Queen of the Heavens Page 13

  Sety returned from the palace later that day to find me in a particularly good mood.

  “What did the physician say?” he asked.

  “He told me I have a condition common to most women at some time in their lives,” I answered. I embraced Sety, rested my head on his chest, looked up and smiled. “We are to have a child.”

  Sety was as shocked to hear the news as I, though given the depth of our passion, there was no reason either of us should have been surprised. Sety hugged me tightly.

  “Our son will be a great Pharaoh and a brave warrior,” he proclaimed.

  “Typical of a man,” I said. “My darling, the son you so desire may be a daughter.”

  My remark deflated Sety, though just a bit.

  “Of course,” he stammered. “In which case she’ll be a beautiful Princess, and we’ll try again to have a Prince.”

  “Don’t worry, my husband. Now or later, I’ll give you a son to inherit the throne.”

  That night Sety and I slept next to each other, our affection deepened by the knowledge that a new life was forming inside me.

  “Because of the child, may I make love to you?” Sety asked.

  “Yes, but be gentle.”

  Sety was, and the lovemaking we shared was sublime.

  Sety left the next morning for the palace looking stronger and more confident than I had ever seen him. His demeanor stood in marked contrast to mine, since I again was ill. I took the tonic prescribed by the physician and accepted my discomfort without complaint now that I knew the reason for it.

  Later in the day, Ramesses, accompanied by a half-dozen members of the Royal Guard, came by chariot to visit me.

  “Sety told me the good news,” Ramesses said. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  “Thank you, but I have all I need,” I answered.

  “Take care not to do too much. You must direct your strength to the child within you.”

  “I will, but I can’t neglect the affairs of your estates.”

  “My estates are of little consequence when compared to your pregnancy. Within you develops the future of Egypt.”

  The following afternoon, I was summoned to the royal palace by Lord Harenhab, who sent a chariot to fetch me.

  “Tuya my dear, Sety and Ramesses told me the good news,” Harenhab said after I had bowed before him.

  “I’m very excited, My Lord,” I replied, pleased by the royal attention.

  Is there anything I can do for you?” Harenhab asked.

  In answer to the same question I told Ramesses “no,” but with the grandfatherly Pharaoh I felt more comfortable asking for favors.

  “Yes, My Lord. I request your prayers, and the prayers of the priests and priestesses throughout the land that the child be a boy so he might someday inherit the throne. This would mean so much to Egypt.”

  “This shall be done, though the Neters may have their own opinion on whether the child should be a boy or a girl,” said a smiling Harenhab.

  “Scribe,” he shouted. A short, old but spry man came from an anteroom with writing box and papyrus in hand and sat down at a small table. “Send a decree in my name to the temples in Memphis, Heliopolis, Thebes and beyond ordering the priests and priestesses to beseech Ra, Amun and Maat, Isis and Osiris, Ptah and Sekhmet that Tuya’s child be a boy. Be quick about it. I want the messengers to leave before nightfall.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” I said.

  “What else would you like, Tuya?”

  “Nothing. I have all the material things I need to be comfortable. I ask only for prayers.”

  “You will have them, my dear, in abundance.”

  The next few months passed quickly for me. While Harenhab, Ramesses and the court returned to Thebes, I decided not to travel in my condition, and to remain in Memphis. Sety chose to stay with me, though he spent most of his time away from the city, familiarizing himself with the military installations, granaries and other government facilities in the delta. Given my developing condition, our passions ceased, and Sety found release with concubines. Yet, our love seemed to grow stronger, knowing that together we would raise to maturity a future ruler of Egypt.

  We ordered clothing to be made for the child, and found blocks and balls and other toys with which he might play. I even located the wooden lioness from my childhood, whose jaw opened and closed by pulling on a string.

  One day, Sety brought home a tiny bow with an arrow.

  “I had a craftsman at the armory make it for our son,” he said.

  I was aghast. “He’ll lose an eye, or a playmate will lose an eye,” I shouted.

