The Crook and Flail

by L. M. Ironside

  “What a lovely home you have, Lady Iah.”

  “The Great Royal Wife is kind to say so. My husband's home is nothing compared to your own palace, I am sure.”

  Hatshepsut gazed up toward the windcatchers. Stars were beginning to emerge in the black sky. “This is a charming land. The lady Iset told me she could hear deby from the palace at night. Do you think I shall hear any this night?”

  The water splashed a little as Iah shifted in sudden surprise. “You know my daughter, Great Lady?”

  “Of course. A lovely girl, an excellent singer, and a very fine dancer. You taught her well.”

  “The Great Lady is good to say it.”

  “I spend much time talking to Iset. She tells me many things of her life here in/sp Ka-Khem, of her family. I desired to see the place for myself, and to meet you.”

  “We are humbled.” Despite the heat of the water and the perfume of the herbs, Iah's neck and shoulders were rigid.

  “It must have been hard for you to let her go – to send her to the harem.”

  “I miss my daughter every day, Great Lady, it is true. But I have my other girls to cheer me, and my son.”

  “A daughter is a generous gift to the Pharaoh. And one as precious as Iset – it is plain that Ankhhor and Ka-Khem love Thutmose well.”

  “We...we have ever been friends to your royal family, Great Lady. Ankhhor owes much to Thutmose the First.”

  “Your husband is an ambitious man, yes?”

  Iah hesitated. At last she said carefully, “I am lucky to be the wife of such a hard-working man, Great Lady. He puts the well-being of our family above all other concerns.”

  “He will make a great name for himself before he goes the Field of Reeds; I can see that. Oh, the things he will be able to paint on the walls of his tomb! Husband and father to beautiful women, tjati of a prosperous sepat, brother of the High Priest of Amun. I wonder what else Ankhhor wishes to be remembered for.”

  Iah's face went pale. She busied herself with cupped hands, pouring water over her shoulders, her eyes turned shyly away. She shifted, reaching for a jar of soft soap perfumed with lotus oil; Hatshepsut stifled a gasp at the sight of three or four dark bruises on Iah's back. They were old, turning a sick shade of yellow around the edges.

  Distantly, a rough, coughing bark sounded through the wind catchers. It repeated several times.

  “A deby, Great Lady.”

  The sound recalled the sight of Iset's face, flushed, giggling over her wine. Hatshepsut smiled at the memory. “I will be sure to tell Lady Iset I heard her old friend singing.”

  Iah sighed. “I do miss my daughter. Is she well, Great Lady? Only tell me that she is happy. I know nothing of harem life. In truth, it was not the life I would have chosen for her, and I worry every day for her happiness.”

  “She has a very fine room in the House of Women, and she is surrounded by sisters. It is a good life, easy and beautiful. She wants for nothing.”

  “And in the harem does she see the king? My questions are impertinent, Great Lady, I know. But ease a mother's heart, I beg you. Iset is my first-born, and the dearest to my heart. I only wish to know that my sacrifice was not in vain.”

  “Would it warm your heart to know that she sees the king? That was the purpose, was it not, of sending her to Waset? Or was there some other reason Ankhhor wanted his daughter in Amun's city?” A look of panic flashed across Iah's face, and Hatshepsut laughed warmly to calm her. “Yes, Lady Iah. Iset sees the king. He is still young; he is not yet a man. But already he notes her beauty, and boasts of her sweetness to all who will listen. I have no doubt that she will be much favored by the Pharaoh when he grows into a man's appetites.” She paused, considering the bruises on Iah's back. “I will see that he always treats her gently,” she added, hoping her promise eased the lady's heart.

  Hatshepsut stood, stepped from the basin, and held out her arms for her women to dry her. As they scraped the curved copper blade over her skin, flinging the water from her limbs to the bath's floor, she watched Iah rise from the bath to be similarly attended. There were more bruises on the woman's thighs, older and faint, but regular.

  “I will retire to my bed now. It has been a long journey. Your company has been most pleasant, Lady Iah. I shall see you in the morning, yes?”

