Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  The barb was aimed at her mother. “It’s from both of us,” Hatshepsut repeated.

  Her father interrupted before the usual wifely squabbles could begin. “And now, my wife, I have one final gift.” Tutmose stood empty-handed. The staid butterflies on Mutnofret’s mirror taunted the angry ones in Hatshepsut’s stomach.

  The pharaoh stood between his two children but addressed Mutnofret. “You shall soon add pharaoh’s mother to your list of titles, as Thutmosis takes his place beside me as co-regent.” Mutnofret grinned like a cat with a helpless wren pinned in its claws. Hatshepsut snuck a glance at her brother. His face was a mask, but she caught the way his jaw clenched at their father’s words. “And I know you have long dreamed of seeing your only son married,” the pharaoh continued. “You shall soon hold your grandchildren in your arms and know that our family’s dynasty is secure.”

  Hatshepsut held her breath and wished for a few moments of forever to postpone the inevitable.

  “In two month’s time, you will see your dreams turn to reality. Thutmosis and Hatshepsut shall be married!”

  Mutnofret squealed like a scalded pig and jumped from the table to sweep the hawk in the nest and his future bride into her meaty arms. Hatshepsut glanced at their father, but he avoided both her and her mother’s eyes. One woman’s dreams were realized tonight, but another’s failure to produce a male heir was flung in her face. Ahmose’s expression reflected her pain, her features pulled into a grimace worthy of a mortal wound.

  “You two will make such a regal couple!” Mutnofret planted a wet kiss on Thut’s cheek and another on Hatshepsut’s forehead. “I’ve never been so happy!” She paused and shook her head, a sly smile on her face as she looked askance at Ahmose. “I’m sure Hatshepsut will outshine her mother’s capabilities in bearing sons, don’t you think, Thutmosis?”

  Thut cleared his throat. “I’m sure my sister will give me many sons.”

  Hatshepsut’s stomach rebelled. She gasped and pushed Mutnofret’s meaty arms from her shoulders. “I need air.”

  She made it to Mutnofret’s sitting room, but didn’t realize Thut had followed her until he touched her arm. “Hatshepsut!”

  She pushed him away. “Let me go.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Just leave me alone!”

  Thut looked about to argue but dropped his hand and released her. It was a good thing; if he’d held her much longer, she would have vomited all over Mutnofret’s tiles. As it was, she made it only into the courtyard before heaving the contents of her stomach into an alabaster urn carved with images of the sacred triad of Isis, Osiris, and Horus.

  Normally she would have gone to sit under her drunken willows to calm down, but that would have been the obvious place to find her. She didn’t want to be found.

  Her feet took her through the open arboretum outside the palace offices. Sycamore and willow trees surrounded a deep pool bedecked with lotus-blossom tiles. A waist-high statue of Amun guarded one corner, the god’s granite face impassive under the double plumes of his crown.

  This would all end if she waded in and allowed the black waters to usher her to Amenti. Egypt had prospered for millennia without her; surely it would continue to do so. Thut could find another wife, a woman content to warm his bed and bear his gaggle of children. She could join Neferubity in the Field of Reeds and wait for the rest of their family to join them one day.

  The water covered her ankles, then her calves. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes before stepping in the rest of the way.

  “Hatshepsut? What are you doing?”

  Senenmut.

  A statue frozen midstep, Hatshepsut desperately wished she could disappear into the shadows. She waited a moment’s breath and hoped he would allow her to slink away.

  It was a futile hope.

  “Hatshepsut?” Senenmut repeated himself, this time a fraction louder. “Come here. I have something to show you.” He turned and walked back toward the offices.

  Hatshepsut felt a flicker of annoyance at his command, but the only other options were to drown herself or to return to her family. Senenmut was the lesser evil.

  The walls of scrolls and scent of dusty papyrus comforted her. Hatshepsut had spent countless hours with Neferubity in the royal offices over the past two years, poring over Egypt’s tribute requirements of her vassal states, composing missives to foreign dignitaries, and filing court judgments for future reference—all to help prepare her sister to become Great Royal Wife. The idea of drowning herself suddenly seemed ridiculous. All that knowledge had been hard-earned and would be put to good use. She just wasn’t sure how. At least not yet.

