Magic of the Nile

by Veronica Scott

  Taking her hand away from her eyes and smoothing her wig, Iensesu drew a deep breath. “Tomorrow will be a day of rejoicing and observances at the temple of Sekhmet such as we have never done before, so I can’t meet with you.” Tilting her head, she stared at him.

  Sahure nodded. “I understand. Although I’m sworn to Horus, I’d count it as an honor to contribute something to the celebrations, food and wine perhaps. I’ll send my chief scribe to you in the morning for a list of your suggestions and will of course present the offerings myself at the temple of Sekhmet.”

  “I see Pharaoh has sent me a diplomat in the body of a warrior,” she answered, inspecting him up and down with a raised eyebrow. In a younger woman the speculative way she was gazing at him would have signaled a definite invitation. “I approve of your suggestions. You must dine with me in the evening, after the ceremonies.”

  She was probably a real temptress in her day. Suppressing a grin, Sahure said, “It will be my honor to attend your dinner, my lady. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have much to do.” He left the tent and directed his driver back to the fort, confident Menkheperr had the situation well in hand out here. He had a great deal to do here at the Southern Oasis on Pharaoh’s behalf in the next year, and not a day to waste. And I should send Tyema a line or two, let her know I’m thinking of her, even in the midst of battle and rebuilding. She and I are not done with the subject of our future, no matter what she may think.

  ***

  Tyema’s labor wasn’t going well. Her water had broken at the conclusion of the evening ceremony the night before and her temple guards had carried her to her rooms under Jemkhufu’s worried supervision. Paratiti had been summoned from the village, along with the physician.

  They arrived by oxcart together an hour later, along with Tyema’s niece Renebti, who was to be an attendant for the baby after its birth. A few other family members arrived separately. The women joined the priestesses and maids in Tyema’s room, while the doctor drank beer with Jemkhufu and the under priest in the hallway. At first all was well, proceeding normally, or at least that’s what her relatives assured Tyema. She was relieved to find her labor pains were widely spaced, not much worse than monthly cramps. Then, as the night progressed, so did her labor. The women made her walk around in between the pains and when it seemed as if she might be close to delivering, in midafternoon the next day, they helped her stand on her birthing bricks, squatting with her sister and her favorite niece on either side, helping her keep her balance and providing resistance to push against, but the baby didn’t come.

  After an hour of this, Tyema was weeping from pain and fright, trembling and exhausted. Paratiti pushed her wig back on her head, exchanging glances with her daughter Renebti when they thought Tyema wasn’t paying attention. “Let’s get you back to the bed,” her sister said calmly, steadying Tyema as she half fell off the bricks. “And perhaps we ought to have the physician come in and give his opinion, just to be on the safe side.”

  Renebti ran to fetch the doctor, her haste betraying the amount of worry she and her mother felt about Tyema’s condition.

  Tyema collapsed into the bed, her entire body enveloped in pain and nausea. Weeping, she curled on her side, cradling her abdomen, praying for the baby to be all right. Physicians were rarely summoned to a childbirth, so the fact her sister was suggesting the man attend her now was not an encouraging sign. “I haven’t felt the baby move, no kicking in a while,” she said, gritting her teeth as another contraction swept through her. Screaming in frustration and pain, she tried to push with the wave of power but nothing happened and she fell back against the pillows the women had stacked for her. Arriving with the physician in tow, Renebti bent to wipe Tyema’s brow with a damp cloth.

  I want Merys, I want Sahure. Most of all I want you to be born safely, my baby. Tyema clung to consciousness, rubbing her abdomen with a trembling hand, terrified her child might not make it into the world.

  The physician was grave as he examined her in between pains. “The baby is turned the wrong way,” he said to the room in general.

  “What—what must I do?” Tyema demanded fiercely, raising herself on her elbows. “I won’t fail my child.”

  “Can you shift the infant?” her sister asked the physician.

  He shook his head, washing his hands in the basin on a nearby table. “Her channel is narrow and the babe’s foot is blocking the entrance.”

  “Nothing? There’s nothing you can do?” Tyema screamed, in the throes of another contraction, her shrill voice echoing off the walls. Panting as the waves of pain faded, she grabbed at the physician’s arm. “I don’t care about myself, you must save my baby.”

