Daughter of the Gods (26 page)

Tutmose crawled about the ground, scrambling under chairs and behind chests. Then he stood, brandishing an ebony figure in his fist. “Found it, Mama!”

“Crisis averted.” Hatshepsut grinned as Neferure came running toward her. “Are you ready for our trip, monkey?”

Her daughter nodded. “I said good-bye to Nana.”

“Good girl.” Hatshepsut planted a kiss on Neferure’s smooth head. It was probably a good thing Ahmose would remain behind; the former Great Royal Wife was growing frail and had no desire to leave the comforts of the palace to be crammed on a boat for several weeks. Her body may be tired, but her tongue was as sharp as ever. In such close quarters Ahmose would have sniffed out her daughter’s relationship with her steward, and Hatshepsut didn’t want to find out whose blood would have been spilled as a result.

“I think we’re ready.” Aset held the linen bag of soldiers in one hand and her son’s hand with the other. “All soldiers present and accounted for.”

They made their way through the maze of whitewashed corridors into the bright morning sunshine. A low hum began at the causeway and grew into a lion’s roar.

“What’s that?” Tutmose asked.

Across the river, the brown banks of the Nile seemed to shift, like sand in a storm. Only it wasn’t sand, but a swarm of
rekhyt
along the river’s edge. “Our people,” Hatshepsut said. “They’re very happy to see us.”

And it wasn’t just her stepson’s titles that were carried on the breeze, but the exuberant cries of her own name shouted by Waset’s citizens. She held Tutmose’s hand and waved back. It took only a moment and soon he was waving in unison with her, even as Neferure hid behind Aset’s legs. The crowd threatened to scream itself hoarse, the sound refusing to ebb until they were all aboard.

The cedar barque swayed lazily along the sparkling surface of the Nile, a line of overdressed nobles waiting to board the second boat. Red and white pennants snapped to attention on the first boat, the gilded oars all raised in stiff salute.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Senenmut emerged from belowdecks, dressed in a short kilt and without his wig. “They’ve been chanting your name for ages. And Tutmose’s, of course.”

“Of course.” Hatshepsut glanced at Aset, but she had her back turned and Neferure on her hip, pointing out an egret swooping overhead.

“Remind me to speak to whomever arranged our cabins,” Senenmut murmured.

“Why? Is there a problem?”

His voice dropped. “My room seems to be next to yours.”

“Precisely as I’d arranged.” Although with only four cabins, there weren’t many options. Hatshepsut and Aset had their own chambers, but the children shared the third with their
menats
, and Senenmut, Nomti, and Tutmose’s tutor would have the last. Their slaves would sleep on reed mats outside the doors. The next few weeks would be cozy.

Senenmut sighed, but it did little to hide his grin. “I’ll never get any sleep so close to you.”

She glanced at Aset and the children, her voice a whisper. “We’re going to have to be discreet.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No? Then what is it?”

Now it was his turn to whisper, offering her a teasing smile. “Sometimes you snore.”

She’d have smacked him, but he sauntered away to Neferure, asking loudly whether she had seen any crocodiles yet. He glanced back once, still grinning, but Hatshepsut was called to answer one of Tutmose’s questions, something about how often they could expect a hippo to overturn the boats.

The barges eased from their moorings and slipped fully into the Nile’s muddy embrace. A handful of fishing skiffs made of lashed papyrus darted back and forth like pale dragonflies, crisscrossing the waves while showering the glassy brown waters with a bright confetti of purple and red anemone petals. The other vessels followed at a comfortable distance, a parade of nobility housed within the royal barges. It wasn’t until the dark smudge of the city on the horizon became a mere haze that Hatshepsut tore her eyes away from their home.

