Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  “What in the name of Amun were you doing?”

  The pharaoh’s exasperated tone made Hatshepsut wince. The strokes of kohl at his temples turned his glare more menacing under the white leather and red copper of the double crown. The crown was also known as Two Great of Magic, and as a child Hatshepsut had thought it was the crown’s magic that made everyone do her father’s bidding. Now she realized it was the mantle of authority he wore so easily that made Pharaoh Tutmose such an effective leader.

  Hatshepsut’s head touched the colored tiles as she swept into a full henu before her father. A kaleidoscope filled her open eyes, swirls of green, red, and blue.

  “It was nothing, Father,” she mumbled into the ground, cheeks on fire. “I was only listening.”

  “I gathered as much,” the pharaoh said. His face was more lined than Hatshepsut remembered. For the first time in her life, her father looked his fifty years.

  Still, his eyes smiled at her.

  As the pharaoh’s youngest child, Hatshepsut had always been indulged, and rarely punished for all the times she’d hidden from her attendants or reprimanded for the countless scrapes she’d received while racing chariots and wrestling her brother. She was her father’s favorite, and she knew it.

  With a sigh, he touched her shoulder to make her rise. Hatshepsut grimaced at her drenched sheath and the growing lake at her feet. She glanced toward her brother, but met the scrutiny of a third man—one she hadn’t noticed until now—standing in the shadow of the hedge.

  Each part of his face was not especially noteworthy, but a single scar marred the flesh of his forehead—a thin white slash through copper. This stranger was no typical courtier with the soft belly and pale skin attesting to a life of ease safe from Re’s glare. His skin was too dark for the nobility’s taste, and his leather armband branded him a soldier in Thoth’s division. The man looked positively common.

  She was staring. Scrambling to mask her flurry of emotions with the servant’s laughing eyes on her, Hatshepsut mustered her most imperious tone. “And who is this, Father?”

  Her brother motioned the man out of the shadows and into the full light of the garden. “Senenmut of Iuny. I’ve made him one of my personal advisers.”

  “Adviser?” Hatshepsut could hardly imagine such a rekhyt coming out of the fields to serve the royal house. “How could you be qualified for such a position?”

  Thut groaned, shaking his head, but Senenmut’s eyes flashed and his lips curled up in a tinge of a smile. Hatshepsut was sure he was laughing at her again. “I am the eldest son of Ramose and Hatnofer of Iuny. I was apprenticed as a scribe to the temple of Thoth at the age of seven,” he said. “When my youth lock was shorn, I was sent to work in the military, writing missives for Admiral Pennekheb, son of Ebana. I stayed in the army for a number of years to assist with negotiations and oversee various building projects. Admiral Pennekheb recently recommended me for service to the royal house.” Senenmut paused for a moment and crossed his arms before his chest. “So here I am.”

  Impudent and common. The man would make excellent crocodile bait.

  Thut motioned toward his leg. “Senenmut took down the elephant that did this before the beast broke more than my leg. The man is fierce with a battle-ax.” He looked at Hatshepsut and chuckled. “Although perhaps not as fierce as you, sister.”

  “I’d recognize a daughter of the lion goddess anywhere.” Senenmut gave her a slow smile. “Or perhaps her more diminutive cousin, Bast.”

  Hatshepsut fumed. The man dared compare her to a house cat? She didn’t care if he’d saved Thut or not; there had to be a place for him in Aswan’s granite quarries. Years of hard labor would wipe that smirk off his face.

  She eyed Thoth’s baboon emblem on his armband. “I find it surprising that any god—especially the god of knowledge—would claim you.”

  Thut squeezed her arm in warning. “Perhaps the two of you should ignore each other. You both possess the terrifying tendency to say precisely what you think.”

  “Or I could have his tongue cut out.”

  Senenmut’s grin deepened. The man really was a baboon, just like the god he claimed. “I’m sorry you find my qualifications so lacking, satnesut,” he said.

  At least he knew to address her properly.

  “Not at all.” Hatshepsut crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m sure you’re highly qualified to entertain my brother, much like Kipa here.” The monkey jumped to the top of Thut’s head, raising such a racket, Hatshepsut was sure that she was being cursed in monkey.