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said, patting her hand before disengaging himself from her claw-like grip. “You and the child are in the hands of the gods, best pray for mercy from the Great Ones.”

  “Can you give her something for the pain then, at least?” asked her sister.

  “Merys, help me!” Tyema shrieked as the next labor pain took control of her body.

  The door leading to the gardens slammed open on a gust of wind and the scent of the Nile lotus filled the room.

  Renebti moved to close the exterior door but her mother stopped her with an outflung hand. “Wait!”

  A woman wreathed in blue veils stepped into the room from the garden, followed by two more women, also enveloped in filmy layers of cloth. The perfume of the lotus intensified as the trio approached the bed and Tyema took a deep breath, feeling her head clear a bit.

  “You may entrust the high priestess to us now,” the first newcomer said, her voice low and musical. She raised one hand and made a shooing motion. “Clear the room.”

  “Who are you?” Seeming determined to defend her helpless sister if necessary, Paratiti took a stand beside the bed, as the doctor scurried out, followed by most of the women.

  The second newcomer threw back her veil, smoothing the cloth from her face so the lamplight fell upon her features. “Don’t you know me, sister?”

  Hand to her mouth, shrinking against the bed frame, Paratiti whispered, “This can’t be. Merys? But you died—”

  Pointing at Paratiti, the first woman said, “Don’t seek to keep us from attending your sister. Stay if you wish, but move aside. Or get out, but stop wasting our time.”

  Paratiti glanced at Tyema, squeezed her hand and then, hugging the wall, made her way out of the chamber, following the other attendants and the physician, all of them staying as far away from the new arrivals as they could. With a crash the door to the corridor shut behind Tyema’s sister.

  Merys—for the second woman was she—ran to the bed, sinking to her knees and grabbing Tyema’s hand. “I’m here, dear one. You’re going to be fine.”

  “The baby,” Tyema rasped out, her throat raw, pushing herself up on one elbow with the last of her strength.

  The first woman threw off her enveloping cloak and stood forth as the goddess Hathor in all her glory. Her body glowed in the dark room, even without the light cast by the golden sun disk on her headdress. Two curving, gold tipped cow horns grew from her head and her wig was adorned with gold and malachite beads. Dyed a deep red, her gown was the finest pleated linen, and around her neck she wore her menit necklace—strands of turquoise beads, from which was suspended the long pendant bearing her cartouche. Gazing at Tyema with large, almond shaped brown eyes, fringed by lush lashes, the goddess said, “It isn’t your time or the child’s to cross to the Afterlife, but things have progressed needlessly far down a bad path.” Running the strand of turquoise beads through her fingers, Hathor glanced around the room, a frown on her flawless face, as if she could see a threat in the very air. “Sobek needs to do a better job of safeguarding his temple and his priestesses from evil influences.”

  “Black magic?” Merys gasped. “Directed at Tyema? Who would dare, and why?”

  “Sort the issue out later,” said the third woman, throwing aside her blue veils, revealing herself to be Taw
aret, the Hippopotamus, in human guise. Her dress was a one shouldered green sheath, barely containing her pendulous breasts and large belly. Barefoot, she padded awkwardly across the room, her feet the paws of a lioness. Her golden headpiece was cylindrical, offset with black tipped feather plumes, resting atop her long, straight black hair and she carried an inscribed ivory ankh. Walking to the bed with the clumsy gait of one who is far more graceful in the water, she took a stand on the other side from Hathor. Tawaret touched her ankh to the thin turquoise amulet Tyema wore, which bore the cartouche of this very goddess. Paratiti had tied it loosely around her wrist as soon as she’d arrived, saying the charm would assist with an easy labor. Tyema felt a pulse of hot energy flow through her, starting at the place where the amulet touched her skin.

  “Thank you for coming,” Tyema whispered, licking her dry, cracked lips.

  “We watch over all women in childbirth,” Tawaret reminded her. “But your case is unusual. Merys persuaded us direct intervention was required, and our friend Sobek also petitioned us for the favor on your behalf. Now rest for a few moments.”