  My tone surprised my husband, as I reacted like a lioness protecting a cub.

  “You worry too much, Tuya. The arrow has no tip,” Sety said.

  “It’s a mother’s job to worry. Obviously fathers do not,” I replied, raising my voice even higher. “The arrow still can hurt a child.”

  “Our son will be a warrior. He must learn early how to handle a bow and arrow,” Sety snapped back.

  “At least let him learn to walk first, or will you have him driving a chariot before his first birthday?”

  “I don’t expect him to hit anything with the arrow. I just want him to learn to be comfortable handling the weapon. I want him to feel like a bow is a part of his body, like an arm or a leg. In battle such a feeling could save his life.”

  I knew there was truth in Sety’s words, but this didn’t override my concern for my child’s safety.

  “Then he can keep the bow to play with, but not the arrow,” I declared.

  Sety knew he was defenseless when faced with the wrath of a mother so he accepted my compromise. “All right, Tuya, but our son will face many enemies and the better he is at handling his weapons the better the chances he will survive.”

  I shared Sety’s desire for our son to be a great warrior, but I also wanted his warrior instincts to be tempered by gentle pursuits.

  “He will be a scholar,” I informed Mother during one of her visits to the estate. “He’ll learn the secrets of temple building that Lord Harenhab speaks about. He’ll study mathematics and hieroglyphs. He’ll read all of the sacred texts, and learn the techniques of transcendence so that he might converse directly with the gods.”

  “You expect a lot of him,” Mother said.

  “As you expected a lot of me. It’s because of Father and you that I can read and write as well as any man.”

  “You had special gifts.”

  “My son will have special gifts as well. The Neters will make certain of that.”

  To cultivate those gifts, I placed statues of Thoth and Sekhmet in what would be my son’s room. The combination of Thoth’s wisdom and knowledge and Sekhmet’s physical strength would serve a future Pharaoh well.

  As the day of birth approached, the joy shared by Sety and me increased.

  “He’s kicking. Come feel,” I said one evening to my husband. Sety placed his hand on my womb.

  “He’s strong and he can’t wait to get out. How soon will it be?” Sety asked.

  “The court midwife says another thirty days, but the way he feels, it may be sooner.”

  That evening, in the state between waking and sleeping, the violet hue appeared and I heard Isis’ voice.

  “You are correct,” Isis said. “The child will arrive sooner than expected.”

  I’m excited about being a mother, Isis.

  “It is an exciting time, but don’t anticipate the future, or how you will feel.”

  Don’t all women feel joy when they hold their first child?

  “Birth carries great pain.”

  The act of love carried great pain the first time I was with Sety. I had to know pain to feel pleasure.

  “That is so. Life brings both. Do not question the pain, or the pleasure, for they are one. Whatever happens, Tuya, never doubt the love of the divine, or that all is as it should be.”

  I drifted into an uneasy sleep and awoke the next morning confused and
troubled. What was Isis talking about? I asked myself. I have all the material things I need. I’m loved by my husband, my parents, and even by the Pharaoh. I carry a child who will receive my love, and Isis would never allow tragedy to befall my family or me. All is perfect. All is bliss.

  For the next few days, I spent much time meditating as I directed my energies inward to help nourish my child’s body and spirit. Twice daily, in the morning and evening, I lit frankincense before Thoth and Sekhmet, and prayed to the god and goddess that the child develop with intelligence and strength. I had no doubt the child would carry with him the love of Isis. How could he not, since Isis was within me?

  Then one morning, while performing the ritual to Thoth and Sekhmet, my water broke quite unexpectedly and I began to feel the contractions and pain that was an unavoidable part of the arrival of a new being to the earthly realm. A servant rushed to the palace to summon the court midwife. Another ran to fetch my mother. A soldier left by chariot to notify Sety, but my husband was a day’s ride away, inspecting a small fort in the desert past the Giza Pyramids. Lord Harenhab and Ramesses, who had just returned from Thebes, also were informed of the impending birth.

