The festivities were not quite finished yet. Even as the sun threatened to ignite the horizon in perhaps another hour or so, Isetheperu could hear the faint echoes of drunken song and chanting which haunted the halls outside her heavy chamber door and escaped out of the great hall into the pre-dawn air.
Traditionally, the Sed festival would be repeated once more on the thirtieth anniversary of the Pharaoh's coronation. Of course, Isetheperu doubted it would be that long till the next; old age was a rare enough thing, and she supposed -- or perhaps hoped -- Iahotep would not last quite so long.
Isetheperu herself wondered when she had aged. Much time had passed, true, and she was older now than either of her parents had ever been. But despite her aching joints and distressingly failing vision, the Queen Dowager felt as if she were that same young woman who had caught the greatest quarry of all in the trap of her charm. At least now, while she had never had much more than distaste for the social posturing of these such events, she could use the pretext that she had outgrown her patience to tolerate them and the banal company of the attendees as the means to excuse herself whenever she liked.
At her beckoning, her servants busied themselves carefully removing the layers of cloth from her body, the heavy necklaces and bangles and earrings which seemed to have permanently left their marks on her aging skin -- her wig and furs which she donned as armor against the tides of scrutiny. Her tastes remained as luxuriant as they had always been. Let no one say that the former queen's radiance had diminished with the formal passing of her title.
Warm water was poured over her body to remove the paint and kohl and day from her skin. The sweat of not only herself but every man and woman who had sought fit to get too close for comfort in their celebratory haze, mixed with the stench of the beer which seemed to permeate the very air, clung to her skin, nearly inescapable if not for the perfumed salves and oils lathered across her body before being cocooned once more in a thinner layer of linen. And then, once she had been thoroughly deconstructed, the veneer was rebuilt. A new necklace, different but no less heavy with its gilded coils, was affixed to her collar, and the same with her ears, her wrists and her ankles. There was to be no sleep, not yet, not when there was still much planning to be done and important meetings to take place.
She struck a flame to her frankincense and set to work on the sheafs of paper strewn before her, where she lounged on the patio from her bedchamber in the palace's inner courtyard. Three different men had written to her to inquire about the possibility of renegotiating trade terms between their own businesses and her landholdings, no doubt seeking to take advantage of her presumably high spirits following her child's espousal. With a frown, she began her meticulous response to each entreaty, having them know in no uncertain terms that the conditions of their agreements were final, but it was not these men with which her mind was preoccupied as she did so.
Her thoughts turned instead to the events of the night so far, and more specifically to one particular interaction which she plotted to see through.
Though heated with anger, Osorsen had expressed his impulse to discuss their contention over recent events sooner rather than later. On this very night, in fact, and all things considered, Isetheperu had to agree that it was better to tackle this particular problem head on rather than let it fester. Her relationship with Hei Moghadam was not one she wished to sabotage if it could be avoided, but if the general insisted on indulging his tantrum then she may have no choice but to sever ties. Sacrifices must be made.
Still, if he would let her, she would be more than glad to present the reasoning behind her decisions, at least as much as was prudent and advantageous to indulge, and if all went as well as she could hope, then perhaps she might emerge from their clash. After all, it seemed these days that the lines between her friends and her enemies were becoming so much more indistinguishable. It could only behoove her to have her points of relation on either side of the division.
Yet she could not know for certain whether the man would even turn up to call on her at this hour, or even if he would in the coming days. Though she had extended the invitation, it could just as easily be rebuffed in his ire. All the worse for him, she thought, as he would only then be able to torture himself more without the explanation she believed he must be so desperate to hear. Perhaps for once the general might stifle his pride and accept the hope of whatever balm she was unlikely to offer him. She doubted that he would like what she had to say regardless.
Her ruminations were interrupted by the soft padding of bare feet, a newer servant approaching with some hesitation, and Isetheperu knew already what message was being delivered: "Your Majesty, his lordship Sirdar Moghadam seeks an audience."
Isetheperu felt the beginnings of a smug grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, though she could not place the source or cause of the triumphant sensation. Her eyes flicked up to meet the servant's, the boy swiftly and nervously averting his own lest he be cursed for impropriety. "Then show him in," the Queen Dowager commanded. The servant hesitated but a moment, no doubt finding it curious that she agreed to the meeting at all, and especially here rather than insisting on moving to her library or study as was often the case with such business. But there was no room to question her decisions, and a split second later he had disappeared through the curtain once more to fetch the inquiring general.
With a rustling of the papers at hand, Isetheperu set aside her missives and ledgers, folding them beneath the weight of a forgotten bowl of dates so as to not lose them to the warm night breeze. When the unmistakably heavier footsteps approached and a familiar silhouette shouldered his way past the silk drapery to the patio, Isetheperu did not stand but instead fixed Osorsen with a tight, even gaze, her fingers laced across her torso as they often were. "My boy, it has been so long since any man called upon me at such an hour. I trust you've divested your tongue of its insults by now."
