The Crook and Flail (10 page)
Read The Crook and Flail Online
Authors: L. M. Ironside
“I'm all right, Mawat.” She moved again, slowly. So long as she was careful the pain was not too great.
“You will have a scar,” Sitre-In said, mournful. “And right there, too...oh, Hatshepsut!”
“Good. It will remind my people that I bled for Egypt, just like any prince.” She tried to lever herself but fell back, weak as a newborn. Her arms shook; her bones had lost all their solidity.
“You just lie there and rest. The physicians said you will get better with the proper spells and with the right foods, but you are still much too pale. It will take time.”
“I haven't got time. Mutnofret raised fifty nobles and Amun knows how many priests. With every hour that passes she may be adding more to her tally.” A terrible thought occurred to her. “How long have I been here? Not days. Oh, tell me it has not been days!”
“No, no. Look at the sun, you foolish girl. It has been only hours. But you are not going anywhere,” Sitre-In added quickly. “You must rest. I won't have you endangering yourself again.”
The door to her apartment swung wide. Through it Hatshepsut could see her door guard bowing low; two harem ladies, chattering as they passed, halted mid-step, bowing likewise.
“Oh, no.”
“Did I forget to mention?” Sitre-In said, all airy unconcern. “Your mother is coming to see you. I imagine she is not best pleased.”
Hatshepsut could do nothing but lie still and naked as Ahmose swung into her room, angry and swift like water from a burst dam. Hatshepsut thought for a moment Ahmose might storm right over the bed, trampling her as she passed, but the regent halted at her bedside. Ahmose spared a glance at the stitched wound across Hatshepsut's loins. “I hope your little drama was worth a disfiguring scar. You've qunbsher as sheite possibly ruined more than just your body. Tales go fast as gazelles through a city. Half of Waset thinks you are mad. Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
“The other half of Waset thinks I am a god.”
“Oh, Set take you! You played right into Mutnofret's hands. I may have convinced a council of nobles, with the help of your priests, that your father wanted only you as his heir. Now they will all have heard that you are impulsive, and that you like to play with knives!”
“And that I am fearless, and confident, and willing to make any sacrifice for my people.”
Ahmose's voice fell to a dangerous, slow growl. “If you weren't so weak from loss of blood, I would slap you until your face swelled.”
“They would not let me stand before Amun to receive his blessing, nor even to commune with him, to ask him whether I ought to take the throne. They demanded a circumcision.”
“And so you sliced your body? What did that prove?”
“That I won't be denied just because I am female. That Mutnofret cannot stop me. She only put the idea of circumcision into their heads because it would force me to confront, before the court and the priests - before the gods! - the fact that I haven't got a couple of figs hanging between my legs. Well, they saw what I have, all right. They saw me make the cut with my own hand. Tales go fast as gazelles? Then you've heard already that I did not cry out, did not fall before them. Mutnofret tried to make me less than a prince. I made myself more.”
Ahmose's mouth tightened, but she said nothing. Then her chest and shoulders lurched. Hatshepsut blinked, wondering if some fit had fallen over her mother, wondering whether Ahmose would strike her, until at last she realized that the regent was choking back reluctant laughter. “Figs,” Ahmose muttered.
“Well, what do we do now?” Hatshepsut pushing herself up again, noting with fierce pleasure that this time she was not so weak as before. Sitre-In scurried forward to prop a cushion behind her back.
“We give you one day to regain your strength. One day only. On the morrow we meet with a council of priests and nobles, and we convince them to see sense. We do it the right way.”
Hatshepsut nodded. “I will be ready.”
“If you go against my word a second time, Hatshepsut, I cannot save you. You are not the Pharaoh yet. You would do well to remember. Sitre-In, send to the kitchens for ox-blood broth and bread with honey. This daughter of mine must have all her strength restored to her, the gods help us all.”
Hatshepsut scowled. She hated the taste of ox-blood broth.
