Iset's face paled; her eyes seemed to turn inward, so that she looked upon a strange and painful place within her own heart. Hatshepsut, afraid she had somehow wounded the girl, laid a hand on her shoulder, reached beneath the girl's wig to caress the back of her neck. It was a touch Sitre-In had often used to soothe her when Hatshepsut's heart was in turmoil.
Iset closed her eyes. “I will do whatever the Great Royal Wife requires of me,” she said, her voice sad and soft. “Always.”
Hatshepsut withdrew her hand from Iset's nape. She could still feel the smoothness of the girl's skin singing along the length of her fingers, whispering in the tingle of her palm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“YOU LOOK WELL,” THUTMOSE SAID from his throne. “I haven't seen you without a scowl on your face for months.”
Hatshepsut came to a halt at the foot of the dais. All about her, stewards moved in their characteristic flurry, a proficient and unceasing restlessness, the shuffling of scrolls organized and re-organized, the murmur of their voices directing scribes, the bustling preparation of the great hall for the morning's audiences. She smiled up at her husband. Today would be a good day. Wadjetefni had informed her as she took a light morning meal that Ineni had returned, and that he bore many fine gifts from Retjenu in thanks for her intervention. She climbed the steps to her throne and settled herself, neatening the pleats of her white gown.
Thutmose looked well himself, if truth be told. His skin was pleasingly dark from so much time spent on the river. He had shed a little of his accustomed weight. His face was still boyishly round, but his shoulders were beginning to broaden, his back beginning to harden with a hint of muscle.
“Have you been hauling lines on your ship? You look stronger than when I saw you last.”
“It's the bow,” he said. “I have been hunting whenever I can. I always find the time for a hunt, between visiting this sepat or that, or seeing to the garrisons.”
Scurrying about Egypt, avoiding the great hall, the scrolls to be signed, the appointments to be made. No matter. Today would bring riches from Retjenu. She would not allow Thutmose's ignorance to rile her on such a fine and auspicious morning.
“Have you heard the news, husband? Your envoy returns today from his mission.”
“What envoy? What mission?”
“The famine in Retjenu. I sent grain in your name. Surely you heard.”
“Oh – that. I still do not understand why you bothered. Retjenu is full of filthy herders and I cannot see how it benefits Egypt to keep them fed. They are poor and arrogant, and too disorganized to stop the Heqa-Khasewet marching right through their country and into ours. It seems a waste of grain to me.”
Hatshepsut swallowed a sigh. “I am sure Mighty Horus is right. All the same, it is no harm to keep Retjenu on friendly terms.”
The morning session began. Overseers brought their tallies before the throne; messengers from far-flung sepats carried announcements of important marriages and deaths; and within minutes, Thutmose was fidgeting and sighing. Hatshepsut quietly offered, here and there, a crucial addendum to the decrees he dictated to his troop of scribes: more genteel wording, the softening of his edicts with appropriate sops to this noble's imagined importance or that noble's true influence. At last, just as she was beginning to feel every bit as restless as the Pharaoh, Wadjetefni bowed Ineni into the hall.
He made his way down the length of the great hall with a stately confidence, trailing six or seven men who bore heaps of orange- and dun-colored skins across their arms. At the foot of the throne he bowed low. His men stacked the skins neatly before Thutmose, who eyed them skeptically for a moment, then gestured to a steward to count and record the gift.
“Mighty Horus,” Ineni said. “Fine pelts of leopard from Retjenu, and the pelts of great fierce cats from far to the north. See, they are striped, gold and black – very rare. The Retjenu kings acquire these pelts in trade, Majesty, with the Greeks, who in turn get them from savage tribes far to the east of their lands. The kings of Retjenu gave every last one of their valuable pelts to Mighty Horus in thanks for his intervention. A costly gift, but offered gratefully. Your timely aid saved their children from starvation.”
“Skins,” Thutmose said, sounding vague and confused. “What in Amun's name does Egypt need with cat skins?”
Hatshepsut cleared her throat. “The throne recognizes what a dear gift the Retjenu have sent, though the Pharaoh would gladly feed their children again without repayment.” She blinked at the heap of pelts. It rather confused her, too. As rare as the striped skins were, they still seemed a paltry show of thanks. She felt the breeze had fallen right out of her ship's sail.