  Senenmut handed her a scroll. The delicate reed paper was marred with black slashes of choppy hieratic script. “Who wrote this?” Hatshepsut squinted, but that didn’t help. “It’s barely legible.”

  “I did.” Senenmut chuckled. “My hieroglyphs are even worse. My poor handwriting is one of my few faults.”

  Hatshepsut could think of more faults to add to his list, but reminded herself that not everyone had the benefit of her royal education. She considered pointing out her superiority in learning, for surely this rekhyt couldn’t speak four languages, recite Egypt’s military history from memory, or debate foreign policy and trade agreements as she could. Instead she continued to read, deciphering the scrawled letters as best she could. “You’re recommending the enlargement of our temples in Nubia?”

  Senenmut nodded. A triumphant gleam lit his eyes. “And the appointment of an Egyptian loyal to the Isis Throne to oversee all of Nubia as viceroy.”

  His plan was brilliant, not that she’d ever tell him that. Considering his performance earlier this morning, she was surprised at his willingness to share such ambitious plans with her. Either he was looking to boast or perhaps sniffing out a possible ally for this risky venture, knowing of Thut’s inherently cautious nature. The Nubians were one of the tribes of the Nine Bows, nine groups of foreigners stretching from the Asiatic sand dwellers in the north to the Nubian kingdoms in the southern deserts. All lived outside the Nile valley—and, thus, in the land of chaos—and each had fought against Egypt at some point in history. “Nubia has been peaceful since my father took the throne,” Hatshepsut said, “but they rebel every few years, especially when Egypt has a new pharaoh.”

  “With an Egyptian viceroy and a massive temple to Egypt’s gods staring them in the face, they might think twice about rebelling next time, don’t you think?” A boyish grin lit his features.

  “Quite likely,” Hatshepsut murmured. She’d seriously doubted Senenmut’s abilities as an adviser to her brother, but it had never occurred to her that perhaps the man possessed natural talents to make up for his poor birth and lack of manners.

  She pushed the papyrus back to him. “Have you shown this to my father?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet, but I will. The reconstruction of the temple will require the transport of laborers, so it will have to wait until after the harvest.”

  “I’ll be interested to hear what he says.” Their eyes locked for the briefest moment, and she cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Ah yes.” Senenmut rolled up the paper. “Back to the snake pit?”

  “The snake pit?”

  “Your mother and Mutnofret, in the same room?” Senenmut chuckled again. “If that’s not a pit of serpents, I don’t know what is.”

  A wry smile tugged at Hatshepsut’s lips. “I’m hoping to slip back to my chambers without them noticing.”

  “You think they’ll let Egypt’s future Great Royal Wife disappear so easily?” Senenmut’s eyebrow arched. “I’d ask how you managed to escape in the first place, but I’m sure it was quite a scene.”

  “It would have been worse if I’d stayed.” Much worse.

  Senenmut blew out one of the lamps. “So, your father made the announcements?”

  Apparently he knew about both of the announcements. Hatshepsut had the feeling Senenmu
t didn’t miss much.

  “He did.” Some of Hatshepsut’s earlier dejection returned to cloud her mood. “Thut will be co-regent, and in two months’ time I will be his Great Royal Wife.”

  “A sacrifice of your freedom, but one worthy of your kingdom.” Senenmut didn’t meet her eyes.

  “It’s a sacrifice I’ve known I would have to make,” Hatshepsut said, her tone measured as she thought of the pool. The bottom of her sheath was still wet.

  “Of course.” Senenmut motioned her to the door as he blew out the final lamp. With one puff of air he extinguished the tiny flame. Moonlight streamed through the window. “But I’d imagine it still tastes bitter going down.” He looked at her, but his expression was hidden in the darkness. “Shall I walk you back, then?”

  For some reason the idea of Senenmut walking her through the moonlit gardens seemed far too intimate for her taste.

  “I can manage,” she said. “If I don’t return soon, Father will probably send out the guards.”

  “As you wish.” Senenmut bowed his head and waited for Hatshepsut to exit the office before he closed the door behind them.

