Meritamun glared at Mutnofret, and after a long moment, the First Princes sank back into her chair. Ahmose risked a sidelong glance at her sister. Mutnofret was shaking and pale; she looked away from the throne, away from Ahmose, out across the crowded expanse of the great hall. Her eyes were blank, cold, the eyes of a slain animal.
Ahmose stared helplessly at the queen, the God’s Wife, Thutmose, her sister. She could think of nothing to say, and so she said nothing. She heard nothing of the remainder of the court proceedings but Mutnofret’s ragged breathing. When they were at last dismissed, she needed a steward to guide her back to her litter, and a guard to help her stagger back to her room in the House of Women.
When she was alone at last, she stripped off her clothes and opened the sluice in her bath without summoning a servant for help. She lay back in the cold water, let it cover her face and carry her tears away.
THREE
Ahmose waited in the anteroom of Meritamun’s apartments for a long time before the queen could see her. It was a beautiful place, a wide room cooled by wind catchers near the ceiling. Ahmose leaned her elbows on a table of oiled carob wood and took in the richness of her surroundings. The sheer force of opulence was a welcome distraction from the morning’s madness in the throne room. Heavy, bright draperies hung from poles near the ceiling, and they stirred softly in a breeze that smelled of flowers and spice. In one corner of the spacious room cushions were piled near several ornate stands where instruments – a tambourine and sistrum, a long-bodied lute, a double-reed horn of slick black wood – stood waiting to be played. A great floor harp arced up above the rest, its stand carved into the form of a sphinx. Did Meritamun play these instruments herself? Or did she keep a troupe of musicians whose only duty was to amuse the queen?
A long couch stood in the center of the room, and beside it, a cabinet full of papyrus scrolls. Ahmose considered stealing across to the cabinet and peeking at the scrolls. They might contain anything. Letters from viziers and foreign kings, or romances, or poetry written by the queen. Or, perhaps, correspondence with General Thutmose about his appointment as heir, and who he was to marry. The scrolls were a temptation, but Ahmose restrained herself. She must make a clear, sure impression on Meritamun. Being caught sneaking through her mother’s cabinet wouldn’t help her cause. Besides, only children peeked at scrolls, and Ahmose was no child. Not anymore.
A great electrum mirror stood against the opposite wall, flanked by two slender wood carvings of the goddess Iset. Ahmose stared at herself in the shining surface, at the small, young woman sitting so still and proper on her carved chair, distant and untouchable across the reflected double span of tiled floor and couch and cushions. The quiet, good girl overwhelmed and buried among the persistent pressing hands of wealth and state.
She wanted to cry, but she’d cried enough today. And her kohl would smear. The thought brought back the memory of Thutmose in the chariot, the black line around his Horus-eye blurred so carelessly, the lines that crimped his face when he laughed so loud. He’d been kind and gentle to her. He’d kept her safe, and she had trusted him. She’d ridden all alone with him. And the whole time he’d known what today would bring. And he had said no word. She didn’t know whether she was angry at him, or grateful.
Her stomach hurt and rumbled. It was well past the dinner hour. Ahmose had eaten nothing all day. She rose, peeked outside Meritamun’s door, spotted a serving woman, and sent her for food. Thank the gods, it wasn’t long before a tray of bread and figs arrived with a cone of soft white cheese and a jug of beer.
The queen arrived as well. Ahmose was stuffing figs into her mouth when Meritamun swept through the door. “You thought to send for food. Excellent. I’ll join you. I haven’t had more than a sip of milk all day.”
Ahmose nodded, blushing and swallowing hard around the half-chewed fig.
“Quite a day.” Meritamun sighed. She folded a bit of bread, pinched up some cheese and popped it into her mouth with none of her typical courtly grace. “A regular show at court. I suppose that’s why you’ve come to talk to me.”
“Yes,” Ahmose admitted. “This has to be a mistake.”
