The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh by Marié Heese Read Free Book Online

“Otherwise I would be dead. Unless, of course,” and I glanced up at her sidelong through my lashes, “you have always lied to me about it.”
    “Sitre, Great Royal Nurse, does not lie,” she said, her small black eyes narrowing to furious slits. She was own cousin to Hapuseneb and so of noble descent, although she had not been educated as he was. Sometimes she could be quite imperious.
    “So tell me. It was two years after I sailed in the coracle, wasn’t it?”
    “One,” said Inet, reluctantly. “You had four summers. In fact, it was the middle of the fourth summer of your life. The midday meal was over and everyone was resting in the heat of the day. It was extremely hot. Even your brothers were resting in their rooms.”
    “It was here, in this very palace, wasn’t it?”
    “In this very palace, right here, in hundred-gated Thebes. You and I were on this self-same portico with the stone pillars that looks out across the flower gardens.”
    “I could hear the fountains splashing and the doves murmuring in the palms. I remember that.”
    “I was resting on a wooden day-bed with cushions stuffed with wool,” went on Inet, “and a slave had been keeping me cool with an ostrich-feather fan. You lay on the floor on a thin cotton rug because the tiles were cool, and soon you fell asleep.”
    “So did you,” I said. Another reason why Inet hated to tell this tale.
    “Just for a minute,” she said, defensively. “It was so hot. And it was so quiet. Even the cicadas seemed to have gone to sleep.”
    “And the slave went away,” I said.
    “To fetch some cooled fruit juice, so he claimed. Since we would be thirsty when we awoke. And indeed, I did awaken. I am sure I had only just dropped off. But I sensed a presence,” said Inet, warming to the drama of her story. “An evil presence. An imminent danger. I looked around, but I could see no human being. And then I looked down at where you were sleeping. And in the shadows, on the edge of the portico, close, oh so close to your little sleeping head, with your child’s lock of hair falling across your face, cheeks rosy with the heat …” Inet clutched her amulet and made a sign to ward off the evil eye, her voice falling to a whisper … “there he was.”
    “Apophis,” I said, shuddering deliciously.
    Inet gulped and nodded. “Apophis,” she confirmed. The serpent god. The narrow-hooded cobra, who attempts to ambush Ra when he sails through the nether regions of the world in his solar barque.
    “Swaying from side to side,” I added.
    “Five cubits of dark evil, coiled up,” said Inet dramatically. I think that the snake grew in length with each telling of the tale, but no matter. “I was petrified,” said Inet. “I was truly turned to stone, like a statue hewn from granite with my feet planted in rock. I could not move. I could not utter.”
    “And I slept,” I said.
    “Praise be to the gods, you slept. The evil one swayed and his tongue flickered and he looked at me. I knew I looked at death. Nothing moved. And there was no sound. It was as if I had gone deaf as well as dumb.”
    “I did not move either.”
    “No, you did not move. Just breathed a little faster than usual because of the heat. And then Apophis lowered his head. And he slid forwards.” Her voice dropped even further. “Right across your body. Clear across your chest. I swear it. But you did not move. And then he slipped over the edge of the portico and he disappeared into the shadows of the apple trees and he was gone.”
    “And the slave returned with the juice,” I said.
    “He did. And then I screamed and he dropped the pitcher, which shattered on the tiles, and I rushed forward and picked you up and hugged and kissed you and you were frightened by my anguish, so you cried, and …”
    “It was general mayhem,” I said. I liked that phrase.
    “It was. But soon we all calmed down and the floor was mopped and we drank some juice.”
    “Apophis spared me for my