Daughter of the Gods (7 page)

Chest heaving, she ducked out of his arms without waiting for a response and walked back to Senenmut. Behind her, Mensah cursed, and then his footsteps stomped down the corridor in the opposite direction.

Senenmut had his back to her now, hands clasped loosely behind him. She didn’t know how much he’d seen or heard, but, regardless, she’d just given this man more information than he needed. “The frescoes here are quite well done,” he said without looking at her. “Are they painted by the same artists as the tombs on the West Bank? I’ve heard those are spectacular.”

Hatshepsut rubbed the pale scars on her wrists but forced herself to stop. “I don’t honestly know.”

Senenmut gave her a sidelong glance, then cleared his throat.

“I’m off to dig through piles of dusty old maps,” he said. “When I lived in Iuny, I thought life in the palace meant luxury and intrigue, but I’m positive some of the farmers out there have more fun pulling turnips and shoveling manure.”

Hatshepsut would have laughed out loud had she not been so upset by everything else. Senenmut’s griping was a ray of sunshine in the clouds of her day. “Poor, poor Senenmut. I’m sure we can find you a nice plot of land back in Iuny if you’d prefer. One with plenty of manure.”

“Watch out,” he said. “I might take you up on that offer one of these days. Then who would do your dirty work?” His throaty chuckle reverberated down the corridor as he strolled off to retrieve the maps.

Hatshepsut couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on her face. Senenmut was common, ambitious, and more aggravating than a scorpion sting. Yet, entirely against her will, she found she enjoyed his company. She watched him for a moment before shaking her head and heading to her own rooms to begin work on her brother’s war.

The thought of Thut pulled Hatshepsut back to hard reality.

A war to wage and a wedding to plan. She would never get any sleep.

“I
have something for you.” Unannounced, Senenmut strode into the Court of Reeds—so named for its forest of giant reed pillars—his gleaming white kilt brushing his ankles. The thin sheen of sweat covering his chest confirmed that he had run to the throne room to deliver the mysterious something he promised.

The royal audience would begin in a few minutes, and Hatshepsut was ready for the opportunity to hear and pass judgment on
rekhyt
cases. Thut had allowed her more say in state matters over the past weeks, and while she reveled in her newfound power, her eyelids were heavy from another sleepless night spent reading dusty records of ancient court cases by the light of flickering oil lamps. She craved the softness of her bed instead of the hard throne she now occupied, its seat carved with ebony inlays to represent a leopard skin and its stiff back gilded with intertwined lotus and papyrus stalks. She had offered to assist Thut with the royal audience today, and although the crowd rumbled on the other side of the doors, the pharaoh had yet to grace the Isis Throne with his regal presence.

“Oh?” Hatshepsut barely looked up from a petition from the Temple of Amun. The god’s temple requested that the Royal Treasury pay for its new irrigation ditches, crying poverty after having sent food for the troops in Nubia. She tore the papyrus in half. Amun’s storehouses had more gold than the pharaoh’s treasury; the priests would have to dig their own ditches. “It had better be good news, or I’ll have you flogged for starting my day with ill tidings.”

“It worked.”

“What worked?”

Senenmut rolled his eyes. “The invasion of Nubia. It’s over.”

She leaned forward on her chair. “And?”

“And we won, of course.”

Hatshepsut jumped from her throne with a shout of joy. She had never doubted Egypt would win, but Senenmut’s words were sweeter than she could have imagined. “When did you hear?”

“This morning. The insurrection was easily subdued, and Admiral Pennekheb installed a new Egyptian viceroy to replace Turi. The rebel ringleaders’ heads are now rotting on pikes in the desert sun.”

Hatshepsut wanted shouted her triumph to the skies, but she managed to contain herself. “Anything else?”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” Senenmut asked with a grin. “No, no other news. Although . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Yes?”

“It might be wise to leave a more lasting reminder in Nubia for those tempted to rebel in the future. Heads in the desert last only so long.”

“Something along the lines of the temples in Nubia you planned before my father passed to the West?”

Senenmut nodded slowly. “And another temple, a new one, to be constructed at Semna.”

Hatshepsut smoothed her sheath as she sat back down. Senenmut was nothing if not ambitious. The treasury could easily afford the expense if the temples weren’t massive. Hatshepsut knew she should wait for Thut’s approval, but she rather liked the idea of authorizing the building projects herself.

“See to it that the new monuments are nothing too outrageous.”

“Of course.” Senenmut kept his expression calm, but his eyes lit up. “I’ll have the plans to you by week’s end.”

“You mean you don’t have them ready?” She gave him a wicked grin.

“Not quite yet,” he said, “but I have something else for you.” He reached into the pocket of his kilt and retrieved a delicate dagger with an ivory handle carved with intertwined sun disks and their rays, a unique motif. The sheath was made of hammered bronze, inscribed with images of a lioness attacking cows and ibexes. Down the middle were flawless hieroglyphs.

