The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh by Marié Heese Page B

grown than when she took care of me as nurse, but she loved me dearly and still assumed that she could come to me without an invitation, as she did that night.
    Her neat little figure, now half a head shorter than me, was still upright and her wig was stiff and black, but her face was wizened as a fig left to dry in the sun and she had lost more teeth.
    “I brought you something,” she said, smiling slyly. “You must sleep with it beneath your mattress, so that Egypt may have an heir.”
    “Are you not a little precipitate?” I asked. “I am not wed yet and already you would have me bear a child?”
    “The sooner the better,” said Inet, nodding to herself. “Else it will be the little Thutmose born to Isis, and he does not have the pure blood royal. That is not good. Here, take it.” She thrust her gift at me. It was a small amulet, shaped like Taueret, the hippopotamus goddess of fertility. I took it and held her hand between mine. She stared into my eyes. “You are not ignorant of the marriage bed, are you, my child?”
    “No, I am not,” I said. “My mother spoke to me before she became ill. Besides, I have seen mating in the Royal Zoo.”
    “Not quite what one would hope for as regards the royal nuptial couch,” remarked Inet dryly. “Yes, I was married once,” she answered my unspoken question. “But my husband died young, of snakebite, and then my cousin Hapuseneb found me the position as Royal Nurse. It has been a good life.” She patted my hand. “Be happy,” she said, her black eyes filling with tears. “Be happy, little one.”
    In truth, I was quite expecting to be at least content. I had always liked my half-brother, and he had ever been kind to me. Also I had always known that I was promised to him and that it was for the good of Khemet that I should be his wife. Yet when the wedding feast was over and he escorted me into his rooms, I did feel nervous. What if it was painful? What if I hated what he did to me? What if I was no good as a wife? I was trembling a little when we entered his bedroom together.
    It was a cool and airy room next to a courtyard in which a fountain splashed. The bed was hung with curtains of the finest white linen; tall alabaster vases held lotus blooms that scented the night air sweetly. The walls were painted with flowers and leaves, ducks and fish, in deep greens, blues and turquoises, that seemed to swim in the soft light of small oil lamps glowing on little tables. Woven rush matting piled with plump cushions covered the tiled floor.
    Thutmose settled down on a heap against the wall and pulled me down beside him. “Come here,” he said, positioning me on his lap so that his left arm cradled me against his shoulder. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”
    I obeyed, thinking: Whatever he wants, you must do now. He is your husband. Whatever … I steeled myself. And found myself eating a pink fig. “Oh!” I said. “My favourite!” Together we finished a small bowl of them. When he leaned forwards to kiss me gently on the lips, he tasted of figs and honey. As he continued to move his mouth stickily against mine, he began to caress my knees. The rich scent of myrrh filled the room and there was a creamy smoothness on my skin. I sniffed, inhaling the delicious perfume.
    “Relax,” he murmured. “It is an unguent. Do you like it?”
    “Mmmmmm.” I was feeling slightly dizzy, having drunk more wine than I was used to. I settled into his arms. My robe fell open. I wasn’t wearing anything else beneath it.
    He continued to smooth the unguent rhythmically, hypnotically, over my knees and up over my thighs. I let my knees fall slightly apart. He stroked me like a cat. Up his hand moved, ever higher. Ah, he was getting close. Close to the secret place between my legs, the spot that could engender so much pleasure. I had discovered it myself some years ago, but I was not sure whether all girls had such a thing or whether it was only me. If they all did …