Daughter of the Gods (18 page)

YEAR THREE OF PHARAOH THUTMOSIS II

“E
nheduanna is going to have a boy.”

Aset crossed her arms over her breasts, her scowl as black as a desert panther. Neferure and Tutmose squealed, splashing naked in the shallow fountain in the main courtyard of the Hall of Women, Re’s light on the water throwing dancing reflections onto the walls. It was a truly perfect day, no matter the news of the Akkadian princess.

Hatshepsut tucked the edges of her sheath into her belt and kicked off her sandals. “We’re not gods. None of us can predict the future.”

“The Royal Physician predicted she’d have a boy.”

“That’s what Gua predicted for her other babies, too,” she reminded Aset quietly.

Aset’s scowl softened and she almost smiled. “And look how those turned out.”

This latest pregnancy was Enheduanna’s third, the first two having ended in early stillbirths. Gua had been right about both—each was a boy, formed like flawless granite, and, like the perfect stone, destined never to draw a single breath of air.

Despite the girl’s sufferings, Aset refused to have anything to do with the Akkadian princess and managed not to be in the same room with her, but Hatshepsut had attended the burials of both mummified infants, placed amulets on the tiny bodies, and chanted prayers to Anubis for their safe passage to the West.

She might not care for the Akkadian, but not even Enheduanna should have to endure the burden the gods had placed upon her. A haunted woman with empty eyes and pale skin had replaced the haughty princess who had entered the Hall of Women. Enheduanna was no foreign goddess, but a woman like any other.

“We should take her amulets to Taweret.” Hatshepsut tossed off her wig and jumped into the fountain. She swept Neferure into her arms, tickling her slippery ribs and giggling as they chased Tutmose in circles. She shouted over the laughter. “And maybe say some prayers for her.”

Aset rolled her eyes, raising her voice to be heard. “I’ll pray to Hathor that Thutmosis tires of her and sends her on the first boat back to Akkad.”

Hatshepsut glanced up to reprimand her. Enheduanna stood in the courtyard, surrounded by her slaves, close enough they all must have heard Aset.

“I heard screaming.” Enheduanna’s accent was still thick despite her time in Egypt. She tilted her chin in the air, crimson spreading up her chiseled cheekbones. “I thought someone was hurt.”

“Just playing.” Hatshepsut gestured to her dripping sheath with a weak smile. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Enheduanna glared at Aset. “Perhaps some other time.” Then she turned on her heel and stormed off. Girl-slaves still dressed in the Akkadian style trailed behind her like colorful geese, whispering behind their hands as they glanced back at the fountain.

Hatshepsut set down Neferure and handed her a lotus blossom, waiting until Enheduanna’s door had shut behind her before frowning at Aset. “You’re cruel to her.”

“Nothing she doesn’t deserve.” Aset shrugged. She grinned, the dimples she so hated denting her cheeks. “You look ridiculous.”

Hatshepsut bent, scooped water into her hands, and flung it straight at Aset. Her friend shrieked and sputtered as Hatshepsut swept one laughing child under each arm and ran. Aset gave chase, their golden laughter scattering cats and echoing through the courtyard.

Like Enheduanna’s, Hatshepsut’s life was different than she’d imagined, and it had its share of hardships. But she had physical comforts, a beautiful daughter, and a friend she loved.

That was much more than some women could claim.

•   •   •

The haunted woman disappeared, replaced with one in perfect health and vibrant motherhood. Enheduanna’s skin glowed, her hips spread, and her breasts and stomach swelled. Yet one morning she took to her bed, complaining of a headache. When Hatshepsut stopped by at dusk, the room was as warm and dark as a womb. She’d brought a tonic of honey and chamomile, but the unconscious concubine burned with fever, her skin flushed and breathing ragged.

“Can I do anything to help?” she asked Gua.

“Pray for her.” The Royal Physician sighed and packed up his leather satchel, leaving a golden Eye of Horus on Enheduanna’s forehead. “You might stay with her so she’s not alone.”

She sat with Enheduanna, but not by herself. She sent for Aset.

“I came only to see if the rumors are true.” Aset stayed by the doorway, her nose wrinkled at the rancid smell of death. Anubis lurked in the dark corner, patiently awaiting his prize. “I’m not staying.”

“Not only are you staying,” Hatshepsut said, motioning toward a pile of fresh linen, “but you’re also going to use those towels to wash her.”