The sails unfurled to take advantage of the scant breeze, pregnant with the wind’s first kiss. The boats continued merrily along their way that first day, carried easily down the lethargic Nile, the banks laden with precious silt now that the floods had receded. They passed a frenzy of life: bare-breasted women on the edges of naked fields,
pulling in reed baskets of water from rickety wooden swapes; men driving plows and throwing barley seeds to be trampled underfoot; and small cities of brown and white goats grazing beneath palm trees. Neferure and Tutmose shrieked with glee at every soaring ibis and sleeping crocodile as Hatshepsut watched the multitude of mud brick huts that poked their heads above the green.

This was her Egypt.

•   •   •

Late that afternoon, the boats floated by the island where Neferubity had flown to the sky, now a peaceful green knoll rippling with a carpet of sedge grass and papyrus fronds along the riverbank. Hatshepsut spared a moment to murmur a prayer for the
kas
of the dead; she liked to think her sister and father watched her from the Field of Reeds, and were pleased with all she’d done for Egypt and their dynasty. Everyone else was belowdecks, so the air was empty save for her whispered words and the grunts of the rowers, but then Aset came up, complaining about her oven of a cabin. Hatshepsut smiled, glad for the company.

“I feel like I’ve rolled in the pens of the menagerie.” Aset sniffed herself and grimaced. “I smell like it, too.”

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Hatshepsut hugged her and laughed.

Aset blew a tired puff of air and tucked a damp strand of black hair back into her wig. “You’re touched, aren’t you? All this sun and wind, and you’ve finally lost your mind.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Hatshepsut said.

“The heat? Or you being mad?”

“The heat. It grew on me in Nubia.”

“I just want a bath. I don’t suppose you lugged along that Cretan tub, did you?”

“No, but there’s a perfectly good river at our disposal. We’ll go for a swim before we dock at Gebtu for the night.”

“We can do that?”

“You’re traveling with the pharaoh and the regent of Egypt.” Hatshepsut grinned. “We can do anything we want.”

The royal barge anchored alone in the middle of the river, and they watched the rest of the entourage trek ashore for dinner as special guests of the town of Gebtu.

“Try not to get into too much trouble out here,” Senenmut said under his breath; he was the last from their boat in line for the skiff that would ferry them into town. “Although I’m not convinced that’s possible with you around.”

Hatshepsut grinned at his formal kilt, gold pectoral, and stiff wig. He would have to sit through an interminable parade of dinner courses and stiff conversation while she had the privilege of swimming naked in the Nile. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Of course not.” He straightened, rubbed his chin, and gave a thoughtful nod. “Yes, I think Neferure would enjoy hearing
The Tale of the Eloquent Peasant
. It’s a truly admirable piece of literature.”

She raised an eyebrow, but his gaze flicked to the other side of the ship, where Aset waited with the children. Neferure and Tutmose played hide-and-find amongst the rowers’ benches, but Aset stared in their direction. Hatshepsut cleared her throat. “I’ve never cared for that tale. I’ve always failed to see the allure of the story of a
rekhyt
advising his pharaoh.”

Aset turned away and clapped for Tutmose to come out from under a bench. Senenmut dropped his voice and grinned. “You’ll pay for that one day. Watch out for crocodiles.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

A smattering of domed pigeon coops crowded the shoreline, their clay surfaces pockmarked with roosts. Hatshepsut’s stomach rumbled at the thought of roast pigeon, but she was glad to avoid a stuffy meal of laughing at bland jokes and discussing the harvest tallies with the town officials. Nomti and the other guards scouted the area for hippos and crocodiles and, finding none, gave the group permission to toss aside their dirty clothes and jump into the river. The children splashed and giggled, little river otters at play.

“Stay close to the boat, you little monkeys!” Hatshepsut leaned back to wet her hair, letting the river fill her ears. She hadn’t shaved her head since leaving for Nubia, so her hair curled round her ears when she didn’t wear a wig. She had it in her mind to leave the infernal thing in her trunk during the entire procession.

“Are they at all like you and Thutmosis when you were young?” Aset glanced at the children and scrubbed her arms hard with natron soap, as if she’d never be clean again.

