The Bull of Min (The She-King)

by L. M. Ironside

  A handful of Retjenu guards rose up like weeds from among their rocky hiding places, and were felled just as quickly by the bowmen. One or two managed to scramble out of bowshot, pelting down the hill toward the city of Megiddo.

  The city crouched behind its walls at the pinnacle of a small hill, encircled by the pale band of an ancient, hard-packed road. Far beyond Megiddo’s walls, at the northern and southern extremes of the valley, Thutmose detected wide blurs of smoke and dust, the distinctive haze that hung over army encampments.

  “They’ve divided their forces,” Thutmose shouted to Tjaneni and Minhotep in their neighboring chariots. “They knew we would take either the southern or northern routes, so they left the city unguarded to intercept us.”

  “Not entirely unguarded,” Minhotep corrected. “Look.”

  One or two of the Retjenu scouts had reached the valley floor far below. As Thutmose watched, the tiny form of a runner sped along the pale line of the road, kicking up a weak banner of dust. A small stone building, a way-house of some sort, squatted in the roadside brush. No doubt a guard waited there with a warning horn to alert the city to the attack. But with the majority of the Kadeshi and Hittite armies obviously split and waiting at the distant ends of the valley, there would be little the city could do to halt Thutmose’s advance.

  His wing was assembled now, a great arc of horses champing eagerly at their bits, of men lifting their spears to jeer down at the city and its absent army. Two more wings would yet form as the remainder of his army came bursting through the narrow pass. They would sweep down the mountainside in succession, catching up any straggling Retjenu forces like fish in a net. Thutmose gave the command, and with a cry that shook the very bones of the mountain, the Egyptian army took to its fierce, violent flight.

  A frantic horn blared, the sound hardly rising over the roar of wheels and hooves. It was thin and distant; the weakness of the sound sparked a predatory fire in Thutmose’s belly. As they thundered down the mountainside, he could see Megiddo stir to frantic defense below him. Men appeared along the walls, perhaps as many as two thousand. Like a rude gesture, the purple flag of Niqmod, king of Kadesh, lifted into the morning air.

  Thutmose raised his spear in answer.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “IT WAS THE MOST DIFFICULT thing I ever had to do, you know,” Meryet said.

  She rested in the shade of her great sycamore, the broad, spicy-smelling leaves rustling overhead in a lazy breeze, while Batiret stood with hand on hip, watching the boys chase each other down the garden path. Amunhotep and Amenemhat toddled from shade to light, giggling and squealing, their little side-locks bouncing as they ran.

  “Tearing a child away from his nurse and mother – imagine. And yet what else could I do?”

  The boys’ nurses – a new one for Amenemhat, approved by the Great Royal Wife – went scuttling after them. They rounded a bend in the path. A bank of blooming roses shielded them from sight, but the laughter of the little boys filled the garden with sweet song.

  Batiret returned to the bench and took up her stitching. She was quite accomplished with a needle, when she wasn’t chasing gnats away with her fan, and she had set about embroidering all of Meryet’s older gowns with the intricate hem patterns that were growing in popularity among ladies of the court.

  “You could have done nothing else,” Batiret assured her, not for the first time.

  Meryet patted her knee in gratitude. Sometimes this was all she needed: confirmation that she had moved wisely – as wisely as anyone could, caught off guard as she was by Satiah’s sudden appearance with her child.

  “What was she thinking, after all, bringing the boy here? Did she assume I would bow down to her and hand over the throne?”

  Batiret smiled. Meryet was glad of her friend’s patient ear. It was the same conversation they’d had dozens of times already, the same thoughts, half angry, half sorrowful, that Meryet had voiced again and again. She had trodden this ground endlessly since Thutmose’s departure for the north, months before.

  Amenemhat was the kindest, gentlest child she had ever seen, small for his age – or his supposed age, at least – but bright and obedient. His nurse reported that he often asked for his mother, but seemed content enough with the nurse’s rote reply that his mawat was away, and he must stay here with his aunties until she returned. The boy never cried or fussed over his situation, from all Meryet heard. She was grateful for that small mercy. If Amenemhat suffered in his captivity, or in his separation from Satiah, she could never have faced her own reflection in the mirror.