  Long after Iah had bowed her way out of the bath, Hatshepsut lay awake in the lady's comfortable, roomy bed, listening to the deby argue in the dark marshes. Iah's words sounded again and again in her ears. It was not the life I would have chosen for her. The Pharaoh's harem was nearly the finest life any nobleman's wife could dream of for her favorite daughter. Nearly. Unless her ambitious husband had put other dreams into her heart. Unless his brother had dared to whisper of his designs for a new and docile God's Wife. Her thoughts raced a deep-rutted ring around her heart; her longing for Senenmut chased memories of Iset dancing, singing, laughing. Long after the deby had fallen silent and retreated to the depths of the river, the gods at last granted Hatshepsut the respite of sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  She had spent two days in Ka-Khem, touring the countryside, approving in the Pharaoh's name of the clean, orderly towns, the fertile fields, the herds of cattle which produced the sacred black bulls of the north. Whenever she tried to raise the topic of Iset, Ankhhor would deftly turn her inquiries aside, his face unreadably placid, his words perfectly measured to give neither offense nor a hint of his designs. Hatshepsut allowed herself to be entertained with her usual courtly grace, fixing her regal smile on her lips, while inside her kas wailed in despair. Ankhhor was both too clever and too dangerous. The bruises on Lady Iah's body were proof of the man's hot temper. She had no fear for her own person, but she hesitated to say anything that may later cause Ankhhor to turn his wrath upon his wife or children. She could find no way to breach the subject of his plans for Iset without throwing wine upon the fire.

  On the final evening of her stay, she paced about Lady Iah's room, grinding her teeth, while her women scuttled about packing her chests.

  Nehesi entered and bowed. s f DThe bright, clear scent of the waterfront drifted from his body; she longed for her ship, for an escape from the tension and frustration of Ka-Khem and the tjati's secrets. “Great Lady, the ship is ready to sail with the rising sun. I have seen to it.”

  She waved a hand, a curt acceptance of his news.

  “Er – Great Lady, if I may be so bold to ask, what troubles you?”

  She stopped her pacing and stared at Nehesi. If only she were a man – a tall, strong, imposing man like her guardsman, with a belt full of knives! She would have no fear of putting Ankhhor in his place then. But she was a woman – no, still a girl, by rights. Fifteen years old and female, for all her titles of power. She was well beyond her depth, ridden in her sleep by disturbing visions, unrested, weak, young...and female. “Nehesi, I came here for a purpose, yet now I find myself unable to act.”

  “What purpose, Great Lady?”

  “Ankhhor sent his eldest daughter to Waset, not only as a gift for Pharaoh's harem, but to maneuver her into the position of God's Wife.”

  Tem gasped. “No, Great Lady! The station is yours.”

  “Of course it is mine. And it will stay mine.”

  Nehesi nodded, considering. “Have you proof of his designs, Great Lady?”

  “The priestesses of Amun have heard whispers that Nebseny, the High Priest, wishes to replace me with a woman more easily controlled. Who would be easier for him to handle than his own niece – a woman as reliant on Ankhhor as Nebseny is himself? I tell you, Nebseny and Ankhhor plot to unseat me. Nebseny works his way into Thutmose's favors, too. Once they have ousted me from my station at the temple it will be easy for Thutmose to set me aside as Great Royal Wife. I am barren – he would need no more excuse than that, and with Nebseny complicit, the Temple of Amun would be quick to approve it, however my priestesses may protest.”

  Sitre-In clicked her tongue. “This is all too much of a tangle to be
believed. You are seeing shadows.”

  “No, I have pondered over this for weeks while we sailed north. I know it is true. Thutmose does not love me; he would give nearly anything to set me aside, but he cannot do it without the backing of the Temple. Iset is the perfect replacement: quiet, sweet, malleable, and raised from birth to fear Ankhhor, and do his will. It all comes back to that man – to Ankhhor!” She pounded her fists against her hips, furious and helpless.

  “I believe you, Great Lady. I see it.” Nehesi edged close to her, talking low. “And why, Great Lady, can you not simply force Ankhhor to do your bidding? To back down, to withdraw his ambition?”

  “I am a fifteen-year-old girl!” Her voice rose uncomfortably close to a shriek.

  “You are the Great Royal Wife, the God's Wife of Amun. You are jusрthe daughter of Thutmose the First.”

  She caught her breath, about to protest, but Nehesi went on, his words a smoky whisper.

  “You are the one who took the knife to your own flesh to silence those who cried out against you.”

