Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  “Thut and I will be married immediately after the funeral.” Hatshepsut rubbed her temples. The room felt empty, as if the gods had abandoned them now that Anubis had claimed his prize.

  “An extra boon for your brother,” Senenmut said.

  Hatshepsut looked back at her father’s still face, silently cursing him for leaving her too soon. “There’s so much I—we—needed to learn from him.”

  “You know more than you think.” Senenmut’s gaze was hooded. She wasn’t sure if he meant her alone or Thut as well. “You will help guide Thutmosis. You were born for it.”

  But she hadn’t been born for it. Neferubity had.

  • • •

  Egypt mourned for seventy days. The country was silent, the Great Double Gate locked. Within the Walls of the Prince, no banquets or festivals that might distract the nobles from their dutiful grieving were allowed. The royal wedding had also been postponed until the end of Akhet in order to avoid the unlucky taint of death, and moved to a day decreed by the High Priest of Amun.

  Hatshepsut had been trapped in the Hall of Women, her father’s mourning wives her only company, although she’d received several gifts from Mensah. The latest was a basket of almonds and fresh lettuce leaves, both well-known aphrodisiacs. A papyrus note lay nestled inside.

  I thought you might sneak out tonight so we could nibble on these together. I miss you.

  She burned the note and fed the lettuce and almonds to one of the concubine’s dogs.

  Hatshepsut had been allowed out of the Hall of Women only once since her father’s death, so she could attend the small ceremony that officially transferred the double crown to her brother. A larger coronation waited for the wedding day. Today she received a taste of the freedom she had once taken for granted, as the old pharaoh was laid to rest, allowing her brother to claim his place fully upon the Isis Throne.

  “I’ll be glad when this is over,” Thut said to Hatshepsut as they followed the funeral procession up the sandy path to their father’s tomb. She noted the ever-present circles under his eyes and bit back a stinging retort about how she’d been entombed in the Hall of Women. Thut had been especially sweet and gentle over the past two months, bringing her new jewels and enameled boxes of sweetmeats when he’d come to visit; so considerate that she’d wanted to scream every time he’d denied her only request: to allow her to leave the Hall of Women. She would convince her brother of her use in his throne room or go slowly insane while locked away. She just had to wait for the right opportunity.

  “I wish funerals didn’t have to be at this ungodly time of day.” Thut walked slower than usual today, leaning heavily on his cane. Slaves weren’t allowed in the royal entourage, so Hatshepsut fanned herself and Thut with a swan’s-wing fan, but the meager breeze she created did no good. “Morning would have been better—it’s too damn hot to be gallivanting through the desert.”

  “It’s the custom,” Hatshepsut said. The court officials attended the public funeral at dawn, but only the royal family and priests accompanied Osiris Tutmose to his final resting place in the Western Valley. The threat from thieves dictated that few knew the location of the royal tomb.

  The sledge bearing their father’s mummy scraped over the sand. The oxen snorted, two beasts as black as Nut’s belly at night. Each wore a wreath of lotus blossoms around its horns, a symbol of rebirth.

  “Well, custom or not, it’s infernally hot,” Thut said. “Only snakes and scorpions go out in the midday sun. And I think most of the snakes are smart enough to have taken cover today.”

  “Perhaps you should change the law, then.” Hatshepsut spared a glance behind them to their father’s widows. Ahmose regally picked her way over the path, while Mutnofret huffed her way up the slope like a beast of burden. The front of her sheath was drenched with sweat. “Your mother is having a difficult time,” she said to Thut. “You should help her.”

  He looked behind them. “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all,” Hatshepsut replied, grateful to Mutnofret for the distraction. “I’ll be fine.”

  They continued in subdued silence to the pharaoh’s tomb. The time had come for the symbolic weighing of Osiris Tutmose’s heart against Ma’at’s feather. If his heart was lighter than the goddess’s feather, the dead pharaoh would be found true of voice and Osiris would welcome him into the glory of the afterlife. If not, the beast Ammit would gorge itself on the pharaoh’s heart for dinner tonight. Hatshepsut shuddered at the thought of the slavering monster, a fearful combination of crocodile, lion, and hippopotamus.