  Meryet sighed. “I still feel terrible over the whole mess,” she murmured, though Batiret had said nothing. “Perhaps I always will. He’s such a sweet boy; it’s a shame for him to be caught up in a political tangle. It’s not his fault his mother is a viper.”

  “True,” Batiret said, bending over her needle and bright threads. “And yet she is a viper. You know, Great Lady, that you can never return Amenemhat to Satiah’s care.”

  “I know,” Meryet said miserably.

  “She will only try to use him again, to gain some leverage over the throne.”

  Meryet nodded. “At least Amunhotep loves him well. They are as close as brothers. I can be glad the boy doesn’t suffer here. He is as happy as a child can be, playing with the King’s Son.”

  Batiret let her needlework rest in her lap. “How long can we expect that to last, I wonder?”

  “I don’t know,” Meryet admitted. “Many years, I hope, but no one can say. Amenemhat is a bright boy. Eventually he will wonder what place he has in the court. He will ask questions.”

  Batiret, silent and very still, leveled a dark gaze at her mistress.

  “I won’t do away with him,” Meryet said. “Whatever you are thinking. I can’t poison a child.”

  “Not all poisons are unkind.” Batiret’s voice was very low. “You and I know the truth of that.”

  “Still. I won’t have it done, by my hand or any other, Batiret.”

  “As you say, Great Lady.”

  Meryet gazed off into the depths of the garden. It seemed absurd, to feel so morose on such a fine day. The flowers bloomed in profusion, filling the warm air with their intoxicating perfumes. A pair of flame-orange butterflies tumbled languidly across the path, their wings flashing in the sun. One of her maids laughed as she chased after a tame gazelle fawn – the little thing bounded on its spindle legs, leaping through the flower beds, the very embodiment of carefree joy. A copper bell tied around its tawny neck chimed gaily. In the distance, from the vicinity of the garden lake, she could hear the little boys laughing as they splashed in the water with their nurses.

  “Do you know what troubles me so about Amenemhat, Batiret?”

  The fan-bearer waited in silence, and Meryet ordered her thoughts carefully before she spoke on.

  “It’s the fact that he might, after all, have some claim to the throne.”

  “Great Lady?”

  “He may be Thutmose’s child, conceived while Satiah was…was still Great Royal Wife.”

  Batiret’s mouth thinned in a show of skepticism. “I think he is too young. I think the lady conceived him with some rekhet street trash, well after she was put aside.”

  “He resembles Thutmose so closely.”

  “His mother shares your husband’s blood. The resemblance means nothing.”

  “Even so, the resemblance might be enough to convince powerful houses, if she ever chose to press the matter.”

  Batiret grunted. “Why not kill the viper and have done with it? She will plague your house until somebody does away with her. She’s worse than a nest of rats in the cellar.”

  “I know.” Meryet rubbed at an ache forming between her brows. “I know; I’ve told Thutmose the same thing. I’ve all but begged him to see to it, but whenever I bring it up, something akin to…to fear comes into his eyes.”

  “Fear? What does a king have to fear from a tiny thing like Satiah?”

&
nbsp; “I wish I knew.”

  A sobriety came over Batiret’s face, stilling her pretty features. “In spite of my own doubts, Great Lady, you are right. Amenemhat could be used as a tool again, to chip away at the throne.”

  “We must keep him close and under our influence until Thutmose returns from Megiddo. If the boy’s fate is to be a tool, at least let us keep that tool in our own hands.”

  “The Pharaoh has been away for nearly five months now. It seems such a long while.”

  The ache in Meryet’s head grew more persistent. “It does. His most recent letter said the siege of Megiddo is going well. The Kadeshi forces returned shortly after he laid the seige, but the city is on a hill, and once our men were atop the hill, they were well able to crush the Kadeshi army’s attacks from the plain below. Most of the Kadeshi soldiers were killed, and the remainder fled into the mountains. Now it’s only a matter of cracking the city’s walls, but they can’t hold out much longer.”