“It’s no mistake, Ahmose.” Meritamun leaned an elbow on the table, rested her forehead against one strong, slender hand. The queen breathed deeply. Ahmose looked at her mother’s swollen eyes and wondered whether she’d weep again for the dead king. But then Meritamun straightened, as resolute as ever, and said, “Nefertari was quite adamant that you should be Thutmose’s Great Royal Wife.”
“You’ve been planning this since before the Pharaoh died.” It was not a question. There was simply not enough time between Amunhotep’s death and that spectacle in the throne room. Not enough time for Thutmose to find out, and to accept the order of the God’s Wife with as much composure as he showed before the court. No man could have remained so calm amidst so much chaos; not even a general.
Meritamun nodded. She drank beer straight from the jug, then passing it to Ahmose. “I loved your father, but he was a stubborn, stupid man. He simply refused to name an heir after he fell ill. Refused! He thought he’d recover. A man of his age.”
“He was ill? I didn’t know.”
“Mm,” Meritamun said, biting a fig in half. She must truly be hungry, to eat with so little poise. Ahmose was still hungry, too, for that matter, in spite of the fear clawing at her belly. The queen chewed, swallowed, then said, “Late in the month of Djehuty he collapsed with a pain in his chest. The physicians made him rest for weeks. When they finally let him out of his bed he couldn’t remain active for more than a few hours. His breath was always short. Nefertari and I knew he was preparing to leave this world. We begged him to name an heir. He wouldn’t. He was certain his health would return.
“Putting one of his sons on the throne was never an option. Can you imagine, a harem girl’s suckling babe with the Nemes crown on his head? No. Your grandmother and I saw how it would go – see how it will go. The situation with the Hyksos is tenuous. Since your dear grandfather, may he live forever, drove them out of the kingdom they’ve been itching to take Egypt back. A decisive ruler is needed now, one the Hyksos will fear. One for whom Egypt’s soldiers will fight with confidence and pride. Not a baby. We were in despair, Ahmose, I tell you truly. Then Nefertari had the idea of…”
“Of a common-born soldier?”
“Of you. I confess I’ve paid less attention to you than I should have over the years, but you are god-chosen; that I know. The gods speak through you. Did you think only the House of Women knew of your gifts? You have a reputation among the court, Ahmose. Oh, yes,” she said, for Ahmose’s mouth had fallen open. “You’ve been bleeding for – how long? – five, six months? A short time only, but word has made its rounds. You have a way with dreams, or so the women say. And omens. How often do you read dreams at the House of Women?”
“Every fifth day.”
“You should do it more. You’re so accurate, they say, the nobles’ wives have come to look on you as something of a good-luck charm. Having one’s fortune told by the Second Princess has become quite fashionable in the court of Amunhotep.”
Ahmose blushed, folded her hands in her lap. It was true that some noble women visited the House of Women every fifth day to share their dreams and hear Ahmose’s interpretations. But noble women all over Waset had friends and relations in the harem. Ahmose was not famed for her dream-reading. Surely not. She kept her words humble. “It’s the power of the gods. It’s none of my doing. I only speak the words they give me, when I hear the women’s dreams.”
Meritamun tapped the table with a dark hennaed fingernail, rap-rap, a sound of great finality. “Well, there you are, then. You are a channel through which the gods speak. Everybody who has seen you believes it to be true. You believe it to be true. And it is true, surely. And you are the daughter of the king. With you standing behind the Horus Throne, Nefertari and I could put any man we pleased on the seat itself and no one would question the arrangement.�
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“But Mutnofret! She is the elder daughter. This is improper, to say nothing of being unfair to my sister.”
“Nothing about this is proper. Nothing about this is fair.” The queen’s face was suddenly grave. Meritamun rose from her seat and walked to her dressing table. With some difficulty she pulled the giant wig from her head and rested it atop a tall, carved stand.