  Priests carried Osiris Tutmose’s treasures for the afterlife into his tomb, furniture and art to keep the pharaoh comfortable in Amenti, senet boards to occupy his endless days, and crates of 365 blue faience shabti statues to come to life and serve the pharaoh in the Field of Reeds, one for every day of the year. The iniut banner—a headless cheetah skin stuffed with linen—was tied to a pole in a gilded pot as an offering to Anubis. An ebony chest in the shape of the jackal god carried the four precious canopic jars that housed the pharaoh’s internal organs. It was then time for the mummy to take its place in this perfectly choreographed dance of death.

  Silently, three priests came from the back of the assembled mourners to begin the Opening of the Mouth ceremony. One wore the snarling mask of their patron god, the black jackal Anubis. The priests reeked of death; as the Controllers of Mysteries, their hearts and minds were filled with the secrets of mummification that no other mortals were permitted to learn. Their long kilts were dyed black to symbolize the rotting flesh of the dead and the fertile soil of Egypt, the cycle of rebirth. The masked priest took his place behind the mummy, and the other two tilted the sledge until the body was vertical once again. Hatshepsut could scarcely believe the remains of her father were wrapped under those linens and hidden behind the solid gold funeral mask. The back of the mask was carved with spells, each meant to protect a specific part of Osiris Tutmose’s face as he passed through the challenges of the next world before being reborn.

  The High Priest’s deep chant started low and gained in volume until it swelled and echoed through the valley. He swung a censer back and forth, cloaking the breath of the gods with the heavy scent of precious incense. Several other priests joined the mournful melody, and the professional mourners keened in accompaniment as they rent their clothes and tore their hair, all three timbres wrapped together in a melancholy song.

  A shrill cry rang out to Hatshepsut’s right. Mutnofret clung to Thut, eyes puffy and chubby cheeks streaked with rivers of kohl and tears as she alternated between hiccups and inhuman shrieks of grief. Hatshepsut glanced sideways at her own mother. Ahmose blinked and wiped away the single tear that threatened to ruin her flawless makeup. Hatshepsut grasped her mother’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. Ahmose stared straight ahead, but gave a squeeze in response.

  The sounds of mourning stopped, leaving a roaring silence punctuated only by Mutnofret’s sniffles. The High Priest, a leopard skin draped over his shoulders, came to stand in front of the body. Raising a golden adze, he touched the mummy’s eyes to symbolize the pharaoh’s successful awakening in the Field of Reeds. The priest picked up a chisel and tapped the mouth as well. He rubbed the entire death mask with cow’s milk, symbolically reinvigorating the rest of the pharaoh’s face. Now Osiris Tutmose would be able to see and speak in the afterlife. The leopard and jackal priests embraced the mummy to allow the soul of Tutmose to find its earthly form.

  Wordlessly, the mummy was lowered back onto the sledge, and the High Priest motioned to the royal family. One by one, each of Osiris Tutmose’s wives and children placed a papyrus page from the Book of Coming Forth by Day at his head and feet. The spells would assist the pharaoh along his journey to the afterlife.

  “Rest well, Father.” Hatshepsut touched the bulge at Osiris Tutmose’s heart, the site of the sacred green jasper scarab that was also inscribed with spells for the afterlife. She stepped back to allow the priests to push the sledge i
nto the gloom of the subterranean grave. The final priest carried a green wooden box shaped like Osiris, filled with damp Nile silt and grain. The seedlings would sprout inside the dark tomb, symbolic of the rebirth of the deceased in the afterlife, but then they, too, would wither and die, as did all life. The sound of wood scraping rock slipped into the dark and finally disappeared.

  A train of Anubis’ priests filed up the sandy path, laden with trays of food and all the other accoutrements necessary for the funeral feast. The priests erected awnings for the royal family so they could enjoy their meal in honor of Osiris Tutmose in relative comfort while the pharaoh awaited his final judgment.

  Hatshepsut sat on a linen blanket and attempted a bite of roast gazelle—her father’s favorite food—from the bowl she and Thut shared. It tasted like sawdust.