“Sometimes. Neferure reminds me more of my sister. Thut and I were terrible trouble when we were younger.” She frowned. “I don’t want our history to repeat itself with Tutmose and Neferure.”

“I think the two of them will be happy together one day.” A dreamy smile warmed Aset’s face. “More like Thutmosis and me.” She winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” She swam over to Hatshepsut and wrapped her in a wet embrace. “I still miss him.”

“He worshipped you.” Hatshepsut knew Aset still kept the black granite statues Thut had made for her, the two of them kept side by side on an altar in her apartments. “He’s waiting for you in the Field of Reeds.”

Thut had worshipped Aset and Tutmose. Sometimes the memory still hurt.

“Do you think you’ll ever love again?” Hatshepsut’s question came in a rush, as if she feared she wouldn’t get the sentence out unless it was blurted in a single breath.

Aset shook her head. “No one could ever love me like Thutmosis. His love was the greatest gift the gods could have given me, and, despite my empty bed, I’ll be thankful for it until the day Anubis comes for me.”

Hatshepsut grinned. “No one says your bed has to stay empty.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Aset splashed her, then gave her an odd look. “What about your empty bed?”

Hatshepsut glanced at the shore. Their secret would be out soon; Aset might as well hear the truth from her own mouth. “It’s not empty anymore.”

“I’d suspected as much.”

“You did? How?”

“You’re far too happy these days. You don’t brood nearly enough.” She smiled. “So, tell me: Who is it?”

Hatshepsut hesitated, clinging to the last precious moment of her secret before finally answering. “Senenmut.”

Aset’s smile fell. “But he’s a
rekhyt
.”

“That’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?”

“It’s different for a woman, and you know it. Thutmosis was expected to take plenty of wives, sire multiple heirs. You’re the regent and it’s your duty to keep the throne safe for my son. Taking up with that
rekhyt
does exactly the opposite.” She swam over so Hatshepsut had to look at her. “What will happen to the succession if you become pregnant?”

“I’ve taken care of that.” As soon as they’d returned to Waset, she’d started using the pessary the Royal Physician had once recommended. She counted back, and her heart stuttered. She hadn’t needed to purify herself since before the battle at Dongola.

Her courses were late. Dear gods, how could she have been so careless?

“I’m sure Senenmut is a good romp,” Aset was saying, “but couldn’t you at least choose someone a little less ambitious?”

Hatshepsut swam back from Aset, her thoughts crowding her mind like a flock of pigeons. This baby could cost her position as regent. A son would mean competition for Tutmose’s throne, or perhaps put her in a different position altogether, one she’d only dreamed of.

To have Senenmut’s child. The thought made her both quake with joy and tremble with terror. A son with his crooked smile. The threat of childbirth.

Aset’s lips pursed as if she’d been sucking lemons. “How do you know he doesn’t want the throne?”

“Because I know Senenmut. He’s not like that.”

And yet she felt the tiniest flicker of doubt. She shoved it aside.

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be about anything in this life.” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Now it was Aset’s turn to look offended. “I once saved his life, Hatshepsut. I just don’t want to see you or Tutmose hurt.”

The children were hollering to get back on the boat, Tutmose trying to climb up the thick rope to the deck while Neferure waited patiently for assistance. Hatshepsut swam to Aset and clasped her arms with wet hands. “Senenmut would never hurt any of us. I trust him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“I love him, Aset, and he loves me. Please be happy for me.”

“I’ll try.” Aset sighed. “Just don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

T
he boats made good time the next day, passing naked boys swimming in the muddy waters of the Nile and finally spotting the glow from Nubt’s lamps as the horizon swallowed Re. The white walls of the city’s famed temple to Set towered over the sprawl of squat mud-brick buildings. While Amun reigned supreme in the capital, it was the powerful and ambivalent Set who controlled the rest of Upper Egypt. Osiris Tutmose had commissioned this temple shortly before he had gone to the West, and Hatshepsut yearned to see her father’s work.