  “The pain is unbearable,” I said to Mother as she sat at my bedside holding my hand.

  “Breathe deeply, my child. You’ll endure this and know joy, just as I did when you were born.”

  I squeezed Mother’s hand so hard I must have hurt her. Isis, help me, I said to the Queen of the Heavens without speaking the words, but there was no reply, and no remittance in the pain.

  Perspiration poured from me, and under my breath I cursed Sety for sharing the joy of conceiving the child, but not the pain of delivering it.

  My head servant Nebet dampened my forehead with a wet cloth. Two other servants fanned me with ostrich feathers and a third stood by with a switch to shoo away flies. In a corner of the room, three priestesses who served the goddess Hathor sat against a wall, chanting incantations to keep away the demons.

  The midwife sat down next to me, pulled up my linen gown, applied a sandalwood oil to my abdomen and began massaging the opening from which my child would emerge. As the opening grew larger, the pain increased.

  “Mother,” I cried, writhing in agony, “I can’t go through with this.”

  “You must,” Mother said. “You have no choice.”

  “No, no, no!” I shouted in panic as the pain intensified and the child began to stir.

  “Settle down,” the midwife shouted at me as if I were a commoner. “Stay as calm as you can or you’ll hurt your child.”

  The harsh words shocked the panic out of me. The last thing I wanted was to hurt my son, so I used all of my willpower to subdue my violent movements.

  “Good, My Lady. You’re doing fine,” the midwife said, “but now it’s time for you to do even more.”

  At her signal, Mother and Nebet helped me to the nearby birthing stool built from bricks. They supported me, one on each side, as I sat down on the lamb’s skin covering the hard seat, carved out in a crescent so the child could drop from my sacred place directly into the midwife’s hands.

  “Push with your belly,” the midwife ordered.

  I did as commanded, though I felt like I was being torn in two.

  “The head has come out,” the midwife said at last. “Now push with all your might.”

  I gritted my teeth, and pushed again and again and again, until the infant’s whole body finally emerged from darkness into the light of earthly existence.

  “It’s a boy,” the midwife announced in a loud voice, which caused a gleeful titter among those in the room.

  My grimace quickly turned into a labored smile. All is well. All is as it should be, I said to myself as my imagination produced fleeting images of my son.

  First, I saw him as a healthy and handsome child playing along the Nile with friends. He then appeared as an adolescent learning from a scribe how to read and write. For an instant, he was an adult, dressed in royal regalia, sitting on the throne of Egypt. Finally, I saw my son emerge as Pharaoh from the Great Temple of Amun to the cheers of his countrymen, nobles and peasants alike.

  After a short time, my thoughts returned to the present, for I sensed something was wrong. The room was too quiet.

  “Why is he not crying?” I asked Mother. She tightened her grip on my hand, which caused me even more concern. “Why is he not crying?” I asked again, frantically.

  The midwife lifted the infant by its legs and slapped his bottom but he remained silent and motionless. She slapped him again and again, but the infant did not respond. She breathed with her mouth into the infant’s nose, but his lungs would not fill on their own. The midwife handed my son to a servant, then cut the cord of life that had sustained him inside me for so many months. My life force had flowed through him, but he appeared to have no life force of his own.

  “What’s wrong? I want my son,” I said, managing as much of a shout as I could in my weakened condition.

  “He won’t breathe,” the midwife said.

  “He must breathe. My son must breathe.”

  “I’m sorry. Your son is dead.”

  My heart would not accept what I just heard.

  “No. It’s not so. Isis would not permit it.”

  “It is so, Tuya,” Mother told me as she and Nebet helped me back into bed.

  “No. I want to hold my son.”

  “It’s better that you do not. Rest my daughter. I’ll take care of you.”