  She hoped it was true. Her fears over Satiah’s motives grew more pressing by the day, and Meryet found it increasingly difficult to maintain attention to her daily audiences. If only Thutmose would return! The burden wouldn’t be so difficult to bear with him by her side.

  Of course, with Thutmose returned, it would be plain enough for all to see the resemblance he bore to Lady Satiah’s boy.

  “It strikes me,” Meryet said slowly, testing the words on her tongue, “that if Amenemhat’s link to royal blood is severed, it won’t matter who he looks like, or what any noble or priest sees in him. It won’t matter who tries to wield him as a tool against the throne.”

  “Severed, Great Lady? But Lady Satiah…”

  “Says she is only Lady Satiah, I know. But you of all people know how far she can be trusted, Batiret. You have the scars to prove it.”

  Batiret rubbed absently at the pale lines marring her upper arm.

  “If she ever decides to reveal her true identity, Amunhotep’s claim as heir would be threatened.”

  “Then what must we do to protect your child?”

  “We must find some way of disinheriting Satiah’s boy – of disinheriting Neferure herself.”

  “But how?” Batiret shook her head. “Gods bless us, Great Lady, the names of Neferure and all her royal family are carved into the very stone of Egypt. How can we undo that?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Meryet admitted.

  Amunhotep’s nurse approached, carrying the sleepy child in warm arms. The boy was nodding, struggling to stay awake, to continue his play. Meryet stood, held out her arms to take the boy. He murmured against her neck. The weight of his body was dear in her arms, a wealth too precious to ever let go.

  “I don’t know yet how it will be done, Batiret. But I will find a way.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  EGYPT WELCOMED ITS KING HOME to Waset with celebration and ceremony in equal portions. The priesthood of Amun waited on the quay when Thutmose’s great blue-hulled war ship tied on its lines. They set up a chant of praise to the god as soon he appeared on deck, thanking Amun for extending his hand of protection over the king. A cloud of incense drifted across the clean-swept stone of the landing. The High Priest in his leopard-skin mantle raised an ankh on a gilded pole, praying fervently for the health of the Pharaoh, but Thutmose could not discern more than a handful of words over the chorus.

  A massive, ornate litter, open to the sky, waited to carry him to the palace. When he had received the blessings of oil and salt from the High Priest, Thutmose sank onto the litter’s throne with a sigh of relief. Hard as the seat was, it was infinitely more comfortable than his traveling cot and the tent he had called home during the long months of the siege. The familiarity of Waset was a balm to his troubled ka – its houses leaning close together like women gossiping at a well, its sounds of laughter and work and Egyptian voices, the sharp, rank odors of fish and still water, of refuse and industry.

  More welcome still was the sight of the palace walls shouldering above Waset’s rooftops. In the sunlight they seemed almost golden, glowing with warmth just for him. Though he lifted a hand now and then to acknowledge the shouts of his people, the bundles of flowers strewn in the path of his litter-bearers, he rarely took his eyes from the palace. As it rose slowly before him, it seemed to throw arms of comfort wide, pulling him into its embrace. This was home. This was where he belonged. And inside….

  When his litter sank to the ground, Thutmose had to sit still for a moment, gripping the arms of his throne, stifling his urge to spring across the courtyard like a frantic gazelle and sweep Meryet into his arms. She waited like a vision, glowing in the eye of Re, a halo of sparkling dust motes limning her slender body. Her fine gown was a celebratory yellow, her jewels all turquoise and deep, lustrous malachite. But none of her finery was half as lovely as her face, open and serene, fine-made and glad – glad to see him. When he was certain he could rise and walk to her like a dignified king, and not run to her like a wild boy, he stood. The feel of her soft body in his arms, the sweet smell of her skin beneath spicy perfume, set a tremor running through his limbs.

  “Gods,” he whispered into the braids of her wig. “I have missed you.”

