Daughter of the Gods (34 page)

She read the inscription next to it aloud, focusing on each word to keep the tears from blurring her eyes.

“Live, Horus powerful of
kas
, two ladies flourishing of years, Horus of gold divine of appearances, king of Upper and Lower Egypt, Maatkare, beloved of Amun-Ra, living—”

The first was her titulary, all her titles repeated, but then linked to something else—
someone
else.

“—the sealbearer of the pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt, the steward of Amun, Senenmut, born from the bodies of Ramose and Hatnofer—”

She stopped, unable to read on for the stone lodged in her throat.

“You’re not the only one breaking tradition,” he whispered.

Senenmut had linked himself to her in a single line of text—proclaiming his relationship to her forever in stone. It was bold and brash, and she loved him all the more for it.

He shifted the torch from one hand to another so the hieroglyphs shuddered. “‘A poor man’s name is pronounced only on account of his lord.’”

She chuckled at the ancient proverb. “You are far from a poor man.”

“Perhaps not, but I still didn’t think you’d mind.” He stood behind her now, the heat of the torch warming the flesh of her back. A single drop of sweat slipped down her spine. “There’s one more thing,” he added. “Look up.”

The entire cosmos arched above her head, each haloed star and glowing planet flawlessly recreated in miniature. Senenmut had created the midnight sky, the universe of Nut’s belly canvassing the tomb and enveloping it in eternal night.

She gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

“Your new tomb is so close that each night our
kas
can return here to sit under the stars. It only seemed fitting to take them into eternity with us.” He pointed to the vault of constellations. “There’s Sodpet and Osiris. And Set with the first planet.” He continued talking, pointing out all the clusters of stars they both knew so well.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said. “It’s amazing.
You’re
amazing.”

She had never seen Senenmut blush, but even in the shadows she could make out the blood rising to his face.

“I did it for you,
nefersha
.”

“It’s supposed to be for you,” she said. “This was your project, remember?”

“For us, then.”

They stayed in the tomb until the torch threatened to sputter out, each lying on the floor with the crowns of their heads touching under the earthen stars and sky. When they finally stepped back into the land of the living, both had to blink away the searing pain of Re’s light. They were halfway down the path that wound away from Djeser-Djeseru and toward the river when a runner from the palace intercepted them.

Hatshepsut’s stomach turned sour to see the boy race toward them, running as if Ammit herself was chasing him. Perhaps Nubia had decided to revolt again or, Amun forbid, something had happened to Tutmose or Neferure. It wasn’t until the slave got closer that Hatshepsut could see his face ablaze with excitement.

She didn’t allow him a moment to bow. “What is it?”

“They’re back!” The messenger gasped for breath, hands on his knees and chest heaving. “The ships from Punt have been spotted upriver—they’re only two days away!”

Hatshepsut was struck speechless. It had been so long since the ships had left that she’d given up hope of ever seeing Neshi and the rest of the expedition again. There had to be a mistake. “Are you sure?”

The youth nodded, his head ready to fly from his neck. “Four ships, flying the royal pennants—the same ones that left three years ago.”

“Four ships.” Hatshepsut thought out loud. “One was lost.”

“The runners claim they’re carrying all sorts of wonders. The ships are so heavy they can hardly make it up the Nile!”

Senenmut grinned. “So the trip was a success after all.”

If the expedition had been a success, her temple would be outfitted with grandeur to impress even Amun. New trade routes would be established with the Gods’ Land, and Egypt would gain prestige and stature. Hatshepsut recited a silent prayer to Amun to thank him for such a blessing.

“Are you coming?” Hatshepsut, already running back down the path, hollered at Senenmut over her shoulder.

“What’s the hurry?” His voice grew closer as he chased after her. “They won’t be here for at least two days.”

She twirled to face him, grinning like a jackal and flinging her arms open to the sky. “Because this will be a homecoming like none Egypt has ever seen before!”