Thutmose turned to her. “I told you there was no use in helping Retjenu. They lack the comprehension of civilized men. Is there any other business for the throne? No? Then we shall retire. Wadjetefni, send the leopard skins to the Temple of Amun. The priests are fond of dressing like leopards. The striped skins shall go to my own rooms. I shall have my Overseer of the Needle turn them into carpets for my bed chamber. I'll recall the gratitude of Retjenu every time I walk across them.” The Pharaoh sprang from his throne eager as a schoolboy set free from lessons, and descended the dais two steps at a time. His personal guard crowded behind him, blocking his retreating back from Hatshepsut's view.
She made her way back to her own apartments, pondering the Retjenu, Nehesi beside her. “I meant what I said,” she told him. “I would gladly have fed the Retjenu without any repayment. But a few armfuls of skins seems a strange gift of thanks.”
“Perhaps Thutmose is right. There is no accounting for a people like those – desert dwellers, sheep herders. Pah!”
“Don't ever say those words in my hearing again,” she said lightly, teasing. “'Thutmose is right.' I ought to have you flogged!”
They had reached her chamber door. She could hear her ladies within: a chorus of delighted squeals, disbelieving laughter, the astonished clapping of hands. She hesitated, glanced up at Nehesi.
Ineni's smooth voice carried across an open courtyard. “Great Lady! A moment, if you please.” The steward hurried toward them, his hands outstretched in supplication. “Forgive me, Great Lady. I was not truthful in the great hall. But I would not have risked embarrassing the Pharaoh; I am sure you understand.”
“I do not understand,” she said, a bit sharply. “What is this all about?”
“I had it all delivered to your personal chambers, seeing as how the Retjenu meant it for you especially, and no one else.”
Nehesi frowned, wary, but opened the door at her gesture.
Never before had she seen such a tribute of riches. It was spread all across her anteroom: bolts of fine-woven wool, dyed in every color she could imagine, including the deep, evening-sky violet so prized by the people of Retjenu; boxes of polished stones, turquoise, lapis, quartz, jasper, winking in the light that fell in even golden shafts from the windcatchers; sacks of precious resins, their scent rich and alluring; exotic spices, necklaces, rings, musical instruments she could not name. And casks – stacks of them – filled with silver in every form: discs strung on leather thongs, statuettes of gods and animals, the bowls of lamps and incense burners. Her women giggled as they sorted through the goods, trying on the jewelry, draping themselves in fine cloth.
“The kings of Retjenu instructed me most sternly,” Ineni said, “to deliver these goods to the Great Royal Wife. The man they sent – the envoy; you recall him – was quick to sing your praises to his leaders, Great Lady. I did not feel it necessary to force Thutmose's name into the matter, though I did find it prudent, you will understand, to separate a portion of the gift for His Majesty.”
“Yes,” Hatshepsut said, somewhat dazzled by the silver. She approached an open cask and lifted a fist-sized statue of a bull. It was heavy for its size – solid silver, not plated wood. “Retjenu has certainly demonstrated its gratitude.”
Ineni glanced at her women, at Nehesi, and his mouth closed tight
ly.
She stepped well away from her servants and beckoned him near. “You took a great risk in – how did you put it? Not forcing Thutmose's name in the matter. Why?”
“In truth, I obeyed the instincts of my own loyalties. You know I served your mother. I was...her most faithful servant, Great Lady. Because I feel such affection for her, I also feel it for you. I hope I do not step out of my place in admitting as much. I am a steward to the throne and bound to serve the king, and I will ever be his faithful man. But that is duty. For you, I will go beyond duty.”
For Ahmose, he will go beyond duty. No matter; I will take my allies wherever I may find them. She nodded. “I am grateful, for more than you know. This wealth was sorely needed, Master Ineni. Amun's granaries overflow, but grain is not as useful a currency as silver. Months ago I wished for a way to strengthen the southern border against the Kushites. My husband did nothing while a weak garrison struggled to throw back Kushite raiders. The gods have answered my wish – the gods and you, Ineni. I have more work for you, it seems. You will take the better part of this treasure and go south, to the garrison at the fourth cataract of the river. It is a poor fortress from all I hear, and Thutmose has shown no urgency to improve it. Trade these goods as you go south. Get what goods and workers you will need to shore up the garrison. Use the silver to tempt young men into joining the army, if you must. But our outpost in Kush must be improved. I will not allow another spate of raids – not the sort we had last year.”
