The She-King: The Complete Saga

by L. M. Ironside

  Every letter was signed the same way:

  Loving and missing you.

  A day came when Ahmose had no dreams to read, no disputes to settle. She determined to make the most of this rare break from her duties. She made arrangements at once for a barque to carry her south to the estate Meritamun and Nefertari shared. Ahmose brought no one with her, save for Ineni and a single guard, and dressed simply, hoping she would not be recognized by the bustling rekhet crowds at the waterside. She was in luck. It was a market day, and most rekhet were busy in the higher streets of Waset, buying and trading foods and wares. The Great Royal Wife was still new enough to the throne that her face was not well known, and those who moved about the waterfront – fishermen unloading boats and folding nets, prostitutes hoping for the fishers’ custom, merchants’ slaves driving camels and donkeys to drink, naked children splashing in canal inlets – all these glanced her way and went back to their business, content that she was just another noble lady setting out on a journey.

  Her barque was especially fast and fine. It leaped under the prevailing southward wind, as fleet and responsive as a colt just broken to the chariot. She reclined with Ineni in the soft shade of the curtained hut astern.

  “You seem to be getting on well with your sister, Great Lady.”

  Ahmose nodded. “I suppose she just needed time. I can’t tell you how often I’ve wanted to strangle her since Amunhotep died. Mutnofret can be such a snake when she is upset. But I am glad to see her coming around. She is with child, you know.”

  Ineni’s eyes widened. “That is news to me. Does the king know?”

  “I have not told him in any of my letters. I do not know whether Mutnofret writes to him. She wants to surprise him with the news when he returns from Buhen, though, so I should think he knows nothing of it.”

  “And – you, Great Lady?” Ineni fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. Because she had come to regard him as a dear friend, Ahmose answered him forthrightly.

  “No. The Pharaoh and I have not lain together.”

  Ineni blushed. He looked out the shade mesh covering the cabin walls for a long time, watching the east bank glide by. At length he said, “Is there…a problem, Great Lady? As your steward, I will call the best physicians if there is anything amiss.”

  “There is nothing wrong, Ineni. You have no cause to worry.”

  “You…you do not choose to lie with the Pharaoh?”

  Ahmose shook her head lightly, smiling.

  “Ah,” he said, his brows falling as if in mild disappointment. “You prefer women?”

  Ahmose laughed. “No, that’s not what I mean. I suppose I prefer no one.”

  Ineni looked at her hard; then, apparently aware that he was treading close to disrespect, coughed and softened his expression with an obvious effort. “Great Lady, may I speak freely to you?”

  Confused, Ahmose shrugged. “All right.”

  “It is critically important that you get a child. A son, if you can.”

  “I know,” Ahmose said vaguely. She wanted to ask why, when Mutnofret was obviously fertile, but to do so would make her seem foolish. Still, Ineni seemed to hear the unspoken question.

  “A Great Royal Wife who cannot do her duty is not secure on the throne. This is especially true when lesser wives wait to take her place. Great Royal Wives have been displaced before when they could not produce children.”

  “It is not a matter of cannot.” She snapped her teeth shut, but the words were already out upon the air.

  Ineni's fingers tangling in the hem of his kilt. Annoyed with his reluctance, Ahmose gestured for him to speak. He glanced at her, then away. “You …will not?”

  Ahmose sighed. “I need time – that is all. My sister needed time to adjust to her role as second wife. I need time to…to…”

  Ineni nodded. “It is a dangerous thing, bearing children. Even men know this. Still, Great Lady, as your sister’s belly grows larger she will creep that much closer to your throne.”

  “That is foolish. Giving birth, even to a son, doesn’t mean she can be Great Royal Wife. I am god-chosen. Thutmose needs me to legitimize his rule in the eyes of the people.”

  “The people need Thutmose to keep the Kushites and the Heqa-Khasewet at bay. Once he has done this, he has no more need of you, Great Lady. When he has restored Egypt's sense of security, he will need nothing to legitimize his claim to the throne. The people's gratitude toward him will be more powerful a token than any god-chosen wife. Please forgive my speaking so harshly, but it must be said for your own good.”

