Warrior King, page 9
I cannot lose my eldest son, not after losing Tao.
“Mother.” Kamose’s stern whisper cut through her thoughts.
She found his eyes, unsure of what he had been saying. The others in the room stared at her to respond, but what had been asked?
Her mouth opened, but she didn’t know what to say. Her mother’s disappointed snort sailed through her nostrils, and Ahhotep clenched her teeth at her second significant mistake that day.
Kamose smiled at her, studying her worried face. “What do you suggest we do if we lose Buhen with the Medjay, with the horses?”
Her brow furrowed as she rushed to speak. “Well, Prince Tetian would be sure to make a case that the divinely appointed should come from his nome, the richest nome, and the other princes might agree at that point.”
Tetisheri cleared her throat, and Ahhotep slowly blinked at what demeaning remark she would utter.
“Then it seems you have a problem, God’s Mother,” Tetisheri said. She paused, waiting for any to answer her, but none did. “You must consolidate power in the throne, not the princes.”
Ahhotep slid her gaze to her mother in annoyance. Her thoughts raced at what to say to rebuke the older woman. She knew that was what needed to be done. Everyone knew that. But “how?” was the question.
“It would seem so, Great Wife of my father,” Ahhotep said and pressed her lips into a thin line after the contempt-filled comment was made.
The others in the room shifted in their seats at her odd behavior and blatant disrespect of Tetisheri.
Third mistake. I wish this day to end, Ahhotep thought. I cannot stand it anymore.
She stood up and glanced at her son. “As I continue my former suggestion: to consolidate power and keep the crown where it is supposed to be, I propose you name a coregent.”
“But I have no son,” Kamose said with a slight shake of his head. His hand moved to cover the recent scar from the Kushite’s spear.
Ahhotep’s face fell, for he knew the motivation behind her proposal. “Then name your brother as Coregent and Hereditary Prince so the crown will go to him without an heir. And if you”—she swallowed the fear and the words she did not want to speak—“there will not be a rush for the crown.”
A wave of doubt crossed his eyes, and his fingers dug into the muscle on his arm. His voice was broken. “You believe I will be killed as Father?”
“No,” she whispered with a shake of her head. A warm, pressed smile beamed on her lips, but her eyes remained full of fear. Her heart broke at her son’s realization of her lack of faith in his future. “I believe you will retake Buhen. I believe the princes will rejoin our campaigns once you gain victory in Kerma and Kush.” She blinked back the coming tears, knowing her son could see through her facade. So, she came out with the truth. What was a fourth mistake after having made three already?
“But King Kamose, I am fearful you will be returned to me as your father. He had four sons, and you have none. Such a gap in the bloodline will surely divide the princes even more. Tetian will seize the throne for Ta-Seti. Name a coregent, so if you perish,”—a tear escaped down her cheek—“and I pray to Horus to keep you from harm,” she added. “Unrest will not become us in your absence among the living.”
The bags under his eyes grew dark in the moment, and his tight shoulders released their burdens. “As you wish, Mother,” he whispered, defeated. “I shall name Prince Ahmose as my Coregent and Hereditary Prince.”
Her heart ached, wishing to hold him as if he were a child. To tell him, she did not want him to think about this life’s end at such a young age. To tell him, her heart would shrivel and die should he return home like his father.
But she remained silent as he stood up to make his decree. “Mitry, royal scribe—declare an Appearance of the King ceremony and feast in Waset at the temple of Amun. Prince Ahmose, the King’s brother, will be named Coregent before The Wild Bull sets sail for Buhen. To seal his divine appointment if he is to become sole regent, he shall marry my daughter, Sitkamose.” When he finished, his gaze fell to the floor. “It is settled then. The Medjay are to fight at Buhen. The horses shall come with us, but we shall leave the chariots. My brother shall be Coregent.” He nodded and glanced at his mother. His eyes told her it was done.
“I must renew my strength,” he whispered, indicating his need for rest and sleep. He left without another word, and soon the others followed, but Ahhotep sat back down and remained seated.