Ineni bowed. “It will be as you say, Great Lady.”
Nehesi had found a store-room to protect Retjenu's fulsome gratitude, and chosen his own loyal men to stand guard over its doors until Ineni was prepared to move south. When the last cask of silver and bolt of cloth were cleared away, she sent an invitation to Thutmose to dine with her once more. It had been well over a week since her last attempt to maneuver Iset into Thutmose's bed. She reasoned that the tribute from Retjenu was a sign of the gods' favor; tonight her plans would come to fruition, and with Mut's blessing, Iset would soon be with child.
But Ita returned flustered and alone, and dropped to her knees to beg forgiveness from her mistress.
“The king will not come, Great Lady. He is in a foul temper. He threw a goblet at me to chase me from his room! Oh, do not be angry; I tried.”
“Calm yourself, Ita. It is none of your fault.” No doubt Mighty Horus is still pouting over his pile of cat skins.
“Shall I send to the House of Women to tell them the dancer is not needed?”
“No,” Hatshepsut said. “I shall dine alone tonight, if that is what the gods decree. But Iset is always a delight to me. Let her come and dance.”
The girl arrived on the heels of the food. She was dressed as beautifully as ever: a red gown of the old-fashioned style, its skirt flowing loose and rippling from a tight, beaded band just beneath her breasts. The straps that ran over her narrow shoulders squeezed her breasts slightly from either side, so that they stood round and high and close upon her chest. She had painted her nipples with gold dust; they shone brightly against the soft-sand paleness of her skin.
Iset took up her accustomed position to dance and waited for Hatshepsut's signal to begin. But Hatshepsut considered the girl a moment, then beckoned her to the couch.
“You are a friend tonight, Iset, not a dancer. Share my supper.”
“Great Lady, you honor me.”
“I heard the deby barking in the night, when I was in Ka-Khem.”
“You went all the way to Ka-Khem, Great Lady? I wondered where you disappeared to; I missed dancing for you. Did you see my family?”
“They send their love. Your mother misses you terribly.”
“I write her letters, but it is not the same as being with her, holding her hand.”
“Has the Pharaoh visited the harem since I saw you last?”
“Ah, here and there. I have looked for an opportunity to do as you want me to do, Great Lady, but he chose other women.”
Hatshepsut's brow furrowed in spite of her resolve to remain impassive. She changed the subject, relating the story of her journey up the Iteru. The change put Iset at ease. As Hatshepsut talked she admired the simple comfort evident on the girl's face, the way her hands toyed with the beads of her dress. She should have felt rivalry with Iset, she knew. Word from Ankhhor had certainly not reached Waset yet, and Nebseny still believed he would use his niece to usurp Hatshepsut's station. But she was such a sweet girl, such a soothing presence, and so unknowing. She would be so harmless and pure if not for the plotting of the men of her house. Hatshepsut realized, startled, that she had been craving for Iset's company, for the simplicity of her conversation and the lovely, unconscious grace of her movements.
Lost in her thoughts, in the sight of Iset's fingers playing below her breast, Hatshepsut stumbled over her story and could not find her words again.
Iset lowered her eyes. “If it is not too bold to say it, I missed you while you were on this journey.”
That pleased Hatshepsut more than it ought to have done. She laughed, a happy and foolish sound, then scolded herself for her transparency.
Iset glanced at her face, then away again, blushing. The girl's soft passivity stirred Hatshepsut's kas. In the face of Iset's yielding sweetness she felt a surge of power; her heart flooded with the knowledge of her own burgeoning might. She had discerned Nebseny's plan, had traveled to Ka-Khem herself, and intimidated this girl's noble father into doing her bidding. She had seen the need of Retjenu, and responded herself with great wisdom: not two hours ago this very room had been heaped with the proof of it. She had never felt so confident before.
“Come, Iset. My bed is much more comfortable than this couch.”