  Ahmose sat back, stunned to silence. Impossible, that Tut could have no need of her once Egypt’s enemies were defeated. They talked together, shared leisure together; he wrote to her, and not, so far as she knew, to Mutnofret. Tut valued her – if not as a woman in his bed, then at least as a god-chosen emblem to hold up before those who might question his right to rule. At least, he treated her as if he valued her, even if he did not desire her.

  But what if his affection for her was a sham to keep Ahmose content with her temporary role? What if, indeed, he only needed her until he had put down the uprisings at Egypt’s borders? Then, with his capability proven at last to the drivers of Egypt’s chariot, would he be free to set her aside, to fully love his beautiful and fertile second wife?

  Her mouth tasted of ash at the mere thought of her husband casting her aside, just at the possibility that he could even be capable of casting her aside. For Mutnofret! For the one who carried his child, his heir. And what would become of her then? She would be, no doubt, sent back to the House of Women, where she would be lucky if the king visited one day out of twenty, and she would be forced to compete with the harem for his attention.

  She saw Thutmose from another angle then, not her laughing, boyish husband who skipped rocks across the lake, but a soldier – a general – more skilled than any in Egypt with strategies and schemes. She quailed.

  “What am I to do, Ineni?” Her lips were numb, her ears ringing.

  “You must conceive a child, Great Lady. You must do it as soon as you can. I am glad for you if your sister is treating you kindly again, but leave no room in Mutnofret’s heart to hope for the throne. I have known the both of you for only a short time, but I think I know already which she would choose, if she were forced to choose between her sister or her birthright.”

  The captain called out the landing. Relieved, Ahmose staggered to her feet. The rowing-men leapt ashore, tying the barque fast to the water steps. Ineni offered his arm, and she took it gratefully.

  “I did not mean to frighten you, Great Lady.”

  “I know, Ineni.” She sucked in a deep breath. “You are right, of course. Mutnofret probably hasn’t changed. She has always been too wily to give in so easily. I had allowed myself to hope she had settled. I must still be wary of her tricks.”

  “And a Royal Son?”

  “Being god-chosen is not enough to keep my husband’s heart. I can see that now. Even the best of men will be swayed by a son. A son changes everything.”

  “I...I am glad to hear you will try,” Ineni said. His voice was dry. Its dryness reminded her of Nefertari, her leather voice, the brittle strength of her old hands. She recalled how, on the funeral barge, Nefertari had laid a hand on Meritamun’s leg to quiet her. How in the throne room Nefertari’s hand had tightened on Meritamun’s shoulder, and Meritamun had sprang to her feet, clutching the crook and flail.

  “It is not a son I need, but power,” she said quietly.

  Ineni did not hear her over the sailors joking and splashing. But when he asked her to repeat her words, she only shook her head and led him on toward Nefertari’s estate.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  NEFERTARI’S HOME, A SPACIOUS BRICK building with an enormous pillared porch, stood on a high hill overlooking a great orchard. Beyond the orchard, fields of barley, sun-gold, ran down to the Iteru. Fishing boats and traders’ barges moved over the shining water, slow-motion, dancers in a d
ream. Ahmose and Nefertari sipped beer in the shade of the porch, watching the boats sail far below, while Meritamun wandered through her little garden, cutting herbs and flowers, laying them in the old, flat basket she carried propped against one thin hip. Away from the eyes of the court at last, the former Great Royal Wife had given up the oversized wigs that hid her deformity. Now fashionable rows of tiny braids swung around her face as she bent, slowly, carefully, like a very old woman, over her flowers.

  “Her back troubles her more every day,” Nefertari said, hardly louder than a whisper.

  “Can the physicians do nothing?”

  “Nothing. The magicians seem helpless, too. They have tried all the spells and charms, all the songs and prayers. My daughter will leave me soon, too, as did my son.”

  “Grandmother…” Ahmose laid her hand on Nefertari’s shoulder, but she could think of nothing to offer in comfort, or in denial. In the short time since Meritamun had moved out of the palace, her back did seem more twisted, her movements weaker and more timid.