When everyone else had left the council room, Tetisheri placed a hand on her shoulder and peered down at her from a lifted head. “You surprised me, Ahhotep. It was what was needed. I believe Ahmose-Nefertari should not marry Kamose until we know he shall come back alive. Ahmose may need a competent and healthy Chief Wife given the consistent illnesses overtaking Sitkamose.”
The burn in the back of Ahhotep’s eyes forced her to avert her gaze from her mother’s. “But Kamose is defeated. I have stripped him of any faith he thought I had for him.”
Tetisheri chuckled as if any redemption Ahhotep had gained was now lost on her. “He is a grown man. He will overcome without his mother’s coddling.” She whisked her hand away as if Ahhotep’s comment had caused her to second-guess her comforting and short-lived praise. “Now, sleep well this night. We would not want you to make any further mistakes with the princes or the council. Next time, you should control your anger and keep your ears open to what the King says.”
Ahhotep shook her head at Mother’s scolding. “Yes, Mother,” she ground out.
Tetisheri moved toward the door. “And, Ahhotep,” she said before exiting. “Next time you speak to me in front of the council, there will be no trace of derision in your voice.” They locked eyes as Tetisheri’s last stab of the day sunk deep into Ahhotep’s heart. A hardened glare overcame Tetisheri’s eyes. “Do not think ill of me, child. I do what I do for the crown, for this family. Because one day, I will be in the Field of Reeds, and you will be left by yourself, making the hard decisions on what is best for Kemet.” With nothing more to say, she vanished through the doorway.
Another tear slid out of Ahhotep’s eye, and she quickly wiped it away. Her maidservants, Nena and Meret, were outside the council room waiting for her. But a tall and thick shadow darkened the doorway.
Now, who comes to mock me?
“God’s Mother.” It was Baba.
She shifted in her seat and assumed he was not there to mock. “Not now, Admiral,” she said, her voice cracking, unable to keep her tears from falling one after another and not wishing him to see it.
But he came in anyway and slipped next to her at the table. “Forgive me, God’s Mother, for my disobedience.” He placed his hand beside hers, careful not to touch the royal flesh.
She shook her head, not knowing what to say, but she was thankful for his company. They had shared understanding glances thus far but also similar pains. The most recent sting to her heart, he would not understand, but she spoke it anyway. “I have hurt my son, Admiral.”
He winced. “No, you did what was needed to ensure the crown stayed where it was meant to be.” A sympathetic smile arose on his lips, and his eyes were as warm as the night.
“I have still hurt him. Please make sure he comes home to me alive,” she whispered, knowing it could be an impossible promise to keep. The reassurance was what she needed. He had come home when Tao had not, but neither had his general or admiral. It had been a devastating loss. She brushed a tear from her eye, remembering all those she hoped were in the Field of Reeds. “Please bring him home alive,” she repeated.
Baba nodded and, after a moment, said, “I will do everything in my power to make sure King Kamose comes back to Waset alive.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. His presence gave her a sense of comfort. It had been years since a man was as close to her as Baba was then. She wished to hold his hand and squeeze in friendship if nothing else, hoping the future would bring better prosperity than it had been giving them. What good was a king over a poor land?
She pulled her hand away to not give in to her temptation. His arm slipped back to his side, and he sat up straight, regathering his professional posture.
A sigh came out, and she covered her mouth, wanting to tell him why she refused him, but instead said, “My behavior was unacceptable this evening at the feast and in the council meeting. I have no excuse.”
He relaxed his shoulders at her invitation to converse more. “You are God’s Mother. You have no need for excuses. Besides, Prince Paser of Herui defended your honor, stating it was the anniversary of the slaying of King Seqenenre Tao and condemned Tetian for speaking harshly to the King and his family. Paser will be an ally if we fail with Buhen.” Her gaze turned inward, imagining her son’s mangled body. “The King’s council knows you, God’s Mother. They know you love your son. They know how hard it was to propose what you did to him, but it was needed to keep the peace should something ill befall King Kamose. But our King is strong and brave. The gods are with him. He will succeed.”
She looked at him with fresh tears brimming while trying to put away the fears of losing Kamose. “Thank you once again, Admiral.”