This city, the sacred center of Set’s worship since before the pharaohs, did not sleep tonight. The entire town crammed at the edge of the river to greet the visiting nobility. The crowd fell to the ground in one simultaneous
henu
as the ship bumped the dock. A thin and impeccably dressed man clambered to his feet, cleared his throat several times, and shifted from one foot to the other as if he had pebbles in his sandals.

“Welcome to Nubt!” The harsh twang to the mayor’s vowels reminded Hatshepsut they were no longer near the capital. His smile revealed a set of worn teeth and pulpy gums, the result of too many years of eating bread milled with Egypt’s ever-present sand. “Set, our patron god, is pleased to open his city to the pharaoh and his entourage. We are happy that you could join our humble city as we feast and make merry in your name!”

“We are honored by your attention,” Hatshepsut called as the skiff reached the shore. “May the gods bless your city!”

The mayor presented her with a papyrus collar woven with fragrant cornflower and blue lotus blossoms, looping it over her neck before both her feet touched shore. In his haste he almost knocked the wig from her head, not that she’d have minded the excuse to drop the thing into the Nile. Tutmose grimaced when the mayor offered him a smaller necklace, but he ducked his head when Aset frowned at him.

Chariots and sedan chairs formed a line at the end of the dock, a multitude of shapes and sizes likely apprehended from every possible source within the city. Hatshepsut chose one of the chariots, as litters hoisted Aset and the children aloft. The procession wove its way through the riotous crowd and down streets so narrow she could have touched both walls had she spread her arms. They passed whitewashed mud-brick homes, most with tables or beds on their roofs. Nubt’s citizens peered down to catch sight of the pharaoh and regent, a story to pass on to their children and grandchildren for years to come, and showered them with a rain of cornflower petals. The narrow alleys opened up as they entered the town center. Dusty market stalls had been hastily shoved into doorways and the ground swept clean of most of the animal dung, although a bag of dried lentils had been spilled and forgotten. Garlands of fuchsia lotus blossoms draped every tree and building to imbue the air with a heavenly perfume. Thousands of tiny lamps with dancing flames lined the square, and tables covered with linen cloths had been set for dinner. Jugglers, acrobats, and musicians huddled to the side, waiting with an entire program of entertainment.

Hatshepsut allowed the mayor to lead her to the largest of the tables. She had lost sight of Senenmut in the crowd, and Aset and the children were seated at the very end of her table, far out of earshot as the volume of voices reached a steady hum. Seated in the middle, with the mayor and Ineni on either side of her, Hatshepsut found that the giant plates of marinated olives, steaming mashed turnips, freshly baked bread, and roast quail stuffed with cloves of garlic made her stomach groan in anticipation. She’d spent the day sorting through allocation requests from the gods’ temples and had forgotten to eat. The mayor tore off a quail’s leg and offered it to her; she happily accepted.

“Did you have fair weather?” he asked, his hands aflutter. “This time of year is usually pleasant sailing, but one never can tell. And I’ve heard dreadful stories of those nasty hippos upsetting more than one boat. Of course, I’ve never left Nubt—born and bred—but word does travel. Do you have turnips this flavorful in the City of Truth? I don’t imagine you do—Nubt is known all down the Nile for having the best turnips in all Egypt. Now that the gold has run out it’s our claim to fame, that and the temple, of course. And with the garlic? I doubt the gods could create a better-tasting dish! But listen to me! It isn’t my desire to flow on like the Inundation.”

The man never once paused for breath. He didn’t eat more than two bites from the time they sat down, and those must have been swallowed whole. Fortunately, nodding hadn’t precluded Hatshepsut from helping herself, and now she was full, despite having picked around the turnips. She hated turnips.

“Is the Temple of Set open this evening?” Hatshepsut took advantage of a rare pause to interrupt the mayor.

His head bounced up and down like one of Neferure’s toy balls. “For you, the temple can be opened at any time.”