  Her father cleared his throat and rubbed his temples. “That’s enough, Hatshepsut. Your brother and I have much to discuss before we visit Hathor’s temple today.”

  Hatshepsut straightened and met her father’s gaze. “I’d prefer to remain here. I deserve to know what you have planned for Thutmosis and me.”

  So she could plot a way to get out of it.

  Father and son exchanged a look. The pharaoh sighed and squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll wait for your return before resuming that topic. You may join us on our trip into Waset.”

  “Thank you, Father.” She bowed to him and her brother, but didn’t bother to acknowledge Senenmut before racing as fast as she could back to her chambers.

  “Satnesut!” Mouse dropped the palette of kohl she was grinding as Hatshepsut burst through the door. A Nubian dwarf, Mouse might have had a different name before she’d been brought to the capital, but with her wide ears and overlarge teeth, the nickname had stuck. Her glare at Hatshepsut was as dark as her skin as she picked up the pieces of the broken palette. “I see you’ve ruined another sheath. What happened this time?”

  Hatshepsut ignored the question. “I have to get dressed.” She threw open a cedar chest and tore through a stack of folded linen sheaths as Sitre walked into the room.

  Her old menat grabbed her hands with ones spotted and gnarled with age. “You may run wild outside the palace, but Mouse and I have enough to do today without having to clean up another mess.”

  Sitre had delivered Hatshepsut into this world, and threatened to take her out of it more times than she could count. Hatshepsut knew she wouldn’t win the argument. “I need to accompany Father and Thut to Hathor’s temple.” She took a deep breath and sat down on an ebony stool. “They’re talking about my marriage.”

  “They?” Mouse picked up the sheaths Hatshepsut had flung to the floor. Neither she nor Sitre seemed ruffled at the mention of Hatshepsut’s marriage.

  “Father and one of Thut’s new advisers, Senenmut of Iuny.” Hatshepsut twisted in her chair. “I’m thinking of using him for target practice.”

  “Just don’t let his blood splatter your sheath.” Sitre raked an ivory comb through Hatshepsut’s tangled black hair. Hatshepsut had let it grow since Neferubity’s death, preferring her own hair to the infernal wigs her mother forced her to wear. Ahmose either hadn’t noticed or no longer cared what her daughter did. Hatshepsut guessed the latter. “I suppose it’s only fitting your marriage be negotiated in the presence of the goddess of love, despite your scorn for Hathor,” Sitre said. “But you’ll have to sit still if you want to look presentable for the cow goddess.”

  Isis’ magic blessed their hands, and soon Hatshepsut’s gilded sandals slapped back over the garden tiles. Sitre had dressed her in a soft linen sheath with an overgown of delicate gold and turquoise beads, so she no longer looked like a drowned Nile rat. Her favorite diadem of rosettes and stylized papyrus stalks sat atop her oiled hair, and she chewed the little ball of incense Mouse had given her to freshen her breath. She wouldn’t allow Senenmut to fluster her again. She was the flesh and blood of the pharaoh, while he still had the dirt of Iuny under his fingernails. He was beneath her notice.

  The men looked up as she approached the stables, the pharaoh’s medjay guards standing at attention. Everyone’s eyes lingered on her.

  “Shall we?” Hatshepsut felt a thrill as her brother motioned to the chariots—one plain cedar and the
other of electrum hammered with the pharaoh’s cartouche—but then she saw the ebony sedan chair and four waiting Nubian carriers, men chosen for the breadth of their shoulders and not the prettiness of their faces. Hatshepsut wished for a chariot, but knew better than to argue, lest she be denied the privilege of going into the city at all.

  “Where’s Father?” she asked.

  Thut’s driver took his cane and helped him into the electrum basket, a blinding mixture of gold and silver reserved for the royal family. Fortunately, Kipa was nowhere to be seen. Senenmut stepped into his empty chariot and wrapped the reins around his fists.

  “Father had a sudden spell,” Thut said. “He’ll be fine by tonight.”

  “In that case—” Hatshepsut stepped into the chariot with her brother and motioned to the driver. “Your services are no longer necessary.”

  “Hatshepsut—” Thut groaned.

  She braced herself, planting her feet firmly in the basket. “Don’t worry, brother. I won’t kill us.”