  She drew away from him, tears sparkling in her eyes like the motes that floated around her shoulders. At her gesture the nurse brought Amunhotep forward, and the breath caught in Thutmose’s throat. The boy had grown so much in seven months. How was it possible? He tasted bitter regret at the back of his throat, that he had missed any part of his son’s life. But he had saved the northern trade route, re-established Egyptian dominance in Retjenu, crushed the treachery of Hatti. All for this boy – for Amunhotep’s inheritance. The whole world will be yours, he promised Amunhotep silently as he took the child in his arms.

  Meryet threaded her arm through his and led him to his chambers, as casually as if he had never left.

  I’m home, said Thutmose’s heart with every grateful beat. Home.

  Later, when they had bathed and called the servants in with clean bed linens, and then tangled the linens a second time, Thutmose lay propped on one elbow, tracing the shape of Meryet’s body with a long, silky lotus petal. He had plucked the lotus flower from her wig as he undressed her, and now it lay bruised and trampled somewhere on the floor below. The single, sweet petal was all that was left of it. He tickled her throat with it, and she batted playfully at his hand.

  “I’ll never leave you again,” he vowed.

  “You will. Pharaohs always leave.” She affected a pout. She was not very convincing; the woman was too sensible to pout over duties of the throne.

  “Then I won’t leave again too soon.”

  “Now that is a promise I can believe.”

  “There will be a feast tonight,” Thutmose said. He was eager for it. Army rations were dull and uninspiring, and it had been a very long time since he had watched women dance, or delighted to the thrills of acrobats and magicians.

  “An absolutely huge feast. I’ve arranged it all. Everyone will get so drunk, none of the nobles will be able to find their way out of the Great Hall, and they will all crawl under the tables to sleep like fattened dogs.”

  Thutmose laughed. “Good. I intend to get drunk myself.”

  Meryet rolled against him. “Don’t get too drunk. It’s been a long seven months for me; I’ll be expecting more of this after the feast.”

  “Gods! At this rate, I’ll have another son before I know it.”

  Her expression grew suddenly serious.

  “What is it, Meryet?” He tried to tickle her with the lotus petal again, but she moved his hand away firmly. There was nothing playful in the gesture now.

  “Thutmose, I know about Amenemhat.”

  His face fell. He could think of nothing intelligent to say, so he stammered out, “I see.”

  “Not long after you left – in fact, the day…the day we buried Hatshepsut – Lady Satiah requested an audience with me.”

  “You refused, of course.”

&nb
sp; “No, I did not.” Meryet’s chin lifted in defiance. “She thought to see me weakened before her, with my husband gone and the strain of a royal funeral fresh in my heart. Instead, she saw me strong as a lioness.”

  “There is no other way anyone can see you, Meryet.”

  “There is.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, lanced by a peculiar pain.

  Thutmose stroked her shoulder, hoping to give her some small comfort with his touch.

  “She brought her son with her. It is plain to see the resemblance he bears you.”

  “He may not be mine. The boy is small – I’ve seen him. It’s difficult to determine his exact age, and Nefer…Satiah won’t tell. In any case, she is my half-sister. That could be where the resemblance comes from.”

  “I know. I considered that, too. Still, she brought the boy to me in an attempt to frighten me. She thought she could intimidate me, put me off balance. Perhaps she thought she could move against me right then, with you away…send me off in disgrace, claim her rights as the mother of the heir, and be waiting in my place to greet you when you returned from Megiddo.”

  Thutmose could not suppress a shudder at the thought.

  “I didn’t let her win,” Meryet said. To Thutmose’s surprise, a note of self-loathing crept into her voice. Her eyes clouded. “I took the boy from her.”

  “You took him?”

  “Yes. He has been with us the whole time, living in the harem. Oh, I’ve given him a fine nurse and guards to ensure he stays put. He has a little room in the House of Women, as is proper for a king’s son. He may be your son, after all; we can’t know for sure. He plays with Amunhotep. They’re good friends – they’re as close as brothers.” She raised a trembling hand to her face to hide her eyes, as if in shame. “I can’t forgive myself for it. Taking a child from a mother – even from a beast like Satiah – it’s unthinkable, Thutmose. I am a mother myself. And the poor boy – he’s a good lad, all the women of the harem say so, but he asks for his mother every day. Oh, the gods will curse me for it.”