Ahmose swept for the door, but halted on the threshold. She turned back to regard Hatshepsut, unspeaking for a on
They met once more in the small audience chamber. For all its beauty, its god-painted pillars crowned with lotuses, its sweet scent of incense and northern wine, Hatshepsut had come to regard the hall as a place of torment. When she had arrived at the palace that morning, Ahmose had already seemed tired, harried, worn around the edges, and Hatshepsut, recognizing the strain of futility on her mother's face, had quailed inside, dreading the meeting to come. But even knowing that Ahmose was less than confident, Hatshepsut was not prepared for the blunt force of Mutnofret's presence. The second wife was a terror of surety, moving and speaking with a cool, powerful grace. She had brought seven priests of Amun to stand against Hatshepsut's two old men, and eight nobles as well, unafraid to show their opposition to the regent in the plain light of day. That did not bode well, Hatshepsut knew. When men as small as mere nobles saw no danger in standing against Egypt's crowned ruler, the likelihood of a victory was meager at best.
The room was set with two rows of tables, running the length of the chamber with a space between where servants moved, pouring wine and refreshing bowls of olives and dates, visibly cringing at the tension vibrating through the room. Ahmose sat stiffly on one side, gazing across the narrow gap as though peering over a great abyss. Her face was pale with the knowledge of the struggle to come. She had managed to bring only two priests of Amun from the local temple to support Hatshepsut's claim, and three nobles. Their seven looked a paltry, ragged handful against Mutnofret's fifteen.
Hatshepsut drank very little wine, though the warmth of it would have soothed the pain from her wound.
I must keep my mind sharp
. Now and then she moved in her seat, and her sutures stung beneath her kilt – the boy's kilt that, for once, Ahmose had specifically instructed her to wear. “We will use everything in our power to make them see you as a prince.”
Nebseny was there, he of the fine kilt and the chanting voice, seated thin and elegant on Mutnofret's side of the room. He toyed with his golden wine cup, rolling it between his hands as he spoke. “Far be it from me to nay-say our departed king Thutmose. Surely the Pharaoh had his reasons for taking the princess to Annu. And with all respect to our good priests of that city, you understand, all respect – but when has Egypt ever seated a woman upon the king's throne?”
“Netikerty,” one of Ahmose's nobles volleyed back.
“Bah!” Nebseny gave the man a scornful laugh. “A legend, seven hundred years gone. There was no King Netikerty; talk sense.”
“Sobeknefru, then.”
“She nt>t sizignwas never king, but a lone queen, and pressed into rule at that, with Egypt in despair. And she brought the Two Lands to ultimate disaster! No one called her Pharaoh, but in any case, there – Sobeknefru is your answer. A woman ruling Egypt alone, in the place rightfully belonging to a man, leads to naught but ruin.”
“They called her Pharaoh; indeed they did.”
Nebseny rolled his eyes. “So say you.”
“And it was not she who brought Egypt to disaster, but the Heqa-Khasewet invaders.”
“And,” Nebseny said, amused and condescending, “it was Sobeknefru who failed to stop their invasion. Why are we even discussing this? The very idea is not only absurd, but dangerous.”
“You must understand,” said another of Mutnofret's nobles, “it's for maat we fear. There is no doubt that the young princess is brave and fierce. I wish my own sons had as strong a will as the Great Lady's. But to set her over us as king? This disrupts order. This is not maat. If maat goes from the world, what follows? I think we are better off not discovering the answer to that question, eh?”
Ahmose stepped into the somber, musing pause. “You all know that I am god-chosen. Your wives came to me before I was regent, that I might read their dreams. I ask you to be sensible. Who knows the desires of the gods better than the god-chosen, unless it is the High Priests?”
“And where is our ancient High Priest of Amun?” Nebseny said. “No doubt huddled over his chamber pot with a flux. He is old and failing, but I grant you, his opinion on the matter would as good as decide us.”
“Would it truly?” Ahmose countered. “I wonder. You will not listen to the words of a god-chosen queen who has led Egypt wisely and fairly all these years, and now you mock your own High Priest...”
“Mm,” Mutnofret interjected. “I doubt very much whether all would agree that you have been a
wise
ruler, Ahmose. None of us has forgotten that the floods failed for two years running when you were raised to Great Royal Wife. What did you do, I wonder, to anger the gods? And what greater anger could we expect if we put your daughter on the Horus Throne? The gods will not be mocked. One needn't be god-chosen to know that much. Not only is she female, but Hatshepsut is unpredictable and rash. Yesterday's display on the temple steps showed us all that much. Why, we are lucky the gods have not inflicted us already. Imagine, a girl making a mockery of the circumcision rites, at Amun's sacred doorstep.”