Baba held her gaze with eyes as dark and endless as a starless night; they longed for her to call him by his name before they momentarily dipped to her lips.
It was then she assumed his true feelings for her.
He spoke with a softness reserved for her. “You do not need to thank me.”
She traced his face with her eyes, and he, hers in a silent exchange. Would she remove the boundary between them?
“I have every need to thank you, my friend.” She tested her assumptions by calling him a friend.
He beamed.
A rush overpowered her senses at his response, but it lessened as soon as it had come when she remembered her place. “You have comforted me many times. I shall never forget Admiral Baba, friend to God’s Mother.” She stood up, as did he. “Shall you walk me to the door?” she asked in her royal demeanor.
“It would be my honor,” he said with a slight bow and escorted her from the council room with a contented gleam in his eyes.
10
A TIME OF DOUBT | AHMOSE
SEDJEFATAWY, 1570 BC
Instead of a royal marriage feast, there would be a coronation. The princes ate a lavish morning meal and entered the palace courtyard with other nobles of the land who had traveled through the decan to be at the coronation. Only the princes, the priesthood, the royal family, and guards were allowed to enter the pillared throne room.
Ahmose stood in his brother’s splendor next to the throne. Golden leather sandals adorned his feet, and a sash of gold and silver beads wrapped his waist and held his royal shendyt. A heavy pectoral collar rested over his shoulders. Its polished blue and gold beads reflected the morning sun and torchlight into his eyes. His bald head, save for the braided sidelock above his ear, had been oiled to a radiant shine by his steward, Bakaa.
Kamose stood beside him, wearing the blue Khepresh crown to show he was endowed with divinity and protection from the gods.
I was never to be king, Ahmose thought as Thuty, the First Prophet of Amun, and Minmontu, the Second Prophet of Amun, advanced toward him down the long aisle before the throne. Between them, Pahemred, the First Prophet of Ptah, walked with a solemn face holding the great white crown of the Upper, the Hedjet.
Why am I being crowned Coregent and named Hereditary Prince? Ahmose asked himself as he scanned those in attendance. Kamose is young and healthy. He can still have a son. Why would he give me the crown?
All the princes’ beady eyes fell upon him, the ten-year-old boy, and his soon-to-be brides: Sitkamose, and Henuttamehu, his half-sister, daughter of his mother’s sister, Inhapi. His marriage to Sitkamose would seal his right to rule through the King. His marriage to Henuttamehu would further prove his divine appointment.
He scanned his siblings until he came upon Ahmose-Nefertari and wondered why his brother had chosen not to marry her. Kamose was making odd decisions. Perhaps, he decided not to marry Ahmose-Nefertari because there was only time for one celebration: a coronation rather than a marriage feast.
Ahmose’s gaze shifted past Pahemred, holding the crown, to the princes who stood with arms crossed over their chests and furrowed brows. He gulped and took a shaky breath. He shifted on his feet, but his brother whispered to him out of the side of his mouth, “Be still, brother. Do not let them see your worry.”
He stilled his feet and knees and snapped his gaze back to Pahemred. His stomach rumbled, and his mouth watered at the coming evening feast after his coronation. The year of rites and ceremonies that usually came before the crowning had been skipped because his brother needed to leave for Buhen, just as it had been skipped for Kamose since their father came home slain.
It is not hard to understand why the princes are not impressed with us, Ahmose reasoned as Pahemred lifted the tall royal white crown and recited the creator god Ptah’s responsibilities and blessings for the King. Thuty and Minmontu lifted their heads to the sunlight falling from the wall vents of the throne room and chanted the same from Amun and Re.
Ahmose’s eyes bounced between the three, waiting to see who would finish first. Their words became faster and faster until Pahemred jolted the crown in the air, silencing the throne room. His chin lowered until his red-shot eyes connected with Ahmose.
“The Lord of Strength is Re, Ahmose—will you give your youth renewed by the gods to dedicate your life to the unification of the Lower and the Upper? Will you give your power to protect this land against all foes? Will you honor your vitality before Amun and Re as a contract between the divine and men?”