  “Admiral Pennekheb has returned to court. He tells me the provincials in Nubia are getting restless,” Thut said, as if commenting on the weather. Yet he twisted the gold bangle at his wrist so hard that Hatshepsut feared it might leave a mark.

  “Restless? Is it an insurrection?” Hatshepsut asked. This was precisely what Senenmut had predicted and had sought to avoid with his plan for Egyptian monuments and a new viceroy for Nubia, plans waylaid by her father’s death. She hadn’t seen Senenmut since that night, or had the opportunity to speak with Thutmosis about the possibility of a revolt; Senenmut must have neglected to mention the concern to her brother. Annoyance at the rekhyt’s incompetence flared, but she quashed it. She’d deal with him later.

  “Do we need to send a division south?” she asked.

  Thut stared at her for a moment, then tore a piece of gazelle off its bone and chewed, his mouth open slightly. “It’s just a small group causing problems.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “I don’t know.” Her brother’s tone was sharper than usual. “Sending a division or two should take care of it.”

  “I certainly hope so.” Hatshepsut eyed him carefully. If the problem in Nubia was serious, Egypt would need to act swiftly, or the gold shipments would be disturbed, not to mention the havoc that instability would wreak on the southern border.

  Lost in thought, Hatshepsut didn’t notice that Thut had fallen asleep—still sitting up—until his head dropped to her shoulder. The poor man was exhausted. She shifted on the blanket so he wouldn’t fall forward and call attention to himself. Mutnofret caught her eye and winked.

  Then Hatshepsut realized there was a way for her to escape the Hall of Women. She chewed her thumbnail, her mind spinning the plan as Thut dozed. It might work, as long as she played her part right.

  The remnants of the feast were packed up and taken into Osiris Tutmose’s tomb so the former Pharaoh could enjoy his favorite foods as he settled into the afterlife. Hatshepsut watched with a heavy heart as the priests slid shut the massive stone door to the tomb and sealed it for all eternity as the black line of the horizon swallowed Re.

  It was done. Now it was time to rejoin the land of the living.

  • • •

  They didn’t have to seek out Admiral Pennekheb. As soon as the royal barque neared the dock Hatshepsut saw Egypt’s most senior military expert waiting with Senenmut, his cedar walking stick in one hand and a torch in the other.

  That could mean only one thing: the situation in Nubia was dire. It took an eternity for the ship to make it to shore and then for the rowers to tie it to the dock. Ordinarily Hatshepsut wouldn’t have wasted such precious time, preferring to jump ashore before the crew finished with the rigging, but the citizens of the City of Truth lined the shores, their eager faces lit by torchlight, all yearning for a rare glimpse of the royal family. Protocol must be observed. Hatshepsut couldn’t go bolting off the ship, no matter how much she wished to.

  Finally, the boat was secure. The instant her feet hit the ground, the two advisers fell into step behind Hatshepsut and Thut.

  “Per A’a.” Pennekheb didn’t miss a beat as he spoke to the fledgling pharaoh. “We must proceed with sending the army to settle things in Nubia. They’ve murdered Governor Turi. The Egyptian colonists in the area have taken refuge in a fortress built by your father. The Division of Horus awaits your orders.”

  Thut waved his hand. He seemed pale, even in the torchlight. “Fine. Send the men.”

  Hatshepsut linked her arm through her brother’s. This was her chance. “Thut, if you’d prefer, I can see to this and give you a report in the morning.”

  He stopped, his face awash with relief. “You’d do that?”

  “For you? Of course.”

  His hand cupped her face and he brushed an errant braid back under her diadem before looking to Pennekheb and Senenmut. “My sister has my full permission to do whatever is necessary.”

  “Will you join the troops?” Hatshepsut asked before her brother slipped away. His smile disappeared, replaced by a sickly pallor.

  “It’s entirely unnecessary for you to supervise the troops,” Senenmut said. “In fact, your presence might make the situation more volatile. You would give our enemy a highly visible and extremely prized target.”

  “Nubia rebels every time the Isis Throne changes hands. Each time they’ve been easily conquered,” Thut said.