  She slumped onto the bed in a misery. “That was the worst thing you could have said, Nehesi. What I did that day on the temple steps I did without thought, heedless of the effect I would have on Egypt. Senenmut would tell me, if he were here, that when I get myself into a passion it is like tossing wine onto a fire. I do more damage than good when I act so rashly. I must approach this carefully. I did not think Ankhhor would be so...unapproachable – implacable – dangerous to his family. I do not have the skill to talk my way into his heart and turn it. I am in far deeper water than I had ever thought to find.”

  Nehesi slapped his chest. “I've learned many things from battles, Great Lady. Sometimes it is good to avoid a fight with talk. Sometimes it is good to create a peace through negotiation and soft words. Sometimes, it is far better to dip one's arrows into the fire and shoot. If what you say is true of this Nebseny and this Iset, then your situation is dire. The time for soft words has passed. Now is the time to nock an arrow to the Great Lady's bow.”

  Hatshepsut rose slowly to her feet. “Perhaps you are correct.”

  “No,” Sitre-In interjected. “I saw the bruises on Lady Iah's back. Do not put yourself in danger, Hatshepsut. Yes, you are the Great Royal Wife, but clearly this Ankhhor is violent and unpredictable. Let us return to Waset and leave this man far behind us. He cannot reach you there. The High Priest and his daughter are far away from the man himself; Ankhhor has no true influence in Waset. Leave it be.”

  Nehesi gazed at Hatshepsut levelly. The faintest smile curved his lips.

  “I know the way to his chamber,” she said.

  Nehesi patted the hard planes of his belly, as if her words satisfied an insatiable craving. “Then let us go.”

  ***

  A lone guardsman stood duty outside the door to the tjati's private chamber. When he saw the great, dark form of Nehesi striding down the hall, his striped kilt flashing in the lamp-light, the hilts of his blades gleaming, the guard rushed away from his master's door with a wordless cry. Nehesi shoved the door open. It cracked against the interior wall so hard that Hatshepsut thought for one hopeful moment it might break away from its hinges. Nehesi's confidence had kindled a flame in her belly. She stormed into Ankhhor's chamber glowing with the heat of her rage.

  The tjati's face betrayed one instant of shock. Then he rose from his couch, set aside the papyrus he had been studying, and bowed to her, calculating and flawless in his deference. “Great Lady. How may I be of service?”

  “n><рI know, Ankhhor, why you sent your daughter to Waset. She was never intended for the harem. Or not for long, at any rate.”

  Ankhhor stood unblinking and silent.

  “You plotted with your brother Nebseny to raise Iset to God's Wife of Amun. With a God's Wife under Nebseny's control, the Amun priesthood would be even more in his grasp than it is already – all of its influence, all of its wealth. And because Nebseny is in your debt, the Amun priesthood would in fact be yours to command.”

  Ankhhor's eyebrows rose smoothly. “A pretty plot, Great Lady.”

  “Pretty indeed. Iset will not have my station. She will never be God's Wife. Your ambition has become an angry crocodile, and you have it grasped by the tail. You have overstepped yourself, Ankhhor.”

  His slow smile betrayed his amusement, but she read a grudging amount of respect in his eyes. No doubt he expected that the youth of the Pharaoh and his wife would blind them to his machinations. Coolly he said, “It is not for one such as I do deny the accusations of the God's Wife.”

  “Particularly since her accusations are true.” She raised her finger, and Nehesi drew his sword. A bead of bronze fire ran along its edge as the Medjay held the blade at the ready, waiting on her command. “No one in all Egypt would stop me if I ordered my man to kill you, Ankhhor. The guard on your door ran when he saw me approach, like a rabbit under a hawk's shadow. It seems he has more sense than his master.”

  “I wonder, Great Lady,” Ankhhor said, calm and collected, “what Pharaoh Thutmose would do if you did kill me. Ah, and the High Priest, my brother. How does the Great Lady imagine they would react to such an audacity from their volatile God's Wife?”

  Hatshepsut smiled. “Let me show you how you have erred, Ankhhor. You knew the king is but a child, and that his Great Royal Wife is hardly older. You knew the God's Wife was young. You assumed she was like your Iset, soft and sweet, conditioned to do the bidding of the men who rule her. But now you see me for what I am. I am no Iset. Do you think any man can draw my reins, Ankhhor? How much less power does a boy have over Hatshepsut, the God's Wife of Amun?”

