be, I suppose. She will have her baby soon.”

  Mutnofret tutted. “Poor young thing. She is so small.”

  The scraper hissed like a cat as it slid over Ahmose’s skin. She shivered. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, the dangers of childbirth, the risk.” Mutnofret’s voice was light, unconcerned. “You know what they say about all that terrible business.”

  “Well…of course it’s dangerous, sometimes. But you don’t think Aiya is in more danger than most, do you?”

  “But Ahmose, she is so young.”

  “She is not so much younger than you.”

  “You don’t see me with a big belly. I would never risk my life that way until I was sure I was old enough to survive.”

  Survive? “Nonsense, Nofret! Plenty of women have babies at Aiya’s age.”

  “Plenty of women die having babies at her age. But let us talk of more pleasant things. This is upsetting you.”

  Shaken, Ahmose cast about for a change of subject. “I have never been as good with clothing as you, Nofret. What should I wear to our wedding?”

  “Green, definitely,” she said, unhesitating. “It looks glorious against your skin. It brings out your eyes well, too. You are stunning in that color. You have a green gown, yes? I know I’ve seen you in one before.”

  The green gown was the plainest in Ahmose's clothing-chest, except for her ratty old red tunic. The green was serviceable and comfortable, but there was nothing especially fine about it. “But that dress is so ordinary.”

  “Silly, you don’t need to look like you’ve rolled out of a jewel chest be beautiful. If you load yourself with fine fabrics and gold and gems you will only appear insecure. A Great Royal Wife should look confident, don’t you think? Naturally strong.”

  Ahmose chewed her lip. Mutnofret would not steer her wrong. And Ahmose had never paid much attention to trends. Perhaps all the women dressed in a quieter, more restrained style of late. Ahmose certainly was not one to know. At court she was more likely to mind what the politicians were discussed than how the women dressed.

  “All right. I shall wear the green. What about my jewelry?”

  “Hardly anything. You must keep it simple. Understated is very elegant. That’s what I will do.”

  “Oh, thank you, Nofret. You are so good to help me.”

  “I’ll help you any way I can, dear Ahmose. We are still sisters, above all.”

  Ahmose squeezed Nofret’s hand. “Always sisters.”

  Mutnofret’s body servant arrived, laid out a thick linen towel on a long, high bench. The bench stood below a faience mural upon the bath's wall. Ahmose lay back and studied the picture, wincing, waiting for the ordeal of plucking to begin. She kept her eyes upon the mural: nude women swam and cavorted in a secluded river pool screened by tall, bright papyrus leaves. A man’s face peeked out between the leaves, spying on the bathing girls. Mutnofret must have found the mural amusing, but to Ahmose it was distasteful. She squinted at it, groping for conversation while the woman rubbed a soothing ointment into her legs and groin.

  “How long do you suppose the feast will last?”

  “Oh, hours, I’m sure.”

  “I have never been to a wedding before. Well – when I was a little girl, but I don’t remember much of it.”

  “I remember both the weddings I have seen. There is ever so much music, and dozens of courses for dinner, and gifts for the brides and groom.”

  “Will we dance?” Ahmose loved to dance.

  “Not us. We must be dignified. But the stewards will hire the best dancers in the kingdom, and there will be plays and acrobats and poetry recitals. Most of the nobles will drink too much. Drunken nobles are always good sport.” Mutnofret slipped into a fresh gown of soft white linen. She tied it, smiling slyly. “And then, after the celebration, the wedding night.”

  “The wedding
night?”

  Mutnofret laughed. “Oh, Ahmose. Sometimes I forget how young you are, you sweet child.”

  The plucking-lady tittered, hid a smile behind her free hand.

  “What happens?” Ahmose insisted.

  “That is when our husband will take us.”

  “Take us?”

  Mutnofret laughed again, then drifted over to the bench. She pinched Ahmose’s cheek just as if she were a helpless baby. “He will take our maidenhood. I assume you are still a maiden, yes?”

  “Oh, I know all about that. Only I had never heard it called taking before.”

  Mutnofret rolled her eyes. Drily she said, “So you are not so young after all. I was afraid I would need to explain the entire process to you. I just hope he doesn’t fancy taking us both at the same time.”

  “But how can he? He only has one to use.”

  Nofret and the plucking-lady laughed aloud, as if Ahmose had made a wonderful joke.

  “I wonder which of us he will want first.” An unsettling, dreamy look came over Mutnofret's face. “I can almost forget the shame of being a second wife, if I can look forward to that man in my bed.”

  Ahmose wrinkled her nose. The plucking twinged at her nerves. Maybe Nofret was not putting the disappointment behind her as well as Ahmose had hoped. To keep Nofret’s mood light, she asked, “What’s it like?”

  Mutnofret’s eyes glittered. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  The plucking-lady stopped her work and turned away, snorting back a laugh. Ahmose stared at her sister in combined horror and admiration.

  “You have done it already! With whom?”

  “Of course not, Ahmoset! What a wicked idea. Rutting like cattle in the fields – that is for common women. I was raised to be the Great Royal Wife. What if I had gotten a child in my belly and it wasn’t the son of a Pharaoh? Our friends in the harem would all go hoarse for weeks from gossiping over such a scandal. I could never do that to them.”