The One Who is Powerful, Sekhmet, Lady of Slaughter and Wearer of the Solar Disk

Sekhmet, the lion goddess of war and daughter of the sun. Her patron goddess.

“The ivory is from the elephant I took down in Canaan,” Senenmut said. “I’d like you to have it.”

Hatshepsut stared at the blade as if it were a viper. “Why should I have it?”

Senenmut smiled, a slow grin she was sure made most women as weak-kneed as a newborn colt. She refused to let its magic affect her. He shrugged. “You seem to be a woman who isn’t easily impressed by gold.”

“So you’re trying to impress me?”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t take his eyes from her. “Is it working?”

“You’ll have to try harder than that, Senenmut of Iuny.” She gave him a stony glare. He was a fool for this blatant flattery. She still hadn’t taken the knife—didn’t plan to—when the side entrance to the throne room swung open. Thut strode into the room with Kipa on his shoulder, the pharaoh’s false beard strapped to his chin and the double crown askew on his head. She still wasn’t used to the sight; it didn’t seem right for her brother to be wearing her father’s crown.

“What’s this, sister?” he asked. Kipa scampered up the arm of a slave who was carrying a tray of watered wine and green grapes. The monkey grabbed a handful of the fruit and stuffed them in her mouth. “A private audience with the
rekhyt
before the real petitioners are received?” He kissed her on the cheek and smiled to Senenmut as he took his place on the massive Isis Throne, flanked by the golden goddess of the throne; her husband, Osiris; and son, Horus.

Thut’s face was still handsome, but his body had softened in the months since he’d returned from Canaan before their father’s death. The rounded arc of his pale belly sat atop his starched white kilt, his hairless skin gleaming dully in the square of light streaming from the windows.

He eyed the ivory knife and chuckled. “Ah, the infamous dagger,” he said. “Senenmut worked on that pretty bauble almost every night on our way back from Canaan. The rest of the men would be drunk around the campfire or chasing the camp women—” Thut caught himself, shifting on his throne and poking at his golden collar as he looked askance at Hatshepsut.

“I’m well aware that our soldiers don’t live like priests while in the field.” Her brother’s concern for her sensibilities was touching but misplaced.

Thut shot her a relieved smile, but a crimson flush crept up his neck. She wondered if perhaps her brother had availed himself of those same women while he was in Canaan, or if Senenmut had. She continued to ignore Senenmut and pushed the thoughts from her mind—it was none of her business what either of them had done then, just as neither of them needed to know about her dalliance with Mensah.

“Well,” Thut continued, “Senenmut was always at work on that little trinket. Took a fair amount of ribbing from the men for it, too.” He looked at his friend’s outstretched hand and back to Hatshepsut. “Is there a problem, sister?”

Hatshepsut gave Senenmut a hard look. “Not at all.” She moved to take the dagger, but Senenmut shook his head. “May I?” he asked Thut.

“Of course.” Her brother gestured for him to step onto the royal dais. Hatshepsut gritted her teeth.

Senenmut’s fingers brushed hers as he placed the blade in her hand. She shivered, but refused to acknowledge the heat that crept to her face from his touch. But Senenmut noticed. The infernal man saw everything.

“Your brother never stopped speaking of you,” Senenmut said quietly. “I figured a woman like you would appreciate a gift from a beast who refused to go down without a fight.”

“A woman as wild as you,” Thut said to her, laughing. Her brother kissed the back of her hand. “I’ve always harbored the suspicion that Senenmut planned to court you himself when we returned to Waset.”

Senenmut managed a tight smile. Hatshepsut set the dagger on the gilded table at her elbow. It might as well be a snake, for all she wanted to do with it.

“Senenmut has come with news from Pennekheb,” she spoke hurriedly. “Your foray into Nubia has been a total success, brother.”

“Of course it has.” Thut flicked his wrist, and silent attendants emerged from the shadows to hand him the golden crook and flail. “Did you doubt otherwise?”

“It seems the gods have graced you with the gift of foresight.” Hatshepsut shook her head, a little annoyed. Thut had been blithely unaware of the maneuverings of his troops since they’d deployed. She had kept him apprised of events as she received news from the admiral, but Thutmosis cared more for the placement of his pieces on a
senet
board than for the movement of his soldiers.

“How long until the betrothal stele is ready?” Thut asked Senenmut. Hatshepsut started; she’d heard no mention of such a monument. Thut noticed her reaction and covered her hand with his. “I had Senenmut design a stele announcing our upcoming marriage to the
rekhyt
. He’s the only one I could trust with so important a job.”

She wondered if the project had truly been her brother’s or if Senenmut had managed to plant the idea in Thut’s mind. She suspected the latter.

“It will be finished by the week’s end,” Senenmut said. “The stone is red granite, truly a work of art.”