  I didn’t want to rest. I wanted to rise, take the child and use my power as a healer to make him healthy and well. I tried to get up but found I could barely move. The trials of birth had depleted me, and I soon slipped into delirium. Mother stayed at my bedside for the rest of the day and throughout the night as I thrashed about, wiping my brow and administering a tonic of alcohol and honey as best she could. During one of my calmer moments, when all was dark, the violet hue again appeared and I heard Isis’ voice.

  “Rest, Tuya, and regain your strength.”

  Isis, you haven’t left me.

  “Of course not. Why would you think I had?”

  My son is dead. You wouldn’t permit this.

  “Death is a part of life, Tuya.”

  I can’t stand the anguish, Isis.

  “All humans must face times of anguish. The Neters must face them, too, as I did when Seth killed and dismembered my beloved Osiris.”

  I don’t want to feel anguish.

  “You have no choice. We must all feel it. Anguish is part of the Divine Pageant.”

  I don’t want to participate in the Pageant if I must feel this way.

  “You must participate, and you must learn always to trust, Tuya. All is divine perfection. All is as it should be.”

  I had fallen from the heights of joy to the depths of misery, and it had taken so short a time.

  I can’t live with these feelings. Take them away, I beseeched the Queen of the Heavens.

  “It is for you to do that,” Isis replied. “I will be with you, Tuya, but your trials are just beginning. As you face them, always remember that the dark forces are an illusion. They cannot triumph unless you choose to despair.”

  XVII

  My thrashing and feverish cries subsided by midday, but my grief grew worse. Mother, sitting at my bedside, lifted a bowl of fish broth to my lips. “You must eat and regain your strength.”

  I took a small sip then pushed the bowl away. “I don’t want to eat. I want to die, as my son died.”

  “You’re being selfish,” Mother said with frustration in her voice. “You’re not the first woman to lose a child, Tuya. You’ll have other children. It’s right to grieve, but you must look forward to the future.”

  Mother’s words did not move me. The future had been so bright. Now it looked so bleak. Of course other women had lost children, but other women were not me. I was a Princess whose role in the Divine Pageant was to give birth to an heir, and I had failed in my duty.

  W
hy had I failed? Why did Isis not give me the strength to heal my son? These questions haunted me, and I drifted into a light and fitful sleep, angry at both myself and the Queen of the Heavens.

  Later in the day, not long before sunset, a commotion by the doorway awakened me. I looked over to see Mother, and what appeared through my weary eyes to be an apparition, gray from head to toe. The sight of this unearthly being startled me. A demon? I wondered, before realizing it was Sety, his body covered in dust. A servant set down a basin of water and a linen cloth on a table next to him.

  “Will Tuya live? She looks terrible,” Sety said to Mother as he dipped his hands in the bowl and washed the dust from his face.

  “Of course she’ll live. She’s just sleeping,” Mother answered. “Let her rest. The death of your son was a great shock to her.”

  “And to me.”

  I wiped away the last vestiges of sleep from my eyes. “Don’t leave, Sety. I’m awake. Come by my side.”

  “I want to be with my wife, alone,” Sety insisted.

  Mother walked over to me and stroked my forehead. “I’ll be leaving you for now. Sety will take care of you. Be gentle with her,” she said, then left the room.

  I managed a slight smile. “Sety, come here and take my hand.”

  “I’ve been traveling since yesterday,” he said, drying his face and hands with the cloth. “I drove my chariot as fast as I could with the expectation I’d be holding a handsome child in my arms. Instead, I saw our son at the embalmer’s tent. I could hardly bear to look at him. He would have been a great Pharaoh, but he never had a chance at life.”

  My smile vanished. “They wouldn’t let me see him.”

  “Why did he die?”

  “I have no idea. All seemed well, but our son could not live outside my womb. Please sit next to me and take my hand.”

  This time Sety obliged, but holding his hand was like holding a fish just purchased in the market.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  My husband sat silently for a few moments. It seemed as if his soul had ventured into another realm, leaving his body stone-like.

  “Sety, what’s wrong?” I asked again. His grip on me began to tighten.