•   •   •

The drums beat in time to herald Neshi’s approach before he entered Amun’s gates at Karnak. Shielded from Re’s glare by the shadows of her twin obelisks, Hatshepsut stood on a makeshift dais, the smell of new wood and fresh whitewash still lingering in the breeze and the
atef
crown with its white dome, red ostrich feathers, and gold disk light on her head. Too excited to sit, she ignored the gilded traveling throne and its footstool with engravings of Egypt’s nine enemies behind her. To her left, Tutmose stood on tiptoes to see what wonders Neshi had retrieved from the land of Punt. Senenmut, Neferure, and the rest of Hatshepsut’s counsel clustered at the foot of the dais, each straining to catch the first glimpse of the coming treasures. The temple forecourt overflowed with nobles and
rekhyt
alike, so that even the causeway outside was jammed with eager onlookers.

It wasn’t long before Neshi entered, his skin baked almost black and his frame much thinner than when he had left. Weather-beaten men flanked him, each carrying a large basket of woven papyrus. The men placed their baskets far in front of them, then stepped back to kneel and dropped their foreheads to the flagstones.

“Greetings,
Per A’a
.” Neshi grinned as he knelt before her. “Your weary explorers have returned with ships full of riches beyond your imagination, all for the glory of Egypt.”

“We are happy to bear witness to your safe return.” Hatshepsut spoke formally, but couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. “We feared the entire expedition had been lost.”

Neshi’s grin faltered. It took a long moment for him to gather his words. “We hit a storm wind after coming out of the Red Sea. One boat was lost, but we saved as many men as we could. Some didn’t make it.” Hatshepsut could only guess at the horrors he had witnessed as men drowned around him. “Their names are preserved and they died with honor. Osiris feasts with them in the Field of Reeds,” he said, finding his feet and his smile again. “We reached the Gods’ Land as the egrets were nesting and were greeted by Chief Parihou and Queen Ati. She is so massive it takes six men to carry her about the town in her litter, but her husband is as thin as sedge grass and wears golden bracelets on his ankles as if he were a woman!”

There was a rumble of excitement from the forecourt.

“Punt is a strange land,
Per A’a
, both wild and civilized. The people’s skin is darker than even the Nubians’, but they are much more sophisticated than our rebel neighbors. The houses in Punt are built on stilts higher than giraffes and they have to climb into them every night using ladders.”

Neshi pantomimed climbing, causing a burst of laughter, and then paused for dramatic effect. “But the splendors!” He threw his hands into the air. “I wish we could have brought back all of Punt to show you, but we managed only a sample of the wonders from that strange land.”

He motioned to the men flanking him, and one by one each swept the lid off his basket with a flourish. Neshi called out the contents as scribes hastily recorded each item.

“Ebony!”

“Cinnamon!”

“Coriander!”

“Marjoram!”

“Gold ingots!”

Neshi grinned again, his face cleft by excitement. “And there’s more!”

A single boom of the drums swept in the beginning of a long procession of temple priests, each heavily laden with items now dedicated to the Great Cackler himself. Hatshepsut’s eyes welled as she watched. A mountain of black panther skins weighed down one of the marching priests, followed by a river of elephant tusks, and more hills of multihued spices than she could count. There were boxes of creamy frankincense pellets—the opaque tears gathered from the trunks of the sacred trees—and two priests struggled to contain a bevy of collared baboons. The furred monkeys of Thoth squawked at one another, more interested in playing with the contents of each basket than in looking like official prizes.

“We brought back giraffes, too, but they’re still on the ships. We had to untangle their necks before they could be added to the royal menagerie.” Neshi joked loud enough so that everyone in the whole temple could hear, inciting still more laughter from the amazed onlookers.

If that wasn’t enough, Hatshepsut nearly wept as she saw the final acquisitions being paraded beneath Amun’s gate.

Her trees.

The breath of the gods carried the gentle aroma of myrrh as a dozen precious trees were marched before her, their delicate white trunks topped with a dusting of pale green leaves. Each would be planted in the Garden of Amun at Djeser-Djeseru to cloak the entire complex with their scent and allow the hidden god to enjoy their fragrance. Senenmut’s vision of her temple was complete.

Gone was the smudge on her reign, the dark spot that would have marred her rule as pharaoh.

Everything was perfect.