Iset rose. The eagerness in her eyes was so intense that Hatshepsut looked away, an unaccountable flush rising to her cheeks. They walked together to her bed chamber, and Hatshepsut sent her women away. Sitre-In's disbelieving stare only fueled Hatshepsut's sense of power.
The two girls climbed onto the bed together. Iset stretched herself along the mattress, her hands clasped demurely across her belly. The girl's warm pressure on the bed seemed to pull at Hatshepsut; her body longed to roll against Iset's, to fall against her as a child's ball falls to the earth. She resisted, propping herself up on an elbow, gazing down at Iset's closed eyes, their lids painted with shimmering green paint. Her face was so serene, so lovely in repose. Her lips curled, a gentle smile of unfeigned joy. Hatshepsut thought of Lady Iah, worrying over her daughter's happiness. Could there be a better life for a woman than in the Pharaoh's harem? Surely not. Staring at Iset's beauty, she was aware of her own shortcomings. The gods were good to have made her who she was, the daughter of a king and born to great power. For had she been born the daughter of a nobleman, she would not be thought pretty enough to give to any man.
Hatshepsut had kept back a part of the Retjenu treasure for herself. Sitre-In had left the small cask on the table beside her bed. She lifted its lid and took out a long, jointed chain of silver; she draped it across Iset's throat.
Iset's eyes flicked open; she squealed. “Cold!” She plucked at the chain, lifted it to where she could see. “Oh! How lovely.”
Hatshepsut drew another trinket from the box, a silver cuff set with a clear, red stone cut into sparkling facets. She lifted Iset's hand and slid the cuff onto her wrist. Iset lay giggling while Hatshepsut adorned her, wrapped her arms and ankles and neck in the riches of her own great power. Soon the girl was breathless, clutching her stomach to quell her laughter, tears of merriment shining in her eyes. Those eyes were as dark as ebony, though bright flecks of copper within their depths caught the light of Hatshepsut's lamps. She stared down a Iset's face, musing about Ankhhor, about Thutmose, about Senenmut.
“Great Lady? You seem so pensive.”
“I was just thinking about the harem. Do you like it? Is it a good life?”
“Oh, ah, Great Lady. My room is not so grand as yours, of course, but it is beautifu
l, and the gardens are lovely, and the women there are all very kind. Well – mostly. Some of them quarrel, you know, but they are kind to me. They treat me like a sister, even new as I am.”
“I am glad to hear it. Would you ever wish to leave the harem?”
“Great Lady?”
“Would you wish to serve me, to wait on me here in my chambers, become one of my ladies?”
“Oh.” Iset's eyes darkened, a sudden shadow of worry. “But how could I lie with the Pharaoh if I were your woman? I will do whatever the Great Lady asks, only...”
“Only you have a duty to your father's house. I understand. Think nothing of it; it was only an impulse. I would not ask you to shame yourself before your family, Iset.”
The girl nodded in grateful relief. Then her eyes narrowed, peered at Hatshepsut through a sparkle of mischief. “Although, if I were to serve the Great Lady, I would learn the truth at last.”
“The truth?” The shine of power coursing along her limbs dimmed and faltered.
Iset hesitated. The air vibrated with words she was reluctant to say, or perhaps was too eager to say; Hatshepsut could not quite tell, could not make out the meaning of the tremulous smile on Iset's lips, the strange, deep glimmer in her eyes.
“I have heard it whispered that you are not a woman at all.” Her voice had lowered, a soft, rich murmur.
“What? Absurd.”
“They say you were born with a man's parts.”
Hatshepsut stared at Iset, incredulous, but when she saw the look of mischief crackling in the girl's eyes she blew through her lips and tapped Iset's shoulder. “You tease me! How unkind.”
“Well,” Iset said, sly and low, “how do I know it's not true? You often wear a man's kilt, after all. Are you hiding something beneath it?”
Hatshepsut found herself on her feet, though she did not recall standing. One moment she was lying beside Iset; the next she fumbled at the knot of her gown, quick as a flash of sun on water. With stiff fingers she worked the knot free; the gown dropped to her feet. The treasure of Retjenu chimed as Iset rolled to look at her. The curious intensity in the girl's eyes took Hatshepsut aback.
The She-King: The Complete Saga Page 45
