The Crook and Flail (22 page)

“By Mut's wings,” Hatshepsut said in honest admiration.  “What a treasure for the harem.  Have you ever seen the like?”  Iset caught her glance as she spun away from the couch and moved out across the floor, the hem of her dress floating in a languid circle about her ankles.  The smile the girl gave her was somehow both secretive and direct; Hatshepsut heated with a sudden flush.  “I think there is truly no woman half so beautiful in all of Egypt.  The gods love you well, Thutmose, to give you such a gift.”

Iset dipped her head as she danced, a shy and glad acknowledgment of Hatshepsut's words.

“Why, if I were you, dear brother, I could not restrain myself.  I would take her to my chamber to dance for me alone, this very night.”

Thutmose gave the girl a slow, considering leer.  She faltered in her steps; her movements became graceless, rough, unappealing.  Thutmose looked away, sighing, fidgeting with his wine cup.

Hatshepsut called for another tune – one of the fishermen's songs.  Iset had been so charming when she had performed the rekhet tune the night of their private supper, but now she stamped and clapped with as much appeal as a beleaguered cow trying to rid itself of flies.  When the song had finished, Thutmose neglected to applaud Iset's efforts, and yawned into his hand.

“What other entertainment have you brought?”

“The dancer is all, I am afraid.”

“Not even a juggler?  You don't plan well, sister.”

She ducked her head in acceptance of his criticism.

“This has hardly made amends for your impertinence.”

“I shall send one of my servants to the city and bring back a juggler.  And a magician, if you like.”

“No; now I am too bored to stay with you.  Your rooms are not as beautiful as mine, anyway; I feel as if I am dining in a rekhet's hut.”  He flicked a hand at his guardsman who stood waiting by the door.  The man swung the door wide and held it open for the Pharaoh.  Thutmose stood and stared at her a moment down his nose, then bid her a curt good evening and left without another glance at her or at Iset, who had shrunk back against the wall and stood blushing with eyes on the floor.

When he had gone, Iset peered up through the locks of her wig, cringing and sheepish.

“You did that on purpose,” Hatshepsut said.

“Great Lady?”

“You turned into a wooden doll – you danced like a moonstruck deby!”

Iset's lips pressed together; the laugh she tried to suppress snorted out indelicately through her nose.

“Oh, come here, Iset.”  Hatshepsut patted the couch beside her; Iset came willingly enough – ah, and gracefully, too, swaying as she walked, her hands clasped at her navel.

“By all the gods, I can't blame you for throwing it.”

“Throwing it?”

“The seduction.  Don't pretend you did not know what I intended.  I cannot blame you.  I wouldn't like to lie with him, either.”

“Surely the Pharaoh is still too young to father children.”

“I know he is boorish now, but he is a handsome boy at least.”

Iset shrugged as if she had never noticed.

“One day, when he is a man, you will not feel so much reluctance.  It would be wise to make him love you now, Iset.  There are many women in his harem, but you could be his favorite.”

Iset considered her words.  Her knees were drawn up, her feet tucked to one side.  She toyed with the gauzy fabric of her dress, plucking at a wrinkle that had formed on her thigh.  “Great Lady, you speak as if you will never lie with the king yourself.  Do you...do you not desire him?”

Hatshepsut sighed.  “For all my talk of his handsome face, I know what a trial he can be.”

n>Would it...would it please you if I were to lie with the king?”

“Very much, Iset.  The king needs heirs, and I fear he will never get them from me.”

Iset's face paled; her eyes seemed to turn inward, so that she looked upon a strange and painful place within her own heart.  Hatshepsut, afraid she had somehow wounded the girl, laid a hand on her shoulder, reached beneath the girl's wig to caress the back of her neck.  It was a touch Sitre-In had often used to soothe her when Hatshepsut's heart was in turmoil.

Iset closed her eyes.  “I will do whatever the Great Royal Wife requires of me,” she said, her voice sad and soft.  “Always.”

Hatshepsut withdrew her hand from Iset's nape.  She could still feel the smoothness of the girl's skin singing along the length of her fingers, whispering in the tingle of her palm.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“You look well,” Thutmose said from his throne.  “I haven't seen you without a scowl on your face for months.”

