The She-King: The Complete Saga Read online

  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 was not long before a tray of bread and figs arrived with a cone of soft white cheese and a jug of beer.

  The Great Royal Wife arrived as well. Ahmose was stuffing figs into her mouth when Meritamun swept through the door. “You thought to send for food. Excellent. I will 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 have come to me.”

  “Yes,” Ahmose admitted. “This must be a mistake.”

  “It is no mistake, Ahmose.” Meritamun leaned an elbow on the table, rested her forehead against one strong, slender hand. She breathed deeply. Ahmose looked at her mother’s swollen eyes and wondered whether she would weep again for the dead king. But then Meritamun straightened, 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 passed 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 would recover – a man of his age.”

  “He was ill? I did not know.”

  “Mm,” Meritamun bit 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 Great Royal Wife 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 could not 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 would not. 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 Heqa-Khasewet is tenuous. Since your dear grandfather, may he live forever, drove them out of the kingdom they have been itching to take Egypt back. A decisive ruler is needed now: one the Heqa-Khasewet 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 have paid less attention to you than I ought over the years, but you are god-chosen; that I know. The gods speak through you. Do you think only the House of Women knows 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. Omens, too. 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 king's daughter 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 is the power of the gods, and 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.”

  “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.” Meritamun's face was suddenly grave. She 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 Great Royal Wife 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 woman was marred by the crookedness of her body. The line of Meritamun’s spine from her nape to the top of her gown kinked like an olive branch. The wig hid all but the slightest slant of her shoulders, and masked completely the terrible deformity of her back.

  Relieved of the weight, Meritamun sighed. She 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, sharp and ugly. “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 as little girls, waiting to see whether your backs would twist. Thank all the gods your bodies are sound. You are 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 have been well paid to keep quiet. The court would not look favorably on a crippled Great Royal Wife.”

  “So this is why you said…in the throne room….”

  Meritamun nodded, her face calm. “I can feel my body weakening. It will not be much longer for me. Soon I will go to the Field of Reeds, to meet my husband there.”

  Ahmose nearly groaned under a sudden weight of misery. 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 had been hopeful of her mother’s shepherding. How comforting it would be to have Meritamun’s advice and support, even if they had been all but strangers until this day. The gods' will would be done, though, Ahmose knew. She of all people knew.

  “But why this General Thutmose, of all men? 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 could not help but feel a flush of indignation. She was the daughter of a king, after all. She had always expected a suitable marriage to a nobleman or a high priest, or perhaps to a very powerful governor. A common general? This was nothing short of absurd.

  Meritamun laughed as she ran a hand over her bald head. “Not a drop, not a speck, 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 prepar
ed 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 king's daughter. To me.”

  “Think to, nothing. It will be done. The Heqa-Khasewet 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 Heqa-Khasewet 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 is the Pharaoh’s divinity that brings the floods. The rekhet know this.”

  “Ah, true. But it is 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 Heqa-Khasewet 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 Great Royal Wife 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 Great Royal Wife.”

  “I understand now why you have chosen Thutmose. And I understand the importance of keeping harmony in Egypt. But I still do not see why you’ve set Mutnofret aside. She is just as royal as I am, and she is the First King's Daughter.”

  “Is that why you have come? To try to convince me to make Mutnofret Great Royal Wife? It will not happen, Ahmose. It cannot. 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 a woman as the gods have ever made – oh, yes, I have heard all about her temper! – and a hot-headed Great Wife could damn Egypt forever. Mut knows I’ve tried everything I can think of to cool that girl’s heart, but she has always been an ember waiting to fall on tinder. It cannot be overstated how eagerly the Heqa-Khasewet wait for Egypt to show any sign of weakness. 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 am god-chosen.”

  Meritamun pinched the bridge of her nose. “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 is 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 am 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 cannot go to my death leaving Egypt to face disaster. Caring for this land has always been my life’s devotion. If one true thing can be painted on the walls of my tomb, 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 Ahmose, the Great Royal Wife?

  “Mutnofret will not be forgotten, I promise you,” Meritamun said. “She will be Thutmose’s second wife, and a queen in her own right, not a concubine. 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 skin on Ahmose’s arms raised into gooseflesh, a prickle of foreboding. “If we are to be near-equals, and both of us royal wives, who will bear Thutmose’s heir?”

  Meritamun looked steadily into her daughter’s eyes. “That will be for you to decide.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AHMOSE TOOK THE SPINDLES AND distaffs from Aiya’s arms and helped her sit in the shade of the olive tree. The girl was Ahmose’s dearest friend, a pretty, shy, golden young thing. Aiya was the daughter of a foreign king far to the north. She had been given to the Pharaoh as a peace offering three years ago, along with casks of wine, animal skins, horses, and chests of copper and gold. Aiya seldom spoke of life in the north. It must have been a terrible place, and her father a beast of a man. What kind of a king would send his daughter to a distant land?

  Surely life in the Pharaoh’s harem was better than life in her savage homeland. Aiya seemed happy enough. She was chatty – with Ahmose, at least – and was the best spinner in the House of Women despite her young age. It was Aiya who had taught Ahmose to spin, and they often passed their afternoons together beneath the largest olive tree in the garden, laughing and gossiping while they dropped their spindles in the shade.

  The girl spoke the Egyptian tongue well. Her accent was thick, but she had picked up the language quickly. She wore Egyptian clothing, loved Egyptian music and sang with a pure, clear voice. The only concession she refused to grant Egypt was her bright yellow hair. She flatly refused to shave her head and wear a wig like a proper Egyptian woman. It sometimes made her the target of snide remarks in the women’s quarters, but Ahmose loved Aiya’s golden hair, and often combed her fingers through it, weaving it with flowers while they passed their hours in the garden.

  Aiya was also pregnant – hugely so – and proud of her unborn child. She was certain it was a boy. She would bear the son of a Pharaoh, the last of Amunhotep’s children. The girl was just fourteen, only a year older than Ahmose, but already eager for motherhood.

  “I heard you are soon Great Wife,” Aiya said, playing w
ith the spindle in her lap.

  “You heard rightly, I am afraid. Mutnofret hasn’t spoken to me in the two days since our mother made the announcement.”

  “Poor Mutnofret.”

  Ahmose propped her distaff against her hip.

  “I suppose she has every right to be angry with me, although I didn’t choose this for myself. I would undo it if I could.”

  Aiya shook her head. “She should be angry with mother. Ahmose is not for blaming.”

  “I know you are right, but if I were in her place I think I might feel the same way.” Ahmose licked her fingers and twisted her flax fibers, pulling them smoothly away from the distaff, securing them to her spindle. Her threads were not always perfect, but they were usually even and strong. One day she would spin as well as Aiya, with threads as fine and strong as a spider’s web. She’d had plenty of practice of late. Spinning relaxed her, allowed her mind some measure of peace. It seemed Ahmose had done nothing but spin since the Pharaoh died.

  “When is wedding?”

  “Ten days,” Ahmose said, concentrating on the weight and speed of her spindle instead of on the specter of her wedding. “I hope you will sit beside me at the feast.”

  “If baby is not coming!”

  “I cannot wait to meet your son. Have you chosen his name?”

  Aiya’s smile was shy. “How you say it in Egyptian?” She lapsed into her native tongue, and after all the time they had spent together, sharing secrets and stories, Ahmose understood the words well enough. “He stands first among the great men.”

  “Hatshepsu.” Ahmose gave her the Egyptian word. “It is a good name, Aiya. Very strong. Perfect for the son of a Pharaoh.”

  Aiya beamed, her lovely, pale eyes on her spindle. At last she said, “You should visit Mutnofret, tell her your heart.”