  The horse bolted at the flick of her whip, leaving the guards and Senenmut to scramble in the dust behind them. With any luck, she’d be able to lose them entirely.

  They passed along the Walls of the Prince and under the palace’s Great Double Gate, the guards a blur of white as Thut laughingly hollered at her to slow down. The gentle scents of lotus blossoms and fig trees were quickly replaced with the pungent smell of animal dung and baking bread, dust, and spices. They careened around a corner and passed a pile of mud-brick houses stacked precariously upon one another. The corner of their chariot almost clipped a wizened old man balancing a basket of silver-scaled fish on his head.

  “May you copulate with a donkey!” The rekhyt shook his fist at her before realizing he’d just cursed the pharaoh’s daughter. Laughing, she turned in time to see the basket crash to the ground as he collapsed in a bow, the fish slithering to the dirt in a flash the same color as the moon.

  Thut groaned into his hands, but Hatshepsut only laughed harder.

  A brown nanny goat poked its head out of a door and bleated just before they entered the market with its morass of carts and stalls. Hatshepsut slowed the chariot and glanced over her shoulder, stifling a curse to see Senenmut round the last corner. He scarcely seemed winded, but the medjay strung behind him panted and heaved, their chests slick with sweat as they clutched their spears for support. She’d have to drive faster next time.

  Vendors with booming voices hawked wares of all kinds—hills of elephant garlic and onions, half-starved donkeys, and jewelry so cheap its gilding was already peeling. One cart was piled with dirty linen bundles, likely mummies of ibis, falcons, and dogs available to accompany the recently deceased to the Field of Reeds. The market swarmed with every variety of people, but each rekhyt fell to the ground as the royal entourage passed and the medjay barked her brother’s titles. One man almost dropped his armload of green melons in his haste to press his head to the dirt.

  They emerged from the market outside Hathor’s temple, and the world fell silent.

  The chariots stopped before a freshly swept path; the earth leading to the house of the goddess must be clean of footprints and never touched by the hooves of goats or pigs. Gaudily painted images of the cow goddess smiled benevolently at Hatshepsut from every wall and pillar of the flowery forecourt of Hathor’s outer temple. Hatshepsut rolled her eyes. She’d visited this temple only once—when forced by her mother during one of Hathor’s holy days—and didn’t care to return anytime soon. Love was for fools and old women.

  “Such a lovely drive through the city.” Senenmut brushed imaginary dust from his arm. “Although it seems you could have run over a few more rekhyt if you’d tried harder.”

  “We’ll talk in the shade over there,” Thut said, not giving Hatshepsut a chance to respond to Senenmut. “And then I’ll see to Hathor’s offering while I speak to the High Priestess.” He motioned them to a bench near the crocodile pool. Unfortunately, the beasts looked to be mostly asleep. Hatshepsut was sure Ma’at, the goddess of truth and justice, would forgive her if she managed to push Senenmut into the waters.

  A wa’eb priestess with downcast eyes materialized with a tray of bread and faience glasses of watered wine. A group of musicians and Hathor’s dancers practiced in the far corner, their naked bodies slick with oil as they swayed to the sensuous notes of the harps. Hatshepsut felt a twinge of envy at their freedom as her own slipped further away with each passing moment.

  She took a slice of honeyed bread dotted with raisins and glowered at the dancers. “When are we to marry?” she asked.

  Her brother choked on his wine. “So much for the subtleties of conversation. At least I know I’ll never be bored with you as my Great Royal Wife.” He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin offered by Hathor’s priestess. “It appears we must be married sooner rather than later.”

  “What happened with the Akkadians to spur this decision?” The bread was suddenly dry in her mouth. Hatshepsut set the piece back on her plate.

  “They’ve offered one of their royal women as a wife for your brother.” Senenmut bit into a slice of brown bread slathered with honey. They may as well have been discussing which manure to use in the palace fields, for all his interest in the conversation.

  “I already heard that part.” Hatshepsut glared at him. “Would you care to elaborate?”

  Her brother sighed. “The Akkadians have a ripe young princess they want me to marry as a peace offering.”