  “It is a terrible thing, for a mother to outlive all her children.”

  “Let us talk of something happier. Tell me a story from when you were the Great Royal Wife.”

  “Oh, cats’ whiskers. You don’t want to hear about that. You have your own stories to tell by now.”

  “But I do want to hear it. Tell me how you came to be God’s Wife. I have never heard that story.”

  Nefertari allowed a tiny smile. “Oh, if you insist. Pour me another bowl of beer; my throat is dry. Good girl.” She took the lacquered bowl from Ahmose’s hands, and sat for a time watching the bubbles on the beer’s surface. Her tired old eyes shone with a distant warmth. “When I married my brother – not your grandfather; I speak of my elder brother, Kamose – I was not much older than you. Our father had just died, and Kamose was burning with desire to drive the Heqa-Khasewet invaders from Egypt. He had always dreamed of it, always talked of it. When the throne passed to him, he said, ‘I will not be a mere statue. I will not sit still while foreigners control my land.’

  “But Kamose was always a hot-head, possessed of much more bravery than sense. He went north to make war on the Heqa-Khasewet settlers, to toss them out of Egypt if he could. The Heqa-Khasewet were growing restless, making demands: pushing hard, you see. So Kamose went to throw them right out of the empire. We all asked him to reconsider – the whole family, and each of his advisors, too. He had so little experience in battle, you see, and the Heqa-Khasewet had been rooted into Egyptian soil for more than two hundred years. But Kamose would not be dissuaded. When it was clear we could not keep him from the Heqa-Khasewet, I begged him to take me along. No, I insisted I should be allowed to accompany him. I thought I might protect him somehow, or perhaps I thought to curb him. We were both young and stupid, so he agreed.

  “Those were the best times of my life, and the worst. The voyage north, seeing the pyramids – ah! Such beauty! Oh, and the cities we visited on the way, my girl – the feasts they gave us! It was an adventure to sing of. And it ended so badly.

  “Poor Kamose was killed in the first battle, almost immediately. Our army broke to pieces. The Heqa-Khasewet very nearly defeated us then. I was at camp in Kamose’s tent, and a wounded soldier brought me the news of his death. The Heqa-Khasewet were still slaughtering Egyptians on the battle field. I had to do something, so I made the slaves hitch a chariot and outfit me with a man's armor. I took a spear, but that was all. And I prayed that the gods would lead me to the heart of the battle.”

  Ahmose leaned her arms on the table, staring at her grandmother. She was distantly aware that her mouth hung open like a beached carp’s, but she could not seem to close it. In her heart’s eye she saw Nefertari, young and stern and strong and beautiful, shining in a man’s armor, holding aloft great bronze-tipped spear like a holy scepter. Her heart drummed in her chest. War drums.

  “I was all that kept Egypt together. I rode out of the hills and onto the battle field, waving my spear as if I knew what to do with it. Afterward all the soldiers swore I glowed like the sun. Maybe it was the gods’ light upon me – who can say? I rallied them, pulled them back into the hills and into a draw where the Heqa-Khasewet could not get at us. We waited for my younger brother to come – he had been scouting, you see – and he led the troops back out into the fray.

  “And that was your grandfather, the man we named you for. After that battle was settled, he sent for a High Priest from the nearest town and we were married in Kamose’s tent. My dear short-tempered Kamose. He was not Pharaoh for three years. But as impulsive as he was, he never would have been as great a Pharaoh as King Ahmose.”

  Nefertari paused, watching the river and the deep green hills beyond.

  Ahmose waited, but it seemed the old woman had lost herself in memory. She wondered: would she ever have such an exciting life? Could she even survive such adventure? She studied her grandmother’s face, deep-creased with age but still with eyes as bright as stars. Ahmose’s chin lifted with pride. What a fortunate thing, to have the blood of such a woman in her veins.