“I hear it’s an architectural marvel.” She dangled the bait before him. “Ineni here is my chief architect and would love to hear all about it.” She grinned at her portly adviser’s pained expression and stood. Silence fell over the gathering. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take some air on my own.”

The chatter continued as Nomti fell into step behind Hatshepsut. This was an opportunity she wasn’t going to miss, to view the temple alone and in the shrouded darkness of night instead of in the glare of day.

The temple’s white walls loomed high over the square, even in the gloom. Two glowing yellow eyes glared down at her from the top of the gate, a scrawny temple cat with two gold hoops in its ears who likely wished it could trade Egypt’s regent for a plump mouse. The stars twinkled brightly, easier to see now against the crisp darkness of the sky without the dull glow of the city’s lamps. The temple was deserted, so Nomti remained at the entrance of the outer gate so Hatshepsut could wander alone. Even the offices of the High Priest matched the darkness of Nut’s belly. Beyond the sprawling plaza stood the main temple itself, its massive hypostyle hall filled with papyrus-topped columns the height of ten full-grown men. Most Egyptian monuments were crammed from floor to ceiling with adulations of the gods or lively scenes reenacted for the benefit of the dead, but here the temple walls were bare, unfinished. Puzzled, Hatshepsut ran her hands over the smooth granite, still warm from Re’s heat.

“The walls are as bare as the desert, the barren domain of Set.” Senenmut stepped into one of the rectangular shafts of moonlight that filtered through the open roof and leaned against a granite column, arms crossed in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be back at the square, learning more about turnips?”

She groaned. “I am now an expert on everything to do with the wretched things.”

He shot her the crooked smile she loved so much. “So I heard.”

They were finally alone. She let herself be pulled into his arms, savored the taste of wine on his lips.

“I see someone missed me.” Senenmut chuckled.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He did.

They undressed each other and made love slowly, her back pressed into the flagstones as he hovered over her, bringing her to the edge of ecstasy several times before they finally fell over the precipice together, their sweat-slicked bodies clinging to each other as they gasped at their shared pleasure. Afterward, they sat twined together on the ground at the base of a pillar, her back against his bare chest and their legs stretched toward Set’s outer courtyard.

“I told Aset about us.”

Senenmut didn’t answer at first, but his fingers stopped stroking her hair. “And?”

“She wasn’t happy.”

“I can imagine.”

“She’ll come around. Hathor is her patron goddess, after all.” She leaned her head back and looked up into Nut’s black belly, the stars glowing like dull marbles through wisps of clouds. Now was probably as good a time as any to tell him. “There’s something else.”

He made a questioning noise in the back of his throat, the sound vibrating into her spine.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

He stiffened behind her and perfect silence settled over the courtyard, as if the gods waited to hear his reaction. She held her breath, her lungs close to bursting.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, unable to trust her voice.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.” He pulled her tight, the joy rippling from his body in waves. His grip loosened. “What about you? Are you happy?”

She hesitated, then nodded, surprised at the truth. The terror was still there, but somehow it was smaller in the face of his joy. “Yes. Although this does complicate things.”

“Children always complicate things.” He chuckled. “Just ask my mother.”

She smiled, leaned back into his chest. “She did have six. That’s more than enough complications for anyone.”

Laughter rumbled in his chest. “I’d give you at least a dozen if I could.”

“Gods, I hope not.” Not that many, but one or maybe two. Perhaps Egypt could handle that. “Your mother wasn’t regent, you know.”

“I know. Everything is as the gods will it, Hatshepsut.” He twined his fingers with hers. “There is always order amongst the chaos, even when it’s not possible to see. Set somehow always manages to push his way into life; there are things you can’t predict or control.”

“Perhaps for you mere mortals.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve decided you’re a goddess now.” Senenmut laughed. “Egypt was almost destroyed by the first Sekhmet; she would certainly crumble before two lion goddesses.”