Ahmose stared. She had never seen the queen without one of her great, wide wigs. Now, knuckling her back, freed of her trappings, Meritamun lost her royal grace. She was still poised, still powerful, but the image of a strong queen was marred by the crookedness of her body. The line of Meritamun’s spine from her skull to the top of her gown was kinked like an olive branch. The wig hid all but the slightest slant of her shoulders, and masked completely the terrible deformity of the queen’s back.
Relieved of the weight, Meritamun sighed and shook her head wearily. “And now you know my secret, child. My bones are bent. Every year it grows harder to breathe, harder to move about. All the physicians have told me I should have died years ago.” Her voice twisted like her backbone. “It’s only by the gods’ grace that I’ve lived to see such days. I wanted to try for a son, but the physicians made me stop after you were born. They were afraid another pregnancy would kill me. I feared my daughters would have the same affliction. You have no idea how closely I watched you both when you were little girls, waiting to see whether your backs would begin to twist. Thank all the gods your bodies are sound. You’re all I have to give Egypt.”
“I don’t know what to say. I had no idea.”
“No, indeed. Only your father and grandmother knew. And my body servants and the physicians, of course. They’ve been well paid to keep quiet. The court would not look favorably on a crippled queen.”
“So this is why you said…in the throne room….”
Meritamun nodded, her face calm. “I can feel my body weakening. It won’t be much longer for me. Soon I will go to the Field of Reeds.”
The weight of misery fell over Ahmose. She barely knew Meritamun, but already she could sense the difficult times ahead. She only realized now, when all hope of a guiding hand had died, that she’d been hopeful of her mother’s shepherding. How comforting it would be to have Meritamun’s advice and support, even if they had been strangers to one another until this day. It would be as the gods willed, though, Ahmose knew. She of all people knew.
“But why this General Thutmose, of all people? Is there even a drop of royal blood in his veins?” She’d ridden with him just last night. She knew he was a good man, trustworthy and kind. Yet Ahmose couldn’t help but feel a flush of indignation. She was the daughter of a king, after all. She’d always expected a suitable marriage to a nobleman or a high priest, or perhaps to a very powerful steward. A common general? This was nothing short of absurd.
Meritamun laughed and ran a hand over her bald head. “Not a single drop, so far as anybody can tell. As to why, he is absolutely brilliant with strategy. Amunhotep relied on him heavily, Ahmose; he was not only the most elite of the king’s soldiers, but your father’s dearest friend. Thutmose is more than just a strong arm. He knew the mind of the Pharaoh in ways no prince or priest ever could. He is better prepared to take the throne than any child of Amunhotep’s blood, and far better able to command the army than Mutnofret. Or you.”
“So you need a sword arm to keep our enemies at bay, and you think to legitimize him by marrying him to a princess. To me.”
“Think to, nothing. It will be done. The Hyksos wait at Egypt’s northern border. The Kushites wait to the south. To which of these will you give Egypt, Ahmose?”
“Neither,” she said fiercely. “And to no one else besides. I know what life was like for us under Hyksos rule. I will never let Egypt return to such shame. But the rekhet, Mother. What will they do? What will the common people think of a common man ruling them?”
“I imagine they’ll be thrilled.” Meritamun chuckled, finishing off the cheese. “What a tale to tell their children. ‘Be a good boy, and even you could grow up to be Pharaoh.’”
“But don’t the rekhet expect a person of the royal blood to lead them? It’s the Pharaoh’s divine nature that brings the floods. The rekhet know this.”
“Ah, it’s true. But it’s not the rekhet you need worry over. The nobles and the priests are the ones who need convincing. If they don’t accept Thutmose, the Kushites and the Hyksos will only need to decide how to divide up the land between them. It is the priests above all, and the nobles as well, who hold this land together.”
“How so?” Ahmose’s tutors had always told her the rekhet – the commoners – made Egypt live or die.