  At length, Nefertari continued her tale. “After just a few weeks, your grandfather sent me back to Waset, and just in time. The nobles were beside themselves without somebody of the royal blood to tell them which end to put their wigs on. The country – or the city, at least – was on the brink of erupting into civil war. Fighting, fighting, everywhere fighting as if all the people were little children stealing figs from one another. I went nearly mad tending to all the little children of Egypt. When my husband came home, though, I had my reward.”

  “The title,” Ahmose said.

  Nefertari nodded. “He had uncovered stories of the God’s Wives of the past while he traveled home, talking to some old priest or other whom he had befriended. He was high as a falcon after he’d chased the Heqa-Khasewet out, and he felt like giving gifts, I suppose. For rallying the troops and for putting Waset back to rights in the absence of the king, he made me God’s Wife of Amun.

  “To share power with a Pharaoh – that was a rich thing. Yet it was a gift with a blade in it, for I lost my privacy and freedom. I never did live quite the same way again. When the priests truly believe you to be the consort of the god, every move you make is seen by hundreds of eyes. I had power, but never again could I go adventuring as I had done with Kamose. I was chained to the temple like a hound to its kennel.

  “Still, I suppose I would not give it up, if I had my life to live again. This house was part of my due as God’s Wife, and much more: so much rich cloth I could have had a new gown for every day of my life, if I had wanted it; more gold and jewels than any woman could ever desire. And these fields and orchards are all mine, too. I am dependent on no one, even in my old age. And I have had control over the Amun priests – more or less – for nearly my whole life. Power – respect: these are good things for a woman to have, and difficult to come by.”

  Good things indeed. Ahmose considered her grandmother’s words in silence as Meritamun made her way into the shade, set her basket on the table. Ahmose made pleasantries with her mother, but her heart weighed Nefertari’s story carefully. She examined every word of the tale in minute detail. And one idea stood out above all her other thoughts: if she were the God’s Wife, her word would be like the word of a goddess.

  Meritamun lowered herself onto a stool, sighing, massaging her back with careful hands. A servant stepped from the recesses of the porch and took over the duty, rubbing between Meritamun’s shoulders until the former queen relaxed, head drooping.

  “You look well,” Ahmose said.

  Meritamun huffed. “My back aches all the time, but otherwise I feel well enough. I never knew what a chore it is to govern a land until I no longer had to do it.”

  “And I am only beginning to find out,” Ahmose said. “Ineni is a wonderful steward, and does all he can for me, but I have a job of work every day in the throne room. All the fighting! And the scheming! I don’t know how you put up with it
for so long.”

  “I did what I had to do, what Egypt needed me to do. That is the duty of a Great Royal Wife.”

  “That, and making sons,” Ahmose said, frowning.

  “And how goes that job of work?”

  She sighed. “Very well, for the second wife. Mutnofret is with child.”

  “I am glad to hear it. One never knows when the gods will take a child away. The more sons your husband has, the more secure Egypt will be.”

  Ahmose scuffed her sandals against the flagstones. Out on the river, fishing boats crawled along like water beetles, and here and there a pleasure barge sailed. The smallest hints of music, whispers of pipe and drum, came to her faintly from the Iteru’s restless flanks. The sounds were like words in a half-remembered dream, touching her mind and flitting away again before she could seize hold and identify their meaning.

  “And how,” Nefertari said, nibbling a date, “go your attempts at getting a child?”

  Ahmose wanted to lie, to tell them Thutmose had come every night to her bed before he left on his campaign. But her ka was not up to the charade. “I have not tried.” There. The words were out.

  Nefertari sighed. “Your spiritual gifts make you valuable to Thutmose, girl. But your sister was always more cunning than you. She has the court in her blood and bones. She knows how to turn one man against another, how to turn a rumor to reality. Do not suppose that she has forgotten she was first in line for the throne.”

  “Ineni has already reminded me of this,” Ahmose said impatiently. “I know Mutnofret is a schemer. I know to be wary.”

  “The nobles will assume you are barren,” said Meritamun.

  “Let them. You had only girls, after all, Mother; your right to the throne was never challenged.”

  “I never had a second wife nipping at my heels. No doubt if Amunhotep had taken another official wife, I would have been displaced for my failure. What troubles you so?”