  “There you are.” Thut’s relieved voice echoed off the walls of the corridor. Kipa sat on his shoulder, her tail wrapped around his neck as she peeled a pistachio. “We were beginning to worry.” His eyes widened as they fell on Senenmut. “The two of you alone and you both survived? I’m shocked.”

  “Just barely,” Hatshepsut said. A girl-slave passed them, and stopped to bow. The royal family was never alone, one reason she loved to escape into the Red Land. “I’m exhausted. I’d like to go back to my chambers.”

  Thut kissed her forehead. “Of course,” he said. “Father just announced that you’re to move into the Hall of Women tomorrow. Shall we pick out your apartments and furnishings in the morning?”

  She’d as soon pick out her tomb.

  “Actually, I was hoping the two of you could assist me in planning the temples in Nubia,” Senenmut said, looking up as if the mud brick ceiling was especially fascinating. “It’s a large undertaking and I’d appreciate the help.”

  Puzzled, Hatshepsut looked at Senenmut. She’d seen the plans—they were essentially finished. But she welcomed the opportunity to avoid the Hall of Women for even an extra moment.

  “I’m sure we can manage both,” Thut said. “In peace, Senenmut.”

  Senenmut bowed. “In peace.”

  Perhaps she wouldn’t feed him to the crocodiles. At least not yet.

  Chapter 4

  “Hatshepsut, wake up.”

  She groaned and rubbed her eyes. She’d been living in the Hall of Women for a week now, but still found it disconcerting to wake in chambers that reeked of unfamiliar perfumes accumulated over years. It didn’t help that her father had been ill for the last few days. She had tried to persuade Thut to put off their wedding preparations and let her assume some of the pharaoh’s responsibilities, but he had refused, wanting to prove to their father—or more likely to himself—that he could rule alone.

  Hatshepsut blinked her way back to reality, her mind still immersed in the foggy world of dreams. She was startled to see Senenmut standing in her doorway, illuminated by the yellow glow of a sputtering oil lamp.

  “What are you doing here?” Hatshepsut pulled the sheet to her chin, ready to scream, but Senenmut remained by the door.

  Only bad news was delivered in the middle of the night.

  “It’s your father,” Senenmut said. “Come quickly. I’ve already sent a messenger to bring Thutmosis.”

  Hatshepsut’s ivory headrest clattered to the floor as she jumped out of bed. Her linen dress billowed behind her, the angry gray of storm clouds in the darkness.

  She barreled into her father’s chambers, but stopped short at the fetid smell of death and decay.

  “By the gods.” She swayed on her feet.

  Someone touched the small of her back to guide her forward. A fire roared in the brazier, so the room blazed like a baker’s oven at midday. Shadows lurking at the edges of the room chanted mournful hymns to Anubis, meant to ease the passage of the dying to the West.

  “Leave now!” Hatshepsut gestured violently at the priests. Senenmut herded them back into the hallway as she sank to the floor at her father’s bedside. The pharaoh’s breath was ragged—sometimes fast and shallow and other times so slow she feared another inhale would never come. The lion of Egypt was a shrunken husk as he reclined on the bed, eyes closed. The engraving of the hippo goddess Taweret brandished knives of protection upon the pharaoh’s ebony headrest, yet Hatshepsut feared the goddess was no match for Anubis. Without his stern expression and booming voice, her father was suddenly small. Mortal.

  “Father?” Hatshepsut laid her hand over the pharaoh’s. His skin was hot but damp, as if he’d just been dredged from the Nile, his arms mottled with stains the color of pomegranate.

  “I don’t think he can hear you.” Senenmut stood beside her. “The Royal Physician thinks he slipped into this deep sleep hours ago. Yesterday the pharaoh felt worse than usual but didn’t wish to bother anyone. He complained of chills, so a fire was lit, but it didn’t help. The fever was still high when Gua last checked him.” Senenmut retrieved a golden Eye of Horus amulet from the pharaoh’s chest and handed it to Hatshepsut. “He believed the illness might be caused by rotting food trapped in your father’s body, so he ordered a tonic of garlic and onion juice, then recommended the pharaoh get some rest. And when the servant tried to wake the pharaoh for his next dose of herbs—”

  Hatshepsut nodded mutely. Anubis slunk about the shadows, impatient to catch the pharaoh’s ka in his jackal teeth and drag him to the realm of the dead.