YEAR SEVEN OF PHARAOH HATSHEPSUT

T
he clang of bronze scimitars accompanied the grunts of the two men sparring on the packed earth of the training ring, their ox-hide vests denoting their elite ranks within of the Division of Amun. Seasoned soldiers with leathered skin and scarred chests surrounded the hawk in the nest and his sparring partner, but the typical jeers and teasing were tempered today in deference to the three women seated on the raised wooden platform at the edge of the ring. It wasn’t often that royalty descended to join their ranks. Neferure sat to Hatshepsut’s right, picking at a stray thread on her otherwise pristine sheath, and Aset perched on the left, beaming down at her son.

Nomti wasn’t pleased with Aset’s recent return to the palace, but Hatshepsut felt sure that the past years had been more than enough time to dull the edge of Aset’s hatred. She’d broached the subject of allowing Tutmose’s mother back to court several times, especially as she received an increasing number of letters from Aset begging to be allowed to return to her son, but each time Nomti and her other advisers had managed to persuade Hatshepsut against the decision. In the end, it was Tutmose and Neferure who had convinced her.

Tutmose had mentioned his wish for Aset’s return during his most recent naming ceremony at the end of Peret, when the seeds that would bring forth the next season of wheat and barley were already sprouting. He had seen seventeen floods and been apprenticed to the army for several years now. The royal family had sat on a rooftop terrace overlooking the Nile, the river shimmering like a long brown snake cutting through green grass. Slaves had hovered behind them, ready to move Tutmose’s many gifts to his chambers as soon as Re’s disk grew too hot and they all retreated inside. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my mother,” he’d said, his gaze fixed on the leather helmet Senenmut had given him. “I sometimes wonder if she’d recognize me now.”

“I miss Aunt Aset, too,” Neferure had said. “Her letters from Dendera sound so lonely.”

Cold guilt settled around Hatshepsut’s heart. She still hated what she’d done to Aset, knowing it was an affront to
ma’at
, the same sacred principle of truth and justice she’d always sworn to uphold. Her gaze caught Senenmut’s, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Then she shall return,” Hatshepsut said, folding her hands in her lap.

Tutmose’s head jerked up. “Truly?”

Hatshepsut felt another sharp stab of guilt. She’d told Tutmose that his mother had retired from the City of Truth so he might pursue his schooling and military training unencumbered. He’d seemed to accept the story, yet now Hatshepsut wondered if perhaps he had suspected the truth but was too perceptive to question her motives, at least not aloud.

And so Aset had returned, escorted by two royal ships with mastheads carved like giant lotus blossoms. Hatshepsut had toyed with the idea of not greeting Aset upon her arrival, but she refused to take the coward’s route. If she could face the chiefs of Nubia and order the execution of criminals, then surely she could confront a lone woman who bore her a grudge. She commanded a modest celebration befitting the return of the mother of Egypt’s future pharaoh and ordered her advisers to attend.

The first boat slipped into its place against the dock, and Aset waited on the prow, staring at Hatshepsut with an expression so regal that it reminded her of her own mother many years ago. Finally, the ropes were secured and Aset stepped onto the fresh flower petals laid out for her arrival. As if on cue, the courtiers—including Senenmut—bowed their heads, leaving only Hatshepsut, Tutmose, and Neferure to witness Aset’s slow progress up the dock. Tutmose stepped forward and clasped his mother’s hands, kissing each of her cheeks before accompanying her to Hatshepsut. Neferure dabbed at the corners of her eyes, her face aglow with happiness at the return of her second mother.

“Welcome home, Aset,” Hatshepsut said in a low voice, her heart fluttering like a falcon’s wings.

“I hardly know what to say.” Aset glanced about at the nobility, their heads still bowed. Her eyebrows had been plucked clean away and replaced with thin slashes of kohl, giving her an unnaturally severe expression. “I didn’t expect such ceremony to herald the end of my banishment.”

Hatshepsut fingered the golden snake bangles at her wrist. “Such a homecoming is worthy of a little celebration.”

Aset gave her a strange look, but Tutmose seized that moment to take his mother’s arm and lead her into the palace, Neferure trailing after them. Hatshepsut watched them go, wondering how she had escaped so easily. She assumed Tutmose and Neferure would keep Aset to themselves for the rest of the day, so her heart thudded when Aset was announced into the royal menagerie later that night.

Hatshepsut tossed the last bruised turnip from her basket onto the ground before one of the giraffes from Punt, smiling as the beast bent its graceful neck and nibbled the vegetable, then blinked at her. “I know,” she chuckled. “I wouldn’t eat it either.”