Meritamun raised one hand, palm up and cupped as if it held water. “The priests take taxes and offerings to the gods. They store them away for times of need. They oversee the food surpluses in the name of fairness, so that those with riches cannot keep all the grain and cattle for themselves. They are the voice that speaks to the gods on behalf of the rest of us.” She raised her other hand in the same gesture. “The nobles oversee the working of the land. They ensure the crops are planted and harvested. They make sure flax is spun and cloth woven. They keep trade routes open and relations with foreigners intact, so wealth flows into Egypt.” The queen brought both hands together, pressing as if she clutched some brilliant and fragile fruit between her palms. “Without the priests, the rekhet might be forgotten by the nobles and the food stores might fail. Without the nobles, the wealth of Egypt would quickly dry up and all the people would be back to living as they did in the times before cities, when there was no Egypt as we know it today. If both do not work together as one, the rekhet become dissatisfied and rebellious. They refuse to fight in the army. They refuse to work the fields. They refuse to build. You can see where this leads.”
Ahmose nodded. She was not completely convinced, though. So it was the rekhet who made Egypt live or die. They were important. But Meritamun’s point was well made. “The horses pull the chariot,” she said, “but a driver must guide them. The rekhet are the horses, the priests and nobles together the driver.”
Meritamun smiled. “Nefertari was right about you. You will make a good queen.”
“I understand now why you’ve chosen Thutmose. And I understand the importance of keeping harmony in Egypt. But I still don’t understand why you’ve set Mutnofret aside. She is just as royal as I am, and she is the First Princess.”
“Is that why you’ve come? To try to convince me to make Mutnofret queen? It won’t happen, Ahmose. It can’t happen. Mutnofret is the elder; this is true. And she is beautiful, I know. But age and beauty are not enough to guide Egypt through what lies ahead. Mutnofret is as hot-headed as the gods make them – oh, yes, I’ve heard about her temper! – and a hot-headed queen could damn Egypt forever. Mut knows I’ve tried everything I can think of to cool that girl’s heart, but she’s always been an ember waiting to fall on tinder. It cannot be overstated how eagerly the Hyksos wait for Egypt to show a sign of weakness. Any weakness at all. Mutnofret ranting on the throne beside a common-born king may be just what they need to chisel a few holes into our walls.
“Thutmose will be in a difficult position, as dangerous as any of his battles. He needs every bit of legitimacy we can give him. Today I claimed the voice of Amunhotep to name him the heir. It was barely enough. Thutmose needs the voice of the gods speaking for him, or the priests and the nobles will never be satisfied.”
“It’s because of me, then. You are breaking Mutnofret’s heart because I’m god-chosen.”
Meritamun pinched the bridge of her nose, as if her head pained her. “The gods know I tried my best with Mutnofret. Her nurse and I, we did everything we could think of to curb the girl. But she was born with too much fire in her. She’s like a wild horse that will not be caught. Setting her loose on a common-born king – even a man experienced in battle – could be disastrous. Thutmose will need unity and peace in his family, not just legitimacy.
“I’m not without sympathy for Mutnofret, Ahmose. And I know how you love her. I love her, too, for all her fire. She is my own child. My first child! I regret the pain this will cause her. But I can’t go to my death leaving Egypt to face disaster. Caring for this land has always been my life’s devotion. If one thing can be said at my funeral, it will be this: Egypt was so important to me that I sacrificed anything – everything – even the happiness of my daughter – to save it from ruin.”
Because she saw the sadness in Meritamun’s eyes, Ahmose said nothing. But her ka whispered restlessly. Will I, too, be required to make such a sacrifice? What will be said at the funeral of Queen Ahmose?
“Mutnofret will not be forgotten, I promise you,” Meritamun said. “She will be Thutmose’s second wife, and a queen in her own right. She will have rooms here in the palace and will attend court, if she chooses. I hope you will treat her as a near-equal, Ahmose. Your duty is to speak with the voice of the gods on Thutmose’s behalf, so none will challenge his rule. But it will be for you and your sister both to love this new Pharaoh and please him. To bear his children.”
The Sekhmet Bed (The She-King) Page 3