  Hathor laid one hand on Tyema’s forehead and she felt calm, a reviving coolness spreading from the place where the goddess’s fingers rested on her skin. The crippling contractions in her lower body receded, then stopped. Merys bathed her arms and face with a damp cloth, murmuring soothing endearments. Tyema straightened out on the bed, breathing more easily as she was free from pain for the first time in hours.

  After helping her lie flat on her back, Tawaret rested her hands on Tyema’s distended abdomen for a moment. Frowning, the goddess exchanged glances with Hathor. “The doctor was right, the child has turned wrong.” The Hippo Goddess brushed Tyema’s hair back from her brow and leaned close. Her breath held the clean crisp scent of the Nile at dawn. “What I must do will feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry, but my ministrations are necessary for the child’s sake. I’ll be quick.”

  Tyema nodded, clenching her hands in the crumpled sheets under her. “Anything, just save my baby, please.”

  Tawaret opened her hands as wide as the fingers would spread and rotated them right to left above Tyema’s swollen belly without actually touching her. A pale green luminescence glowed in the air between Tyema and the goddess’s hands. “Unborn child of Tyema and Sahure, listen to my words and put aside your fear. My sister Hathor and I are here to usher you into the world, but you must do your part.” Her voice was breathy, almost wheezing from her lips, but compelling in tone. She put one hand over Tyema’s distended belly button. “I command you to rotate in your mother’s womb.”

  Tyema felt the cramping start again, as if spreading from the spot where Tawaret was touching her, but the contractions weren’t as painful as they’d become in the long hours before the goddesses and Merys arrived. The baby kicked her in the side, under her ribs, but she didn’t mind. The pummeling was proof the child was moving the right way to be born with Tarawet’s magical assistance, head down, as the Great One ordered.

  Hathor leaned in close, speaking in Tyema’s ear. Carrying the refreshing scent of spring flowers, her breath puffed against Tyema’s sweaty skin, creating welcome coolness. “We’re going to take you to the birthing bricks now.”

  “I don’t know if I can move,” Tyema said, panic racing through her tired body at the thought of attempting to reach the bricks, much less squat on them to push the baby out.

  “We’ll help you, daughter. It’s time for the child to be born.” Hathor was stern, her voice gentle but firm. “Stay in this bed and you and the child will die.”

  “You must endure a few moments longer, follow the rituals of birth as all human women do,” Tawaret agreed. “Then matters will be well.”

  With no further discussion, the two goddesses, one on either side, lifted Tyema from the soaked sheets and helped her walk to where the birthing bricks waited. Over her shoulder, Tyema saw Merys working rapidly to change the sheets, substituting the blue veils the goddesses had worn into the room for the earthly linen. Done with remaking the bed, Merys snatched up the waiting swaddling clothes and the knife to cut the cord. She took up a position kneeling in front of Tyema.

  Hathor and Tawaret made sure Tyema was squatting firmly on the bricks. “When I tell you to push, I want you to put all your will and love for this child into the effort,” Hathor said, staring directly into Tyema’s eyes, her own velvet brown eyes wide in concern. “Breathe deep.”

  Tyema nodded, taking in air. She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. Please let this be over soon. “I’m ready.”

  “Push then, and let the new ka embodied in this child enter the world.” Hathor laid one hand on Tyema’s swollen belly, massaging the skin ever so slightly. Heat radiated from the goddess’s touch.

  With no warning, the hard, driving labor pains started again and Tyema tried to ride them, tried not to fight. The sensations were different this time, not only because the goddesses held her in an iron grip, but the baby seemed to be trying to cooperate now. An indescribable urge to push seized Tyema and she bore down with every muscle in her body, holding her breath to give even more power to the effort.

  All of a sudden she felt physically lighter as there was a great gush of fluids and a baby emerging from her body, to be caught by Tawaret. The contractions stopped. Leaning on Hathor, the goddess’s arm around her waist in support, Tyema watched Merys cut the cord. The strong, outraged cries of a lusty infant sounded in the room. Hathor massaged Tyema’s belly until the afterbirth was safely expelled and then the goddesses helped her back to the refreshed bed. The unearthly blue sheets were cool to her overheated skin, smelling faintly of lotus. With tears of joy running down her cheeks, Merys brought Tyema the red, wrinkled, screaming baby, wrapped in one of the embroidered blankets sewn by their family.