She liked to come here to visit the animals on occasion, laughing as the baboons groomed one another and watching the giraffes strip the leaves from the trees that were constantly replaced in their stone enclosures. The giraffe wandered off, leaving the half-eaten turnip as Nomti announced Aset, looking none too happy with the unexpected visitor.

A guard trailed Aset, a lean
medjay
whom Nomti had chosen to keep an eye on Tutmose’s mother. Aset was dressed in a form-fitting sheath far too tight and translucent to hide any weapons; her nipples had been rouged under the fine linen and all her body hair had been plucked away. The second
medjay
followed her with his eyes, his gaze lingering on the curves of her backside. Both guards fell back at Hatshepsut’s signal, although Nomti didn’t look pleased at the silent order. Aset’s features twisted into an expression of pure malice as she passed Hatshepsut’s guard, but then she turned her attention to Hatshepsut and swept into a deep
henu
. “I’ve come to make peace with you, Hatshepsut,” she said as she straightened.

Hatshepsut was caught momentarily off guard, then recovered and motioned Aset to a bench. “That’s hardly the reaction I expected from you,” she said, smoothing the pleats of her skirt and trying to collect her thoughts.

“I’ve carried this grudge against you for years now. I don’t wish to face Anubis’ scales and find my heart so heavy with bitterness that I’m unable to enter the Field of Reeds.”

Hatshepsut didn’t speak for a moment, startled again at the stunning ease of Aset’s return. She’d hoped to have a conversation like this with her, but as time had worn on, it had seemed more likely that frogs would fall from the sky. A glance at Nut’s clear belly told her that wasn’t going to happen, at least not tonight.

“I’ve missed you,” Hatshepsut said, finding a truth in the words that she’d held at bay these past years. “I don’t deserve such kindness.”

“I don’t agree with what you did.” Aset dropped her hand and picked her nails. Her thumb had started to bleed. “But I understand why you did it.”

“Can you forgive me?”

Aset sucked the tip of her finger, then clasped her hands before her. “Does it matter?”

“It does matter. To me.”

“Then yes. I forgive you.”

Hatshepsut searched Aset’s face for any trace of malice, but her features were scrubbed clean. She seemed to have aged at least twenty years since the coronation.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know that now, but I couldn’t help being angry. For Tutmose.”

“He’ll be pharaoh after me, I swear on Sekhmet’s sun disk.”

“Good.” Aset studied her. “He seems to be doing well in his apprenticeship to the military. I hope one day to see him follow in his grandfather’s footsteps.”

“He’s a smart boy and a quick learner.”

“Good,” Aset said stiffly. “Thank you for taking care of him.”

There was still a wall between them, but it wasn’t so tall that it couldn’t be chipped away in time. It was more than Hatshepsut had hoped for.

She stopped Aset as she stood to leave. “I’ve missed you, Aset.”

Aset smiled, yet traces of sadness clung to her dark eyes. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Aset walked from the garden, and the lean
medjay
fell into step behind her. Hatshepsut wanted to trust Aset again. She just didn’t know if she should.

Several weeks had passed since that night, and although Aset had offered her friendship, Hatshepsut had grown accustomed to the sight of Aset’s retreating back each time she entered a room, followed by the shadow of her guard. Finally, Hatshepsut decided their single shared interest was the only route to earning back Aset’s friendship, so she invited Aset and Neferure to watch Tutmose’s skirmish at the military training ground. Egypt’s hawk in the nest filled out his armor and was taller than most of the other soldiers; Tutmose slept in the barracks and could swear and spit with the best of the men, much to his mother’s chagrin. Of course, few soldiers were as well-read or could speak as many languages as the hawk in the nest, but the men seemed willing to overlook these shortcomings in their future pharaoh.

The other soldier—a young man with dirty feet and overly large teeth—danced around the ring, looking for a hole in Tutmose’s defense.

“Want me to let you win?” The wind carried Sennedjem’s words to Hatshepsut. “It might help you impress your princess.”

Hatshepsut snuck a glance at Neferure through her lashes. The poor girl winced as if the men were strangling kittens instead of talking about her.