“Why in the name of Hathor would I do such a thing?”

“Because it’s the decent thing to do. And then you’ll be able to tell Thut that you helped nurse poor Enheduanna back to health. He’ll sing your praises to eternity.”

There was a long silence, then a dramatic sigh. Aset tossed a towel in a golden ewer of water, barely wrung out the linen, and slapped it on Enheduanna’s forehead. She gave the concubine’s hand a perfunctory pat. “There, there,” she said to the unconscious girl. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

She was wrong. By nightfall Enheduanna’s body was cold, she and the unborn babe both claimed by the jackal god of death.

Hatshepsut and Aset folded Enheduanna’s arms over her swollen stomach, then chanted prayers as the priests of Anubis slunk away into the night with the body. At least Enheduanna would receive a decent burial here in Egypt, not sewn into the skin of a ram and tossed into a barren pit as would have happened in her homeland.

“Sekhmet’s breath,” Aset whispered as they watched them go. “I feel terrible. Guilty, actually.”

Hatshepsut glanced about the dim chambers, strewn with damp towels and amulets. Anubis’ stench overwhelmed Enheduanna’s musk perfume. “Guilty? Why?”

“I hated her, wished her dead more than once.” Aset choked and clutched Hatshepsut’s hand. “But I didn’t mean it. You don’t think the gods heard me, do you?”

Hatshepsut squeezed her hand. “The gods do as they wish. Nothing we say or do can sway them once they’ve made up their minds.”

She’d learned that the hard way.

•   •   •

“Neferure! Be careful!”

Hatshepsut bolted off her chair. Her daughter stood on tiptoe below a rickety shelf, about to pull a rack of ancient papyrus down upon her head. She scooped the little girl into her arms and righted the shelf, feeling the prickle of her daughter’s shaven head against her cheek. The clump of hair on Neferure’s scalp was scarcely long enough to gather into a youth lock on the side of her head, the fine strands of mahogany woven into a tiny braid and tied with a jaunty yellow string.

“Mama scared?” The girl’s chin wobbled, but Hatshepsut tickled Neferure’s ribs until she giggled. She’d never encountered such a sensitive child as her daughter, so different from herself when she was that age. A single harsh word could send Neferure into a flurry of tears that might last all afternoon.

“Yes, you little monkey, I was very scared.” Hatshepsut tried not to look too stern, instead covering her daughter’s chubby cheeks with kisses. “Would you like to go see the animals?”

“Yesh!” The imp placed her little hands, still sticky from the honey she’d eaten at lunch, on Hatshepsut’s cheeks and planted a sloppy kiss on her lips. Neferure squirmed from her mother’s arms and grabbed her hand, yanking her in the direction of the Hall of Women’s new royal menagerie. Thut had ordered the pens and cages near the women’s quarters built shortly after Enheduanna had first conceived to better entertain what he had anticipated would be his growing brood of children. Instead, only two small children served as the menagerie’s meager audience.

The pharaoh and all of Egypt waited for the births of more royal children. Thut took more concubines, filling the Hall of Women with idle chatter and a permanent haze of perfumes. He called Aset to his bed most evenings, but even she failed to become pregnant again. More often than not, Thut couldn’t summon his manhood to do his duty when he visited Hatshepsut’s bed. It was as though the pharaoh’s seed had suddenly withered and died.

And yet, despite all that, Tutmose and Neferure thrived, growing as fast as papyrus reeds.

“Monkeys!” Neferure scampered as fast as her bare feet would carry her, past the fowl yard with the hawks soaring overhead to her favorite animals. The silvery primates chattered in high-pitched voices and jumped from limb to limb when they recognized their favorite visitor. The pharaoh’s daughter could always be relied on for tasty treats.

The Keeper of the Menagerie, a long-limbed man named Sebi, lumbered around the corner and offered a frayed basket of green grapes to Neferure. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d miss you today,
satnesut
,” he said, bending down to the girl’s height.

Neferure popped a grape into her mouth, but smiled sweetly upon seeing Hatshepsut’s pointed look. “Thank you,” she chirped. The vervets began talking in earnest now, begging the princess for the precious treats she held. Thut’s little monkey, Kipa, now gray around the snout, leapt forward and swiped the grapes from her hands. Neferure squealed with glee. “Monkeys, monkeys, monkeys,” she sang, dancing from one foot to the other.

