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“Perhaps the Queen’s visits to the Pharoah’s quarters might increase in frequency,” he suggested to Heba’s left ear, for that was where he set his gaze.
“The healers cannot be certain of the exact time of fertility, after all. Perhaps it is best to… come together nightly within a week’s window during the fertile period.”
“Are you presuming to tell your Queen and the Pharoah how to conduct our private affairs, High Priest?” Heba said quietly, all the more threatening for the softness in her tone.
Hapuseneb cleared his throat again, his eyes shifting downward and to the right.
“Of course not, your Highness.”
He paused for a bracing breath.
“But the people… they grow restless. And the powerful nobles are murmuring about the stability and continuity of the Pharoah’s rule. There are those with many strapping sons who seek to challenge you—”
“Then let them come,” Heba said, cutting him off.
“The Pharoah is in full command of the royal army.”
She should know; she made certain of it. No thanks to Thutmose, who wouldn’t know strategy if it bit him in the ass.
The military commanders would not defy her. And if they did, she had contingency plans already in place.
“We would not be forgiving to anyone who dared try our patience.”
The way she practically bore a hole into the priest with her fiery gaze made it clear that she included him in that statement.
He visibly shrank before her scrutiny.
“I merely seek to advise and warn, your Highness. Out of utmost loyalty to yourself and the Pharoah.”
“Indeed,” she said sardonically.
“You are dismissed.”
Hastily, he scuttled away like a scarab beetle from an old pile of dung.
Heba stood there a moment watching after him.
The High Priest said nothing wrong, despite the odiousness of the messenger. She knew well the threats that lurked behind every corner.
She and Thutmose were a young ruling couple. Untried after three years to solidify the people’s faith in them. There had been no wars to win, no battles to fight. Papa had left them a peaceful, steady helm to steer, for which she was immeasurably thankful.
But the people’s faith in their god-like rulers could never be taken for granted. It took only a poor harvest, a disastrous drought, or a plague to destabilize their rule. Never mind potential external threats.
Not producing an heir after three years also brought forth unwanted questions.
Whether the Pharaoh truly was closest to the gods. And if so, why didn’t he demonstrate his potency? Whether the Queen truly was the rightful Queen. Because she surely hadn’t shown evidence of the fertility Isis blessed her with.
And if the Pharoah and his Queen could not beget healthy heirs, not even one child thus far to their name, how could the people believe in their ability to bring rain and harvests, to protect and expand Egyptian lands?
Surely, other royalty and nobles were more god-like, better choices? Not the least Thutmose’s lesser wives, one of whom had ostensibly produced a child, albeit a girl child. Perhapsshewould be a more suitable queen.
The threat of rebellion was real. They were vulnerable to usurpers to the throne. Heba had to act, and soon. But expecting Thutmose to suddenly beget an offspring on her was equivalent to hanging herself with false hope.
That night, she made a show of visiting the king in his chambers. She would do so again tomorrow night and the night after. Just as the High Priest suggested. She would put on the show for an entire week.
Meanwhile, back in her own chambers, she paced.
Paced and plotted. Plotted and paced.