“As it should be if it mentions my name,” Hatshepsut said. She remembered too late Mensah’s words in the corridor.

A work of art, for a work of art.

Senenmut didn’t bother to hide his grin. “So I’ve heard.”

Thut laughed, but Senenmut’s gaze held hers. Hatshepsut refused to look away. Finally, Senenmut bowed, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

“That’s precisely what I said when I commissioned the piece,” Thut said, still chuckling. “Humble you are not, sister.”

Senenmut backed from the throne, his eyes hidden by his wig as he took up a position at the bottom of the dais. “I thank the gods every day for Senenmut,” Thut said, quiet enough so only she could hear him. “I doubt I’ll ever find a more able-bodied adviser and loyal friend.”

Somehow Hatshepsut doubted Senenmut’s motives were quite as altruistic as Thut believed. Her brother tended to think well of everyone, not necessarily the best trait in Egypt’s pharaoh. She intended to keep Senenmut on a tight leash.

A scribe took his place, sitting cross-legged at the bottom of the dais, and two servants with giant ostrich-feather fans hovered behind them as the usual courtiers filed in before the petitioners were admitted. Unlike the
rekhyt
, who arrived wide-eyed and slack-jawed, the nobility came to the Court of Reeds to see and be seen. At the front of the line came the vizier Imhotep, followed by his son. Mensah’s musk perfume was so strong that Hatshepsut almost choked as he took his place beneath them, subtly pushing Senenmut to the periphery as Thut bent down to discuss something with Imhotep. As Imhotep’s only surviving son, Mensah was widely expected one day to take his father’s place advising Thutmosis as vizier, an honor that would make him strut like a peacock more than he already did.

Imhotep and the other courtiers settled into their gossip, but Mensah’s gaze burned into Hatshepsut.

“Filthy
rekhyt
,” she heard him sneer at Senenmut under his breath, but Senenmut pretended not to notice and instead struck up a conversation with an elderly noble whose wisps of hennaed hair poked out from under his wig.

Thut leaned toward her and scratched his chin under his false beard. “Are we ready to begin?”

She nodded, and he motioned to a herald. “Bring forth the first petitioner.”

The giant ebony doors swung open and the crowd of commoners surged forward into the throne room. The herald scanned his papyrus scroll for the first name on his list. “Siptah, merchant of Waset, come forth!”

The merchant Siptah, potbelly hanging over his stained kilt, jostled his way to the dais. His kohl, crooked and uneven, looked like a drunken monkey had applied it. He attempted a clumsy
henu
and sank in an untidy heap at her brother’s feet.

“As Amun endures and as the Pharaoh endures,” Siptah said, “so I speak in truth.”

“Rise,” Thut said. “What is your case, Siptah of Waset?”

Siptah rose and stared intently at the tiles. “Great
Per A’a
, I humbly ask retribution from Merenaset, a lowborn thief of a woman who has stolen from me!”

Siptah’s words rose above the din of the hall, and the nobles up front quieted to hear the rest of the tale.

“And what, Siptah, has Merenaset stolen from you?” Thut asked.

Hatshepsut dared to interrupt. “Is the woman here to defend herself against these accusations?”

A barefoot woman in the middle of the crowd stepped forward, so wiry and thin that Hatshepsut could count the ribs that strained against the threadbare linen of her sheath. Although worn, the fabric was spotless and not a hair on the woman’s wig was out of place. She swept to the floor in a stiff bow and then was on her feet again, her brown eyes as calm as the Nile on a windless day. “I am Merenaset,
Per A’a
. And it is true—I did steal from this man.”

“You see, she admits to the crime!” Spittle spewed from Siptah’s lips as he turned to face Merenaset. “You are a thief! A criminal!”

He reminded Hatshepsut of a washerwoman bickering over the price of fish in the market. She was thankful when her brother held up a hand to stop him. “Siptah, you still have not answered us. What has Merenaset stolen from you?”

The merchant turned to face the pharaoh, his visage flushed. “I caught her stealing bracelets from my faience stall. She knows it’s true!”

A mixture of groans and excited murmurs arose from the crowd. A case of theft was certainly more interesting than the typical irrigation squabble, but the petty crime hardly seemed to warrant so much drama.

Hatshepsut studied the two petitioners as the herald called for order from the crowd. Beads of sweat marred Siptah’s brow, whether from nerves or something else she couldn’t tell. Merenaset seemed composed, but every now and then she chewed her thumbnail. Yet her expression toward Siptah was the same one would give a dung beetle before stepping on it.

As soon as the room quieted, Merenaset spoke again, her voice so low it was difficult to make out her words. “I have already admitted I stole from you.”

“So you deserve to be punished!” Siptah stomped his foot like a child with a youth lock in the midst of a tantrum.

Hatshepsut cleared her throat, and Thut clapped the golden crook and flail to stop the grubby merchant from going any further. He motioned for Hatshepsut to speak.