House of Rejoicing by Libbie Hawker

Author:Libbie Hawker [Hawker, Libbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Running Rabbit Press

Sitamun

Year 37 of Amunhotep,

Ruler of Waset,

Lord of Truth in the Sun,

Strong Bull Arising

The noise and clamor of the Feast of the Tail rose up to the great, soaring ceiling of the pillared hall. Sitamun pressed her back against tall, gilded throne of the King’s Great Wife. The commotion made her head spin, and slicked her body with sweat—an after-effect, she felt sure, of the day’s brutal heat, and the necessity of enduring the long heb-sed ceremony with proper, rigid composure. The smells of the feast—rich, roasted duck, the cloying honey of delicate cakes, and the salty tang of stewed fish—sickened her almost as much as the noise. The child had grown large inside her, leaving little room in her stomach for feasting. Yet even if she had any appetite, her persistent dizziness would have prevented her from eating anything at all.

There was nothing she wanted less in that moment than to sit still on her throne, watching as the Feast of the Tail raged throughout the great hall below her. She ached, both physically and deep within her worn-down heart, for the comfort of her bed, the dim stillness of her chamber, and the soothing sounds of her maid-servants whispering, their plain linen dresses rustling like reeds beside the river as they went about their light, easy duties. But she was resolved to play the part of the King’s Great Wife as well as her mother Tiy had ever played it. And that meant suffering through yet another feast, sitting silent and complacent at the Pharaoh’s side, displayed like a vase on a plinth, an unthinking, unfeeling bauble set up for the admiration of the court.

Though Amunhotep had only succeeded in performing one rite during his renewal ceremony—the raising of the spine—still the heat of the day seemed to have taken its toll on the king. He was just as hunched and dazed as he had been in the Circuit of the Sun, slouching in his throne, oblivious to everything that went on around him. But now and then, between the crashing of the musicians’ cymbals or the high, sudden bursts of laughter from the guests below, Sitamun heard the Pharaoh mutter beneath his breath.

“Renewal,” he whispered, his lips twitching and beaded with sweat. “I must renew.”

And each time he muttered, the child twisted inside Sitamun’s belly. Despite the gaiety of the music—despite the brightness of the women’s fine dresses, the colors bleeding into one another as the court ladies milled about the hall—despite the pervasive sound of laughter, Sitamun was afraid, and trembled.

Gripping the arms of her throne, she looked down into the midst of the hall. Nefertiti was there, clad in a golden robe, drifting from table to table with a bright, confident smile. Something had pleased Young Amunhotep’s wife, though Sitamun couldn’t imagine what new delight, what lucky twist of fate had Nefertiti grinning like a cat over a dish of cream. Nefertiti had been sullen in the months since her marriage, a reaction Sitamun could not understand.

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