Hatshepsut came to a halt at the foot of the dais.  All about her, stewards moved in their characteristic flurry, a proficient and unceasing restlessness, the shuffling of scrolls organized and re-organized, the murmur of their voices directing scribes, the bustling preparation of the great hall for the morning's audiences.  She smiled up at her husband.  Today would be a good day.  Wadjetefni had informed her as she took a light morning meal that Ineni had returned, and that he bore many fine gifts from Retjenu in thanks for her intervention.  She climbed the steps to her throne and settled herself, neatening the pleats of her white gown. 

Thutmose looked well himself, if truth be told.  His skin was pleasingly dark from so much time spent on the river.  He had shed a little of his accustomed weight.  His face was still boyishly round, but his shoulders were beginning to broaden, his back beginning to harden with a hint of muscle.

“Have you been hauling lines on your ship?  You look stronger than when I saw you last.”

“It's the bow,” he said.  “I have been hunting whenever I can.  I always find the time for a hunt, between visiting this sepat or that, or seeing to the garrisons.”

Scurrying about Egypt, avoiding the great hall, the scrolls to be signed, the appointments to be made.  No matter.  Today would bring riches from Retjenu.  She would not allow Thutmose's ignorance to rile her on such a fine and auspicious morning.

“Have you heard the news, husband?  Your envoy returns today from his mission.”

“What envoy?  What mission?”

“The famine in Retjenu.  I sent grain in your name.  Surely you heard.”

“Oh – that.  I still do not understand why you bothered.  Retjenu is full of filthy herders and I cannot see how it benefits Egypt to keep them fed.  They are poor and arrogant, and too disorganized to stop the Heqa-Khasewet marching right through their country and into ours.  It seems a waste of grain to me.”

Hatshepsut swallowed a sigh.  “I am sure Mighty Horus is right.  All the same, it is no harm to keep Retjenu on friendly terms.”

The morning session began.  Overseers brought their tallies before the throne; messengers from far-flung sepats carried announcements of important marriages and deaths; and within minutes, Thutmose was fidgeting and sighing.  Hatshepsut quietly offered, here and there, a crucial addendum to the decrees he dictated to his troop of scribes: more genteel wording, the softening of his edicts with appropriate sops to this noble's imagined importance or that noble's true influence.  At last, just as she was beginning to feel every bit as restless as the Pharaoh, Wadjetefni bowed Ineni into the hall.

He made his way down the length of the great hall with a stately confidence, trailing six or seven men who bore heaps of orange- and dun-colored skins across their arms.  At the foot of the throne he bowed low.  His men stacked the skins neatly before Thutmose, who eyed them skeptically for a moment, then gestured to a steward to count and record the gift.

“Mighty Horus,” Ineni said.  “Fine pelts of leopard from Retjenu, and the pelts of great fierce cats from far to the north.  See, they are striped, gold and black – very rare.  The Retjenu kings acquire these pelts in trade, Majesty, with the Greeks, who in turn get them from savage tribes far to the east of their lands.  The kings of Retjenu gave every last one of their valuable pelts to Mighty Horus in thanks for his intervention.  A costly gift, but offered gratefully.  Your timely aid saved their children from starvation.”

“Skins,” Thutmose said, sounding vague and confused.  “What in Amun's name does Egypt need with cat skins?”

Hatshepsut cleared her throat.  “The throne recognizes what a dear gift the Retjenu have sent, though the Pharaoh would gladly feed their children again without repayment.”  She blinked at the heap of pelts.  It rather confused her, too.  As rare as the striped skins were, they still seemed a paltry show of thanks.  She felt the breeze had fallen right out of her ship's sail.

Thutmose turned to her.  “I told you there was no use in helping Retjenu.  They lack the comprehension of civilized men.  Is there any other business for the throne?  No?  Then we shall retire.  Wadjetefni, send the leopard skins to the Temple of Amun.  The priests are fond of dressing like leopards.  The striped skins shall go to my own rooms.  I shall have my Overseer of the Needle turn them into carpets for my bed chamber.  I'll recall the gratitude of Retjenu every time I walk across them.”  The Pharaoh sprang from his throne eager as a schoolboy set free from lessons, and descended the dais two steps at a time.  His personal guard crowded behind him, ; Iblocking his retreating back from Hatshepsut's view.