Tutmose charged the other soldier, slammed his shoulder into his friend’s flank to throw him off balance, then smashed the butt of his scimitar into Sennedjem’s shield. The force of the blow knocked Sennedjem back. He fell, his head and shoulders landing outside the ring drawn in the dirt.

“Match!” The trainer’s hand cut through the air. “The round goes to Tutmose!”

Tutmose grinned and offered his hand to his friend. It didn’t matter now who was watching—the soldiers cheered and many collected bets from those who had wagered against the hawk in the nest.

“Caught me off guard there.” Sennedjem laughed and brushed the dirt from his kilt. The two clapped each other on the back, releasing puffs of red dust before Sennedjem waved at the stands.

Tutmose bowed in their direction, but his eyes lingered on Neferure. Her hair was loose today, a shining sheet of mahogany held back by a thin gold diadem to emphasize her cheekbones. Without asking permission, Hatshepsut’s daughter had grown into a woman, just as Tutmose had become a man.

Perhaps too much of a man for one still so young. Senenmut’s spies had recently reported Tutmose’s nightly visits to Satiah, a girl-slave in the kitchens with breasts as big as water jugs that swayed enticingly when she kneaded bread. For now, Hatshepsut was willing to ignore the indiscretion, allowing a reminder regarding Tutmose’s duties to Neferure to suffice as his only consequence. Once he married Neferure he could have as many
rekhyt
as he wanted in his bed, but until then he needed to restrict his interests to his books and military training, despite the allure of certain kitchen slaves.

And yet Hatshepsut wondered how Neferure would react if she heard of Tutmose’s interest in Satiah. Neferure reminded her of a spring butterfly, graceful and rare, but so fine that the slightest touch would irrevocably damage its wings. She fluttered about at all the palace functions Hatshepsut required her to attend, and would bolt at the first opportunity with some excuse about her temple duties.

Hatshepsut had bestowed the title of God’s Wife upon Neferure, and with that came heavy responsibilities. Her daughter was usually up before Re rose to dress and anoint Amun’s gold statue at Karnak. She spent most of her afternoons singing and chanting prayers to the god, and saw to the distribution of temple offerings. The musk of incense had become Neferure’s permanent perfume, the holy scent made from countless sacred ingredients clinging to her pale skin.

And now, just as it seemed Neferure might crawl under her seat, Tutmose freed her from his eyes to spare a smile for his mother, then gave a deep bow of acknowledgment to Hatshepsut. She often wondered what he thought of her now that he was older, whether he truly realized what she had done in claiming the throne as her own. The idea that he would receive the finest military training and gain a calm and stable Egypt after she passed to the West was usually more than enough to soothe the occasional qualms of her
ka
.

She smiled as he picked up his belt and walked to the observation stand, the men behind him already dispersing in search of their mats or a cup of beer.

“Well done.” Aset glowed at her son. “That was quite a maneuver you pulled out there.”

Tutmose buckled his belt and glanced warily over his shoulder as if to check whether anyone had heard his mother’s praise, but they were all out of earshot. “Luck. Tomorrow Sennedjem will probably throw me.”

“I see you’ve moved on to the scimitar.” Hatshepsut eyed the bronze weapon hanging at his hip. “Do you like it?”

“Senenmut showed me the trick to holding it.” He tossed the blade lightly and caught it by its hilt. “The Syrians knew what they were doing when they came up with this. It’s like an extension of your arm.”

“It’s time to eat.” Aset clapped and stepped down from the stands, holding out her hand for Tutmose. She ignored the sheen of sweat and dust on his skin and linked her arm through his. “As your mother, I claim you for lunch. I thought I’d see you more now that I’ve returned to the palace, but it seems like ages since we’ve talked. Perhaps we can discuss Pharaoh Kamose’s military victory against the Hyksos over oxtail soup.”

“It’s Pharaoh Ahmose,” Tutmose muttered. “Kamose died before the Hyksos were defeated, as did his father.”

“Such similar names,” Aset said. “Does it really matter?”

Hatshepsut winced, hoping Tutmose would bite his tongue. It mattered very much, for Pharaoh Ahmose had expelled the terrible foreigners from Egypt and founded their family’s dynasty. Aset had always detested history—she’d once claimed Hatshepsut’s scrolls on the reigns of Khufu and Khafre would be best suited for lining cages in the palace aviary—but at least she was making an effort for her son.