Ahmose nodded and cleared his throat, ready to speak the words memorized in the preceding decan. He had already shot the four arrows in the four directions that morning to symbolize his dominion and power over the earth as granted by the gods. There had been no ill signs to say the gods disapproved of him. Yet his stomach was still unsettled, and his hands were clammy.
“I.” The single word croaked in his throat. He licked his dry lips to try again and kept his eyes on Pahemred to ignore the doubtful stares of the princes.
“I, The Lord of Strength is Re, Ahmose, dedicate my life to the unification of the Lower and the Upper.”
Visions of his father flashed in memory, but he swallowed them back and continued: “I give my power in the protection of Kemet against all foes, and I shall pursue any attacker until Kemet is victorious. I honor the divine’s contract with man, and when my ba and ka are released to the next life, I shall become one with Re aboard his ship so the sun may rise again the next day.”
I was never to be king, he thought, but his lips spoke in a perfect speech:
“This I honor, my oath. This I decree.”
And with the sacred oath given, Pahemred placed the Hedjet atop his head, carefully sliding the sidelock underneath its tall hollow cylinder. Its leather band fit tightly over his brow and nape and above his ears. Pahemred removed his hands, and the reed and leather crown wobbled despite the fit. Ahmose tightened every muscle in his body to ensure the crown did not move. The formed ball atop the cylindrical crown did nothing to ease the tingles down his spine.
He was now King Coregent. Ahmose scanned the princes before him. Some seemed apathetic, their face locked in an expressionless haze. Some stared with a smile of awe and pride, yet others glared at him with a deathly gaze.
The dancers twirled before them at the clash of drums, their skirts draped high on their thighs and low beneath their navels as belts. The shockwave of the reverberation of the drumbeat rattled Ahmose’s teeth. The dancers’ floral collars drooped low on their chest, and their wigs of long black hair fell in thick braids to the waist. The waft of sweet perfume swept past Ahmose as a dancer twirled beneath the dais.
The sistrum musicians advanced, clad in sheer yellow drapes over their shoulders and tucked into thick belts wrapped around their hips. The whistling sistrum was like that of the Nile reeds blowing in the wind. And the beating drum’s hard pound sounded like the rhythmic lap of the Nile’s water.
Three claps and the dancers twirled and released a chanting cry—no discernible word—but rather a shout of joy and peace that the divine line of Kings would continue in this life.
The company traveled to the temple of Amun in the city of Waset south of Sedjefatawy and Per-djed-ken.
The courtyard of the temple of Amun bustled with the people of Waset and those who could afford to travel from the surrounding nomes.
God’s Mouth, the man who walked and spoke ahead of Ahmose and Kamose, announced their names: “Kamose, Given Life, and Ahmose, Given Life—May they live forever.”
They made their way through the crowds—guards made a clear path for them until they walked through the pillars of the outer temple.
The First Prophet of Amun, Thuty, opened the doors of the long, narrow inner sanctum and led Kamose and Ahmose within the god’s abode. The doors quickly closed behind them to lock out the rest of the world. The shift of broad daylight to the closed-off dark inner sanctum caused Ahmose to pause. His eyes adjusted with the small pillars of haze-like illumination from the light holes in the roof. Beyond them sat the statue of Amun upon an altar in the back of the freshly-cleaned room. The smell of cedar filled Ahmose’s nostrils from the burning incense next to the god. A single white stream of smoke ebbed and flowed through the sanctum’s pillars of light.
Thuty laid a grain offering at the feet of the statue and chanted the ancient rites to open the mouth of the god. He bowed his head and took a few steps back when it was finished.
“My Kings,” Thuty said in a throaty whisper as he shuffled to the doors.
Ahmose’s heart beat hard in his ears. His eyes were to the floor, and his breath came in random spurts. Never had he been in the presence of Amun before. Kamose went before the statue and knelt to both knees, and Ahmose did the same, eyes still to the ground. Kamose brought his hands up to face the god, and Ahmose imitated. Kamose’s head dipped, and his back bowed until his face and hands paralleled the floor. Ahmose, in turn, did the same, but the Hedjet wobbled again. He turned his head to keep it secured and hoped Amun did not notice.