She made her way back to her own apartments, pondering the Retjenu, Nehesi beside her.  “I meant what I said,” she told him.  “I would gladly have fed the Retjenu without any repayment.  But a few armfuls of skins seems a strange gift of thanks.”

“Perhaps Thutmose is right.  There is no accounting for a people like those – desert dwellers, sheep herders.  Pah!”

“Don't ever say those words in my hearing again,” she said lightly, teasing.  “'Thutmose is right.'  I ought to have you flogged!”

They had reached her chamber door.  She could hear her ladies within: a chorus of delighted squeals, disbelieving laughter, the astonished clapping of hands.  She hesitated, glanced up at Nehesi.

Ineni's smooth voice carried across an open courtyard.  “Great Lady!  A moment, if you please.”  The steward hurried toward them, his hands outstretched in supplication.  “Forgive me, Great Lady.  I was not truthful in the great hall.  But I would not have risked embarrassing the Pharaoh; I am sure you understand.”

“I do not understand,” she said, a bit sharply.  “What is this all about?”

“I had it all delivered to your personal chambers, seeing as how the Retjenu meant it for you especially, and no one else.”

Nehesi frowned, wary, but opened the door at her gesture.

Never before had she seen such a tribute of riches.  It was spread all across her anteroom: bolts of fine-woven wool, dyed in every color she could imagine, including the deep, evening-sky violet so prized by the people of Retjenu; boxes of polished stones, turquoise, lapis, quartz, jasper, winking in the light that fell in even golden shafts from the windcatchers; sacks of precious resins, their scent rich and alluring; exotic spices, necklaces, rings, musical instruments she could not name.  And casks – stacks of them – filled with silver in every form: discs strung on leather thongs, statuettes of gods and animals, the bowls of lamps and incense burners.  Her women giggled as they sorted through the goods, trying on the jewelry, draping themselves in fine cloth.

“The kings of Retjenu instructed me most sternly,” Ineni said, “to deliver these goods to the Great Royal Wife.  The man they sent – the envoy; you recall him – was quick to sing your praises to his leaders, Great Lady.  I did not feel it necessary to force Thutmose's name into the matter, though I did find it prudent, you will understand, to separate a portion of the gift for His Majesty.”

“Yes,” Hatshepsut said, somewhat dazzled by the silver.  She approached an open cask and lifted a fist-sized statue of a bull.  It was heavy for its size – solid silver, not plated wood.
 
“Retjenu has certainly demonstrated its gratitude.”

Ineni glanced at her women, at Nehesi, and his mouth closed tightly.font>

She stepped well away from her servants and beckoned him near.  “You took a great risk in – how did you put it?  Not forcing Thutmose's name in the matter.  Why?”

“In truth, I obeyed the instincts of my own loyalties.  You know I served your mother.  I was...her most faithful servant, Great Lady.  Because I feel such affection for her, I also feel it for you.  I hope I do not step out of my place in admitting as much.  I am a steward to the throne and bound to serve the king, and I will ever be his faithful man.  But that is duty.  For you, I will go beyond duty.”

For Ahmose, he will go beyond duty.  No matter; I will take my allies wherever I may find them.
  She nodded.  “I am grateful, for more than you know.  This wealth was sorely needed, Master Ineni.  Amun's granaries overflow, but grain is not as useful a currency as silver.  Months ago I wished for a way to strengthen the southern border against the Kushites.  My husband did nothing while a weak garrison struggled to throw back Kushite raiders.  The gods have answered my wish – the gods and you, Ineni.  I have more work for you, it seems.  You will take the better part of this treasure and go south, to the garrison at the fourth cataract of the river.  It is a poor fortress from all I hear, and Thutmose has shown no urgency to improve it.  Trade these goods as you go south.  Get what goods and workers you will need to shore up the garrison.  Use the silver to tempt young men into joining the army, if you must.  But our outpost in Kush must be improved.  I will not allow another spate of raids – not the sort we had last year.”