Hatshepsut glanced at her mother – at her clenched jaw, her tense eyes – and kept her mouth shut.
“She does mock us,” one of Mutnofret's priests said. “She even wears the garb of a boy, and shaves her head. She is unnatural. The gods will not suffer her insolence.”
“Do you presume to speak for the High Priest?” Ahmose snapped.
“Never, Great Lady. My voice is my own. I am a man of Egypt as surely as I am a priest. Does Egypt's voice mean so little to the throne?”
They argued on, late into the morning, while Hatshepsut grew more miserable and uncertain. Fifteen to seven, the High Priest declining to show, and one of her supporters invoking a child's bed-time story as evidence for her claim. She stared in desperation at the painting of her father, standing proud before Amun who poured the blessings of the ankh over his head.
My father breathed the breath of life from Amun's own hand, but I am withered and winded
. Faced with Mutnofret's erudite, cool-tempered contingent, she was ashamed of her rashness at the temple. She should have listened to Ahmose, should have waited until the time was right, until the High Priest could be moved, until some sign, some miracle arrived from Amun that would leave no one in doubt.
Have I failed you, father, or did you fail me?
She half expected Thutmose's image to turn its face toward her, to speak to her from the bricks of the chamber. The dead king said nothing, and the voices of Egypt clamored back and forth, back and forth, growing more fierce, more insistent, more sharply divided with each word.
I was wrong. I was wrong to think I knew Amun's will. I was wrong about Waser-hat's history. The king did proclaim my brother his heir, and undid my own proclamation. What else is maat, but a male heir, a prince in body and in ka?
The assembly had escalated to a shouting match. Ahmose and Mutnofret discarded their regal bearings; they raised their voices along with the men.
“And what of the Heqa-Khasewet?” one man cried. “They have not forgotten that they held Egypt for their own, make no mistake! It was not so long ago. They wait for our weakness. They thirst for our blood. They will be back to impose their blasphemies on our land and our people the moment we waver from the gods' will. Have you forgotten how Egypt suffered under their lash, Lady Regent?”
Ahmose stood, and the shouting subsided. “It was my own grandfather who routed the Heqa-Khasewet from the Two Lands. Maat flows in my very blood. I forget nothing. But I tell you truthfully: I will not defy the gods in this. I would sooner tear Egypt apart with my own hands and give it to the Heqa-Khasewet brick by brick than see the false heir on the throne.”
Mutnofret pounded her table, shrieking. “You see how little she cares for our land!” Her men roared along with her.
Ahmose trembled.
It's my fault she's so worn down,
Hatshepsut told herself.
She feared for me after I cut myself, and now we are all paying for my folly
.
The priest Nakht rose from his table, gesturing for silence.&nbsfono thp; It was long in coming, but at last the room settled. “We are all greatly taxed in our hearts. The morning has been long. My friends, we are making no progress, shouting like a lot of sailors at their oars. Let us adjourn for an hour. We will all benefit by taking fresh air.”
“A sensible suggestion.” Ahmose, too, rose. “We meet again in an hour. Hatshepsut, come.”
Senenmut squatted on his heels several paces from the chamber's door. The man Nehesi loitered beside him, leaning one great, muscular shoulder against a the finely painted palace wall. The guards on the door narrowed their eyes at Nehesi's casual presumption, but the Medjay guardsman only lifted his chin and leaned harder, his arms folded below his scarred chest. Senenmut could not quite decide whether he liked Nehesi or despised him. The man was coarse in manner and mind, lacking in courtly refinement as soldiers often are. But he seemed eminently pleased with the favor the princess had bestowed upon him, and his regard for the safety of her person could not be questioned. Nehesi had held the crowd at the Temple of Amun at bay, and Senenmut had witnessed how tenderly Nehesi carried Hatshepsut to her bed in the House of Women, how he'd laid her pale form down and stood over her until the physicians arrived with their copper needles and their salves, watchful as a father over his sleeping daughter. Whatever faults Senenmut may find in a man who made his living with the sword, he could not fault Nehesi in loyalty to his lady.