  Ankhhor raised his chin, an arrogant acknowledgment of her words. “Then why do you not have me killed?” It was not a challenge, but an honest question.

  “Because you are of more use to me alive than dead. I know you owe your wealth to my father's memory. You are in his debt, and so I know that you will give your service to me willingly. And because you will serve me willingly, you will be allowed to keep all the fine gifts Thutmose the First gave you. You will be allowed to keep your head, too.”

  Ankhhor's shoulders lost some of their tension. His mouth relaxed, almost imperceptibly; he was opening to her words, was perhaps even relieved. She thought she could even detect in his steady gaze some small measure of admiration.

  “I could do away with Nebseny as easily as you, but maat means too much to me. A united priesthood serves my purposes. Nebseny runs the Temple well enough; I know that his devotion to Amun is pure. He is useful to me, but he is reluctant to bend to my will. He owes all he has to you, as you owe all you have to my father. I know, too, that I have said things to you which could be dangerous for me. We are in each other's confidence now, Ankhhor. You must trust me and serve me, or I will find it wiser after all to kill you.”

  “Trust you? In what, Great Lady?”

  “Bring Nebseny to my side. Place him in my hands. Assure his absolute loyalty to me, and in return I will give you something to boast of on your tomb wall. Iset will never be God's Wife, but give me your brother's obedience and I will ensure that she becomes King's Mother.”

  Ankhhor paused, considering. “Why did you not tell me all this in a letter, Great Lady? Why travel all this way to my sepat for such a message?”

  “Letters can be intercepted, lost. I must be certain that Nebseny is mine; there can be no room for error. And, Ankhhor, you needed to look upon me with your own eyes to understand my power. You must know what the God's Wife is: no shrinking child, no weak, beaten woman. I am the daughter of Thutmose the First. I am the daughter of Amun himself. I am the Hand of the God. I will uphold any promise – or any threat. You know that now. You see me.”

  Slowly, Ankhhor nodded. A hot, rippling thrill of victory raced along Hatshepsut's veins, throbbed in her face, her limbs.

  “I will do as you command, Great Lady.”

  “Swear it to me.”

  “I swear by Amun.”

 
“Oh, no, Ankhhor. Do not think go deceive me. I know your heart. When the God's Wife commands you to swear an oath, you must do so solemnly.”

  Ankhhor hesitated only a moment. At last he said, “I swear it on the Aten, Great Lady. I will do as you command.” Defeat dried his voice to a hoarse, grudging whisper.

  ***

  The sky brightened with the approaching dawn. Hatshepsut saw her women safely aboard the ship, then turned at the rail to stare into Ankhhor's eyes. She held his gaze as the lines were cast off and the oars extended to push the ship away from the stone mooring. But it was the tjati who looked away first, turning to lead his wife and children back to his palace.

  The sailors shouted their call-and-response song, heaving at a great line to raise the sail. The northerly wind was blowing; it caught the sail with a crack that bellied it out above the deck, above the lively gray water. Biddable Mare drove southward, kicking up a cold spray, an early flock of birds giving chase, crying. Flushed with the warmth of victory, Hatshepsut turned her face toward the rising sun.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  She had been in the palace only a few hours when one of the king's own men arrived at her apartments to summon her into the Pharaoh's presence. She had begged time to prepare herself, smiling as Ita freshened her cosmetics and chose for her a more ornate wig. So Thutmose had returned from his journey before she. He would be angry to learn that she had managed to venture from Waset in spite of his bid to leave her behind.

  She greeted him sweetly in his magnificent room, far larger than her own and adorned without restraint. Thutmose was not one for subtlety. He had had the chamber repainted when he was crowned – a fact which pained Hatshepsut, for their father had revered the histories of the kings who had come before him and had kept their images and deeds on his walls to remind him always of a Pharaoh's duty. Thutmose's preference was not for duty, but for adventure. The brightness of new paint dazzled the eye, covering every brick of the interior with fanciful scenes of Thutmose driving chariots into war, hunting fanged lions and the mystical white deby, bringing down marsh birds by the brace with a single arrow. The boy had done none of these things. He boasted of his fantasies as though the paint would make them fact. Spacious as the room was, it was crammed with the finest furniture, all of it ornately carved and glittering with gold. He would never entertain so many in his private rooms that four couches and eight tables would be required. It was thoughtless excess, and lent the Pharaoh's rooms an air of desperation rather than dignity.