Hatshepsut touched the amulet of the lion goddess at her neck. “Not a goddess, but no longer a plaything of the gods either.
I
control my own life now.” It was a bold statement, but she’d spent too many years cowering before Hathor, Taweret, and Isis. She glanced toward the towering statues of Set at the entrance: curved snouts, pricked ears, and forked tails. He wasn’t a god she wished to offend. “I still honor the gods, of course.”

“I forgot that none of the rules of this life apply to you.” Senenmut stroked the back of her neck, making her shiver and her skin prickle with gooseflesh. “Remind me to make sacrifices to Set on your behalf. Just in case.”

“There’s more to pleasing the gods than slaughtering bulls and lighting incense.” Like this temple they sat in. “If I could, I would cover Egypt with monuments to the gods.”

“With your name on them, too, I suppose.”

“Naturally.” She glanced around, happy to be able to see something her father had made, built of solid granite that would last to eternity. “Do you know what my favorite part is?”

“The blank walls?”

Hatshepsut chuckled. “No, not the walls.” She looked up at the stars twinkling overhead. “The sky. The stars and the sun are always here, but always moving. I think Set would approve of the orderly chaos.”

“And Sekhmet, too.”

“She does like the sun.”

“I know.” His chest rumbled with laughter. “Do you remember the knife I gave you?”

“How could I forget?” She groaned and her cheeks flushed despite the cool air, recalling the hymn to the lion goddess painstakingly etched into its ivory handle. She really had been terrible to Senenmut then, but he had never given up on her. Sometimes she didn’t think she deserved him, but then she remembered how alike they were.

“I still can’t believe you gave it away. In front of me.”

“You deserved it.”

He chuckled. “You’re probably right. But it took a damn long time to carve that handle.”

“Perhaps you can make me another someday.”

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Always.” She nestled deeper into the crook of his arm. The gods had given her an incredible gift in Senenmut, and another one growing in her belly. She wondered if she dared trespass upon them further.

“There’s something else I want, Senenmut.”

He chuckled and she felt his lips on her temple. “And what might that be?”

She waited a moment, listened to the words growing ever louder in her mind. She’d never spoken them aloud before, but they had been her constant companions since the day of Tutmose’s coronation.

“I want to be pharaoh.”

The silence stretched so long that Hatshepsut wondered if she had shocked the words out of him. Finally, he rubbed his jaw. “I know you do.”

She straightened, needing to see his face. “What?”

He shook his head. “You call me ambitious, but you’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.” She gave him a mock punch and he smiled, then grew sober. “Still, Hatshepsut, you must realize—”

“That I can only ever be regent.” She clenched her fists and drew a ragged breath. “If I’d been born a boy—”

He chuckled. “I, for one, am quite happy that the gods made you otherwise.”

She ignored his attempt at levity. “It’s not fair that I can’t rule simply because I’m a woman.”

“I know,
nefersha
.” He pulled her back to her place against his chest, the stars twinkling overhead. “This life is rarely fair, yet I know two things for certain.”

“And those are?”

“First, that the gods favor you above all their other children. Be content with that, and perhaps they’ll surprise you one day. And second, if you ever did sit upon the Isis Throne, I’d be your most ardent supporter.”

“Really?” Senenmut loved her, but she hadn’t anticipated that he’d even entertain the idea of her wearing the double crown.

“Of course.” Laughter rumbled in his chest. “What man wouldn’t want the pharaoh of Egypt in his bed?”

•   •   •

The expedition continued down the Nile toward Giza. At Asyût, reed flutes and castanets played as women danced along the banks to honor Mut and Taweret, the goddesses of motherhood and fertility. Girl-slaves lined the boats to shout at crowds of women on the shore, and both groups hitched up their sheaths to expose themselves, absorbing the fertility of the Black Land. The men politely pretended not to notice. Most of them, at least.

The trip continued in a more sedate manner after that, scheduled to end at the ancient pyramids before beginning the return trip to Waset. Senenmut had drawn the children a picture of the Sphinx with its pharaoh’s head, and Tutmose and Neferure spent several days roaring like lions and pretending to be giant statues.