  The door creaked open. Thut seemed younger without his wig and kohl, his face blanched to match the white of his kilt. He knelt at Hatshepsut’s side and took her hand without a word.

  “You’ll be pharaoh before daybreak,” she whispered.

  Her brother was about to receive the crown to the most powerful country in the world. Hatshepsut expected some reaction from him, but Thutmosis only stared blankly at their father.

  Ahmose joined them moments later, rumpled from sleep but still the Great Royal Wife in her pristine robe and the braided Nubian wig she always kept ready at her bedside. Her dark eyes filled with tears as she stared at her husband, but she blinked them away as she knelt at the foot of the bed. She reached out and clasped Tutmose’s ankle, her jaw clenched so tightly that Hatshepsut feared her teeth would break.

  They settled into silence, but soon Ahmose scrambled to her feet. “I can’t do this,” she said. She bent to press her lips to Tutmose’s forehead, lingering for a long moment as if trying to gather the strength to leave him. “I’ll look for you in Amenti,” she whispered, one of her tears splashing his cheek. “Wait for me with Neferubity.”

  The door slammed behind her, leaving only stillness and the promise of death.

  They didn’t have to wait long to witness the pharaoh’s passage to the next world. His breathing grew more labored, each inhale and exhale a struggle against his imminent fate. Tutmose’s final breath rattled in his lungs as Re broke through the black line of the horizon, ushering the pharaoh to Ma’at’s scales in a haze of golden light. Hatshepsut waited an eternity for the next inhale, but it never came.

  He was gone.

  “May the soles of his feet be firm. May he rest forever in Amenti.” Thut recited the common death prayer, his wide eyes shining.

  An ear-splitting keening shattered the peace, an animal wail from the hallway that made the hair on Hatshepsut’s arms stand on end. A harried medjay burst into the room, the guard’s stately demeanor replaced with something akin to panic.

  “It’s Mutnofret,” the guard choked out. “She heard of the pharaoh’s illness.” The medjay saw the death mask on Tutmose’s face and bowed his head before speaking again. He recited a death prayer and then added hopefully, “Perhaps someone else could tell her the news?”

  Thu
t spared a glance at Hatshepsut, but she waved him away. He would benefit from having something to do right now, and she needed time to think. “I’ll see to Mother,” he said, the relief plain on his face.

  Hatshepsut laid her forehead upon her father’s feather mattress as soon as Thut closed the door. She had still hoped to persuade the pharaoh to train her, but now that dream would be entombed with her father’s mummy. Her fingers clutched the bed linens. “What am I going to do?”

  A hand on her shoulder made her flinch. She had forgotten Senenmut. She brushed his hand away.

  “You’ll do what you’ve always done,” he said. “Fight for what you want, one day at a time.”

  Hatshepsut stared at him. She hadn’t realized her desires were so transparent. Senenmut had risen from the mud of Iuny—no mean feat—but she didn’t want his insight. The man’s ambition was too obvious. She stood, her elbows cradled in her hands. “There are plans to be made, his body—” She choked on the word; one of her white-knuckled fists pushed against her lips as she squeezed her eyes shut. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of him.

  Senenmut took a step toward her, but she held her hands up like a shield. “I need to make arrangements for the funeral. There are ambassadors and governors to inform—”

  “Go to your mother,” Senenmut said. “I’ll see to the priests, and when you’re ready you can take over the arrangements. The ambassadors and governors can wait.” He hesitated, then sighed. “What about Nubia?”

  “What do you mean?” Her mind seemed lost in a fog, too dense to think.

  “They’ll see this change of leadership as a chance to rebel.”

  Of course they would. She knew the pattern from the histories she’d studied with Neferubity, lessons learned in what seemed an eternity ago. As if she didn’t have enough to think about right now.

  But Senenmut shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll discuss the matter with Thutmosis later.”