  Hatshepsut stared at him. “That can’t happen.” It was ludicrous to imagine a foreigner sitting aside the Isis Throne, especially after everything their dynasty had done to rid Egypt of foreign rulers, beginning with expelling the dreaded Hyksos from the Black Land only a few generations ago.

  “Of course not,” her brother said.

  “There are benefits to the match.” Senenmut said. “Your brother will likely produce several heirs, regardless of whom he marries first. Peace with the Akkadians while he and your father live would be a definite boon for Egypt.” He took a long draught of his wine. “Your status in life wouldn’t change one fathom.”

  This time her glare could have frozen the Nile. “Except that it would dilute the bloodline. There could be civil war after Thutmosis dies. Not to mention that it would be an affront to Ma’at.” Hatshepsut would have to talk to her brother about his recent choice in advisers; this man had to go.

  Thut laid his hand on her thigh. “Obviously, if Princess Enheduanna married me before you, she would become Great Royal Wife and relegate you to secondary status once you and I were married. Senenmut and I have discussed the possibility that if I marry an Akkadian princess first, then any son born to us could inherit the throne before your sons. That is why the marriage is not acceptable until after you’ve married me.”

  “So what do the Akkadians want from Egypt instead? Increased trade agreements? Gold from Nubia?”

  Thut nodded. “The sand dwellers drive a hard bargain.” He studied her before speaking. “None of us sees a way to push back our marriage by more than a few months. Only long enough to prepare.”

  “A few months?” Hatshepsut’s necklace was suddenly too tight.

  “Nothing can be allowed to stand in the way of a smooth succession,” Senenmut said. “You’re both old enough to be married, and the pharaoh’s health isn’t what it used to be.”

  “I understand.” Her voice was so quiet, she wasn’t sure if either of them heard her, but she didn’t care.

  Thut fiddled with a gold bangle at his wrist, not meeting her eyes. “Father plans to make the announcement at my mother’s naming-day celebration this evening.”

  “Of course.” She didn’t realize she was picking at the wounds on her wrists until the scab started to bleed.

  Thut and Senenmut continued to speak, something about increasing their demand for copper from the Akkadians, but Hatshepsut didn’t hear any of it. She wanted to scream.

  She rose, ignoring them both as they stood in respons
e. “I need to return to the palace.”

  “Of course.” Thut touched her elbow, already reaching for his cane. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just bored with all your blather about copper.” She flashed him the brightest smile she could manage. “I’ll see you this evening.”

  Hatshepsut felt their eyes on her back as she clambered into the chariot. She heard none of Waset’s sounds on the return trip, smelled none of the scents of the City of Truth. Once inside the palace walls, she started to walk, no destination in mind, needing time to think. Head down, she turned a corner and barreled straight into Mutnofret’s myrrh-drenched chest.

  Set’s blood! Somehow she’d stumbled into the Hall of Women, the last place she wanted to be.

  The women’s rooms and gardens were a gilded prison used to trap the graceful creatures within. Her father had only two wives, but, like all pharaohs, he had once possessed some of Egypt’s most delicate flowers, plucked from their families for the honor of gracing the pharaoh’s bed in the hopes of producing the future hawk in the nest. Yet Pharaoh Tutmose had often been gone campaigning and neglected his other women after Thutmosis was born, more concerned with ruling his empire than siring more children, since he already had four strong sons. Then his three eldest sons passed to the West, and aging Ahmose made sure no new women were brought in to threaten her position as Great Royal Wife; there was already enough rivalry between the pharaoh’s two wives to fill the entire Hall of Women with animosity. Now Tutmose’s old flowers were withered, breasts sagging past their ribs and faces so lined that no amount of kohl and henna could make them young again. And here they would remain. A woman left the Hall of Women only once: on her way to be mummified by the priests of Anubis.

  This was to be Hatshepsut’s life.

  “My, my, child!” Double chin wagging, Mutnofret giggled as she backed away from her husband’s daughter. In her youth, Mutnofret’s curvaceous silhouette and exotic features had caught the pharaoh’s eye, but now her honeyed cakes were her constant companions. Her pendulous breasts hung down to the waist of her skirt, the nipples painted with red ochre and set with carnelian stones. “Good thing I’m not your mother—she’d have your ear for not paying more attention.”