Traditionally, the Sed festival would be repeated once more on the thirtieth anniversary of the Pharaoh's coronation. Of course, Isetheperu doubted it would be that long till the next; old age was a rare enough thing, and she supposed -- or perhaps hoped -- Iahotep would not last quite so long.
Isetheperu herself wondered when she had aged. Much time had passed, true, and she was older now than either of her parents had ever been. But despite her aching joints and distressingly failing vision, the Queen Dowager felt as if she were that same young woman who had caught the greatest quarry of all in the trap of her charm. At least now, while she had never had much more than distaste for the social posturing of these such events, she could use the pretext that she had outgrown her patience to tolerate them and the banal company of the attendees as the means to excuse herself whenever she liked.
At her beckoning, her servants busied themselves carefully removing the layers of cloth from her body, the heavy necklaces and bangles and earrings which seemed to have permanently left their marks on her aging skin -- her wig and furs which she donned as armor against the tides of scrutiny. Her tastes remained as luxuriant as they had always been. Let no one say that the former queen's radiance had diminished with the formal passing of her title.
Warm water was poured over her body to remove the paint and kohl and day from her skin. The sweat of not only herself but every man and woman who had sought fit to get too close for comfort in their celebratory haze, mixed with the stench of the beer which seemed to permeate the very air, clung to her skin, nearly inescapable if not for the perfumed salves and oils lathered across her body before being cocooned once more in a thinner layer of linen. And then, once she had been thoroughly deconstructed, the veneer was rebuilt. A new necklace, different but no less heavy with its gilded coils, was affixed to her collar, and the same with her ears, her wrists and her ankles. There was to be no sleep, not yet, not when there was still much planning to be done and important meetings to take place.
She struck a flame to her frankincense and set to work on the sheafs of paper strewn before her, where she lounged on the patio from her bedchamber in the palace's inner courtyard. Three different men had written to her to inquire about the possibility of renegotiating trade terms between their own businesses and her landholdings, no doubt seeking to take advantage of her presumably high spirits following her child's espousal. With a frown, she began her meticulous response to each entreaty, having them know in no uncertain terms that the conditions of their agreements were final, but it was not these men with which her mind was preoccupied as she did so.
Her thoughts turned instead to the events of the night so far, and more specifically to one particular interaction which she plotted to see through.
Though heated with anger, Osorsen had expressed his impulse to discuss their contention over recent events sooner rather than later. On this very night, in fact, and all things considered, Isetheperu had to agree that it was better to tackle this particular problem head on rather than let it fester. Her relationship with Hei Moghadam was not one she wished to sabotage if it could be avoided, but if the general insisted on indulging his tantrum then she may have no choice but to sever ties. Sacrifices must be made.
Still, if he would let her, she would be more than glad to present the reasoning behind her decisions, at least as much as was prudent and advantageous to indulge, and if all went as well as she could hope, then perhaps she might emerge from their clash. After all, it seemed these days that the lines between her friends and her enemies were becoming so much more indistinguishable. It could only behoove her to have her points of relation on either side of the division.
Yet she could not know for certain whether the man would even turn up to call on her at this hour, or even if he would in the coming days. Though she had extended the invitation, it could just as easily be rebuffed in his ire. All the worse for him, she thought, as he would only then be able to torture himself more without the explanation she believed he must be so desperate to hear. Perhaps for once the general might stifle his pride and accept the hope of whatever balm she was unlikely to offer him. She doubted that he would like what she had to say regardless.
Her ruminations were interrupted by the soft padding of bare feet, a newer servant approaching with some hesitation, and Isetheperu knew already what message was being delivered: "Your Majesty, his lordship Sirdar Moghadam seeks an audience."
Isetheperu felt the beginnings of a smug grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, though she could not place the source or cause of the triumphant sensation. Her eyes flicked up to meet the servant's, the boy swiftly and nervously averting his own lest he be cursed for impropriety. "Then show him in," the Queen Dowager commanded. The servant hesitated but a moment, no doubt finding it curious that she agreed to the meeting at all, and especially here rather than insisting on moving to her library or study as was often the case with such business. But there was no room to question her decisions, and a split second later he had disappeared through the curtain once more to fetch the inquiring general.
With a rustling of the papers at hand, Isetheperu set aside her missives and ledgers, folding them beneath the weight of a forgotten bowl of dates so as to not lose them to the warm night breeze. When the unmistakably heavier footsteps approached and a familiar silhouette shouldered his way past the silk drapery to the patio, Isetheperu did not stand but instead fixed Osorsen with a tight, even gaze, her fingers laced across her torso as they often were. "My boy, it has been so long since any man called upon me at such an hour. I trust you've divested your tongue of its insults by now."