The first thing that Iset had noted on arriving at the palace was the tension between the lesser wives. There were clear-cut factions and every act, every word spoken was predetermined and planned. It was a constant game of one-upmanship, she quickly realised. One wife would snub another in front of her rival. A different one would hide a snake in another's room, so that when it was found, the palace filled with screams and cries. Jokes that hid a very real threat were often the work of the day.

But they were never played out in front of Pharaoh and never in front of the Great Royal Wife. Not that the pathetic scheming bothered Hatshepsut. As long as those of whom she was fond remained out of harms way, she was happy for these women to play their games. It kept them occupied, and if they were busy plotting against each other, they were not causing trouble elsewhere.

The weapon of the palace was words, at least for these women and at least until they had the opportunity to orchestrate something more...permanent. Rumours, gossip, nasty remarks, teasing, name-calling...they were all used to great effect. Iset knew this very well, for she often found herself on the end of it.

'What gives her the right to live amongst us? She is no more than the daughter of a scribe,' one of the wives sneered as Iset walked passed a group of women one day.

'You give her blood too much honour,' another sniggered. 'I heard her father was a baker.'

'No, a farmer.'

The room erupted with laughter. Iset felt her cheeks colour. They knew very well who her father was and he was neither baker, nor farmer. He worked for the vizier. But for all that, she might as well have been a peasant to these women. Unlike the majority of the other wives, she possessed no royal blood. She was not the granddaughter of a pharaoh, or the daughter of the king's cousin. She had no royal lineage to decorate her past and anchor her place in the present, or in the palace.

Iset left the room as quickly as she could, but it was not quick enough for the remarks continued.

'Does she have somewhere to be?'

'Perhaps she has a loaf of bread baking in the oven?'

'Or a crop of barley to bring in from the fields before the Inundation. We wouldn't want her family's paltry livelihood to be swept away down to the Delta, would we?'

Then...nothing but laughter.