  “You have a son, a fine boy,” she said over the outraged child’s squalling as she placed the baby in Tyema’s arms.

  Trembling, Tyema cradled her son in one arm and pushed back the swaddling clothes with her free hand, looking in wonder at the scrunched up, flushed face, the perfect toes and the tiny fingers. The large baby had amazing muscle tone and coordination already. He turned his head to her, clearly wanting to nurse. Merys helped her arrange herself and the baby more comfortably, and the infant latched on with strong suction and a greedy gurgle. Tyema felt her milk let down with a tingling rush and stared at Merys in awe and surprise, causing her sister to laugh and give her a hug. The child curled one hand around Tyema’s finger, staring up at her face.

  “How handsome he is, so like his father,” Tyema whispered. “All this time I thought I was having a girl. How foolish of me. Of course Sahure would give me a warrior.”

  “We must leave you now, daughter,” Hathor said, bending over to kiss the child. “But first tell us the name which has whispered itself to you.”

  “Yes, who did we assist into this world?” Tawaret asked with a broad smile. She stroked the baby’s hair with one finger.

  “Seknehure, his name is Seknehure,” Tyema whispered, suddenly sleepy. She leaned back on the pillows rearranged by Merys.

  “An excellent name, for a boy with a shining destiny. His future will be full of challenges befitting a warrior, but he will prevail and bring honor to Egypt, and his parents,” Hathor pronounced, her voice sonorous, echoing in the bedchamber. She touched the newly named child on the forehead with the tip of her menit diadem. “Blessings upon him and those he loves.”

  “Thank you, for everything,” Tyema said, gazing from one goddess to the other. “We would have both died if you hadn’t come to help.”

  “Long life and happiness to him,” Tawaret said, laying her ivory ankh on his sturdy body for a heartbeat. The baby blinked but continued nursing, one fist lying on his mother’s chest.

  “You did well, daughter,” Hathor said before she linked arms with Tawaret. The two goddesses strolled out the open door into the garden and were gone in a blaze of green light between one step and the next.

/>   Merys lingered a moment. “I would so love to hold my new nephew again, but after what he’s been through, I don’t want to disturb him while he nurses. What a gorgeous, big baby.”

  “How can I ever thank you?” Tyema said. “We both would have died if you hadn’t brought the Great Ones.”

  “No need for thanks.” Merys kissed her forehead. She seemed sad, tears glinting in her eyes. “But this is the last time I can help—I can’t come again.”

  Tyema was surprised and dismayed. “Never?”

  Merys shook her head. “Isis demanded the condition before she’d allow me to accompany Hathor and Tawaret tonight. One who dwells in the Afterlife as I do isn’t supposed to mingle with the living, not even those we love most. My time for being here is done, long past. Isis says it’s a loose end in the tapestry and must be cut.”

  Tyema twined the fingers of her free hand around Merys’s and squeezed. “Although more children seem unlikely for me, if I ever have a daughter, I’ll name her for you, I promise.”

  Merys smiled. “We’ll meet again, in the Afterlife, for I’m positive your heart will be Judged as true when that day comes.” Gently she withdrew her hand from Tyema’s. “I wish you well, with the baby and with your man Sahure, if ever the chance arises to make amends with him. I’m not a Great One, I can’t prophesy for you how it might turn out, but I hope you find true love, if not with him, then with another.”

  Awkwardly, trying not to disturb the baby, Tyema hugged her beloved sister, while tears flowed down her cheeks. “I know we’ve been unusually blessed to be able to continue meeting all these years, but it’s hard to say a final goodbye.”

  “You won’t miss me,you’ll be busy mothering Seknehure. You don’t need me anymore, little sister,” Merys said, brave words belied by the sadness in her eyes.

  “Perhaps not in the way I did as a child, but I’ll always love you,” Tyema answered.

  “Give the rest of our family more of a chance,” Merys said, nodding at the closed door. “They love you too and I know they’re proud of you, of what you’ve done here at the temple, of the woman you grew to be.”