Read Online The Sekhmet Bed by L. M. Ironside - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: L. M. Ironside
Tags: Biographical, Historical fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, History, Genre Fiction, Ancient, Egypt, Middle Eastern, African
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shock. "No," she cried in a feeble voice. "No!" The midwives bent to hold her down. They pinioned all her limbs against the cushions, while Ahmose stroked her hair, murmuring apologies.
"You will be with Hathor soon, little mother," the old midwife said. Aiya’s cries were an agony in Ahmose's belly, an accusation in her heart.
At last they faded. Aiya lay limp and still. Ahmose looked up at the midwife. The old woman shook her head. Slowly, the women removed their hands from Aiya's limbs. From one corner of the pavilion, a harem woman began to sing a prayer of supplication to Anupu, the taker of the dead; and Renenet, fists pressed to her mouth, moaned.
Wahibra made a horror of Aiya's proud, round belly. Layer after layer of flesh split. Ahmose stared at the bands of red and yellow, exposed in the dim light of the oil lamps. Something a sick shade of blue was lying within the slit in Aiya's middle. Two of the midwives grasped it and pulled it free of the surrounding flesh, tore at its outer skin. Ahmose lurched to her feet and staggered against a lotus pillar, held it hard, willing down the bubble of nausea rising in her throat. They are like scavengers at a carcass.
And then she understood. It was the baby's caul they ripped away. One midwife inserted a slender reed into its throat, sucking and spitting the fluid from its lungs. The child’s skin was a terrible color, the blue-grey of death. Wet, red-gold hair clung to its scalp. Its little eyes were closed. The midwives rubbed and patted the child, turned it upside down by its feet and watched as cloudy water dripped from its nostrils, but still the baby did not cry, did not move. One by one they stopped their work, until finally the baby was laid at its mother's cold breast.
The song of Anupu rose again, begging mercy for this unnamed boychild who had never lived at all.
“ Hatshepsu,” Ahmose whispered. “His name is Hatshepsu.”
No one heard her.
Wahibra rose slowly from the ground. Aiya's blood had spread around the hem of his kilt. "I am sorry, my ladies," he said to the midwives. "Even had you called me sooner, I doubt this child could have been saved. The mother was just too small, too young. It is a great sadness that both were lost."
Too young , Ahmose thought. Panic seized her. She took two steps toward Aiya and her baby, then the ground slid sideways beneath her feet. She fell in a heap, head spinning, dimly aware that the harem women were leaping to her side, crowding around her.
"Let me take her," she heard Renenet say. "She knows me well."
Her arm was pulled upward painfully, laid around a plump shoulder, her wrist gripped in a firm hand. Renenet lifted her to her feet and pulled her out of the pavilion. Ahmose's legs would not work properly. She stumbled and swayed, leaning heavily against her cousin.
"That's right, my lady," Renenet said soothingly, dragging her along the path. The heat of the sun beat down, and Ahmose retched, emptying her stomach. Renenet clucked in sympathy.
After several minutes Ahmose was walking more steadily, although she made no move to take her arm from her cousin’s shoulders. Round a bend in the path, they came across Mutnofret. Her arms were folded, her head high, her face a blank stone, like Meritamun’s on the throne, like a queen’s.
As they passed, Ahmose’s eyes locked with her sister’s. She stopped, forcing Renenet to halt as well. For a long moment she stood staring into Mutnofret’s deep black eyes. The First Princess didn’t blink, just looked fearlessly at Ahmose.
Chilled, afraid, wounded, Ahmose choked on her words and staggered away.
seven
“ She could have spared me,” Ahmose said. “She didn’t have to bring me to the birthing pavilion.”
“ Calm, calm. If you upset yourself you’ll only cry, and smear your eyes.” Renenet shook out Ahmose’s
"You will be with Hathor soon, little mother," the old midwife said. Aiya’s cries were an agony in Ahmose's belly, an accusation in her heart.
At last they faded. Aiya lay limp and still. Ahmose looked up at the midwife. The old woman shook her head. Slowly, the women removed their hands from Aiya's limbs. From one corner of the pavilion, a harem woman began to sing a prayer of supplication to Anupu, the taker of the dead; and Renenet, fists pressed to her mouth, moaned.
Wahibra made a horror of Aiya's proud, round belly. Layer after layer of flesh split. Ahmose stared at the bands of red and yellow, exposed in the dim light of the oil lamps. Something a sick shade of blue was lying within the slit in Aiya's middle. Two of the midwives grasped it and pulled it free of the surrounding flesh, tore at its outer skin. Ahmose lurched to her feet and staggered against a lotus pillar, held it hard, willing down the bubble of nausea rising in her throat. They are like scavengers at a carcass.
And then she understood. It was the baby's caul they ripped away. One midwife inserted a slender reed into its throat, sucking and spitting the fluid from its lungs. The child’s skin was a terrible color, the blue-grey of death. Wet, red-gold hair clung to its scalp. Its little eyes were closed. The midwives rubbed and patted the child, turned it upside down by its feet and watched as cloudy water dripped from its nostrils, but still the baby did not cry, did not move. One by one they stopped their work, until finally the baby was laid at its mother's cold breast.
The song of Anupu rose again, begging mercy for this unnamed boychild who had never lived at all.
“ Hatshepsu,” Ahmose whispered. “His name is Hatshepsu.”
No one heard her.
Wahibra rose slowly from the ground. Aiya's blood had spread around the hem of his kilt. "I am sorry, my ladies," he said to the midwives. "Even had you called me sooner, I doubt this child could have been saved. The mother was just too small, too young. It is a great sadness that both were lost."
Too young , Ahmose thought. Panic seized her. She took two steps toward Aiya and her baby, then the ground slid sideways beneath her feet. She fell in a heap, head spinning, dimly aware that the harem women were leaping to her side, crowding around her.
"Let me take her," she heard Renenet say. "She knows me well."
Her arm was pulled upward painfully, laid around a plump shoulder, her wrist gripped in a firm hand. Renenet lifted her to her feet and pulled her out of the pavilion. Ahmose's legs would not work properly. She stumbled and swayed, leaning heavily against her cousin.
"That's right, my lady," Renenet said soothingly, dragging her along the path. The heat of the sun beat down, and Ahmose retched, emptying her stomach. Renenet clucked in sympathy.
After several minutes Ahmose was walking more steadily, although she made no move to take her arm from her cousin’s shoulders. Round a bend in the path, they came across Mutnofret. Her arms were folded, her head high, her face a blank stone, like Meritamun’s on the throne, like a queen’s.
As they passed, Ahmose’s eyes locked with her sister’s. She stopped, forcing Renenet to halt as well. For a long moment she stood staring into Mutnofret’s deep black eyes. The First Princess didn’t blink, just looked fearlessly at Ahmose.
Chilled, afraid, wounded, Ahmose choked on her words and staggered away.
seven
“ She could have spared me,” Ahmose said. “She didn’t have to bring me to the birthing pavilion.”
“ Calm, calm. If you upset yourself you’ll only cry, and smear your eyes.” Renenet shook out Ahmose’s