Hatshepsut smiled, enjoying the moment. Her daughter was growing too fast. She wanted to hold on to each instant and draw it out to eternity, cherish each new word and discovery.

“Mama, look!” Neferure pointed up the path. Three figures were coming toward them.

Hatshepsut shielded her eyes from Re’s glare to see Thut and Aset swinging Tutmose between them as they walked toward the menagerie. Thut leaned heavily on his cane, but together they managed. “It’s your father.” Hatshepsut waved and Aset returned the gesture with her free hand. “I’ll bet Tutmose wants to see Adjo.”

Neferure wrinkled her nose and let out a ferocious roar to imitate the old lion. Adjo was missing almost all his teeth and had only a few patches of hair left, but Tutmose loved him as dearly as Neferure adored her monkeys.

“That was a very good roar, my little monkey,” Hatshepsut whispered as the entourage drew near. “Now, remember what I taught you about meeting your father.”

Neferure’s pretty face grew suddenly somber as she scrambled to perform a
henu.
The bow lacked grace, but was adorable nonetheless.

“You may rise, Neferure,” Thut said. He bent to his daughter’s height and tugged on her youth lock. “Are you being a good girl for your mother?”

“Yesh.” Neferure clambered to her feet as Thut pulled something from the pocket of his kilt.

He held out both fists. “Pick one.”

Neferure thought hard, the tip of her tongue between her teeth, and tentatively poked the left with her little finger. Thut grinned and opened his palm, revealing a new green ribbon—Neferure’s favorite color. “For my best-loved princess,” he said, and tied it over the yellow string at the end of her youth lock.

He might be a terrible husband, but Thut had proven himself a decent father to Neferure, even if she wasn’t the son he’d wanted.

He laid his hand on Tutmose’s shoulder. “Are you ready to see Adjo?”

“Adjo!” Tutmose yanked his father’s hand toward the lion’s den.

“I’ll take him,” Aset said. “You haven’t seen Neferure in a few days—I’m sure she’d like to spend some time with her father.” Aset intercepted her son and gave Neferure a hug. “Then perhaps you and I can play dress-up later today. I have a new green sash that would look beautiful on a little girl who loves the color green.”

Neferure leaned closer to whisper in Aset’s ear, loud enough so everyone could hear. “I love green.”

“You do?” Aset pretended shock and tweaked Neferure’s nose. “Then it will look perfect on you!”

“Would you like your father to help you feed the monkeys?” Hatshepsut asked Neferure as Aset straightened.

“Yesh!” Neferure thrust her hands into the mound of fruit and handed a bunch of plump grapes to her father. Thut watched Aset and his son skip off, then plucked a grape from its stem and threw it to the ground before the chattering vervets. Kipa recognized the pharaoh and jumped onto his shoulder, chattering as if catching up on old times. Neferure giggled.

This was as good a time as any to bring up a subject Hatshepsut had wished to discuss for some time. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “I’m going to hire a tutor for Neferure.”

She wasn’t asking permission, mostly because she could predict Thut’s reaction.

“Whatever for?” Thut put Kipa on Neferure’s shoulders. “She’s a girl. She’ll marry Tutmose as soon as she comes of age and bear his sons.”

“And she’ll be his Great Royal Wife. She should be educated. As I was.”

He glanced at her from heavily kohled eyes. “It seems to me you could have done with a little less education.”

“And you with a little more,” Hatshepsut said under her breath.

“Would you care to repeat that?”

Neferure looked up at her father’s tone, but Hatshepsut smiled and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You’re doing a wonderful job feeding those monkeys.”

Thut’s eyes narrowed as Neferure went back to playing with the vervets. “You would do well not to contradict me in front of her.”

“If our father saw fit to have his daughters tutored, I see no reason why his granddaughter shouldn’t receive the same privilege.”

“She’s too young,” Thut countered, but Hatshepsut was prepared for that excuse as well.

“A child is never too young to learn. Tutmose is already receiving lessons, and Neferure handles a brush and ink well enough to scribble. She’s old enough to start learning basic hieroglyphs.”

“Hieroglyphs? When will she ever need to write anything? That’s what scribes are for.”

Sekhmet’s breath.
Hatshepsut wanted to throttle him.

“Scribes aren’t always reliable,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “Especially if you can’t read the characters yourself. Our daughter is royal. She will not be ignorant.”

“Fine.” Tight-lipped, Thut waved his hand to dismiss both her and the conversation.