  “We’ll see to the details,” Senenmut reassured him. “A swift response will ensure our victory.”

  Hatshepsut noted the slowness of Thut’s step as he made his way up the dock alone. The double crown had already aged her brother, while the very idea of ruling invigorated her.

  If only she were a man. Hatshepsut would have loved the opportunity to leave the capital, to secure her people’s love and the military’s loyalty. Instead, she was cursed with a man’s ka in a woman’s body.

  She turned on Senenmut and Pennekheb once her brother was out of earshot. “What was that all about?”

  Senenmut’s eyes followed Thut’s departing form. His voice was low when he spoke. “Your brother detests fighting.”

  “But he fought in Canaan with my father,” Hatshepsut said.

  Senenmut shook his head. There was a long silence. “Your brother never fought,” he finally said, so softly Hatshepsut thought she had misheard him. “He stayed in his tent whenever there was a battle, complaining of one ailment or another.”

  Thut was a coward? Hatshepsut was so stunned she couldn’t speak.

  Admiral Pennekheb shifted his weight, leaning on his cane. The lines at his eyes had spread to the rest of his face—a wrinkle for each battle he had fought in the name of Egypt. Pennekheb had served his country for many years, but Egypt still needed him, especially now. “I informed the pharaoh of the insurrection early this morning,” he said. “I had hoped that he would be moved to take action, but—”

  Hatshepsut whirled on Senenmut, unable to contain her anger any longer. And she was more than angry; she was furious at him, at her brother, and even at her father for abandoning her when she needed him most. “None of this would have happened if you’d voiced your concerns to Thutmosis after my father died.”

  Senenmut blinked. “I did speak to your brother,” he said, measuring his words carefully. “The pharaoh decided not to devote Egypt’s resources to averting what he believed was a remote chance of a foreign revolt.”

  Her fury vanished, leaving her strangely empty. She’d always understood that Thut was cautious, but seeing this new side of him was like meeting a foreigner for the first time, a weak-willed stranger she didn’t care to acknowledge. It occurred to her how little she knew the brother she’d grown up with, the man she was soon to marry.

  “From now on I need to be informed regarding all military matters,” Hatshepsut said, her voice hollow. “In addition to my brother, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “As you wish, Hemet,” the aging general agreed as the trio walked into the palace. “We should sort out the details regarding Nubia. The Division of Horus is standing by to move out as soon as they receive orders to do so.”

  “A punitive strike—a
fast one—would be the best course of action,” Senenmut said. “Take out those responsible for the insurrection and make an example of them. Replace the governor with one loyal to Egypt and keep an occupation force in Nubia until the dust settles.”

  Pennekheb nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. “I see you paid attention to at least some of my lectures.”

  “We should have another division standing by to deploy,” Hatshepsut said. “I doubt we’ll need the extra men, but perhaps if the Division of Thoth were ready?”

  “I’ll see to it.” Admiral Pennekheb looked at her with an expression that might have passed for awe. “If I were a much younger man, you’d not be safe from my suit, Hemet. I’ve rarely met a man with such a quick grasp of military maneuvers, much less a woman.” Hatshepsut smiled at his flattery; this man might prove a useful ally. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go speak to the commanders,” Pennekheb said. “The men of Horus will be able to move by morning.”

  “There are some maps of Nubia from the campaigns Osiris Tutmose led into the region a few years back,” Senenmut added as an afterthought as they watched Pennekheb shuffle away. “I’ll find the scrolls and deliver them to the commanders as well.”

  “Of course.” Hatshepsut nodded her approval as Senenmut turned to go. “Thank you for telling me about Thut,” she said quietly.

  Senenmut turned back to face her. The smile fell from his face. “I have the utmost respect for your brother, despite his shortcomings.”

  Hatshepsut shook her head. “Such behavior is inexcusable.”

  Senenmut sighed. “My father died while we were in Canaan. My mother and siblings would have been destitute if not for your brother’s generosity in providing for them.”

  That sounded like the Thut she knew, not the one who had cowered in his tent while Egypt’s blood was shed. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know.” Hatshepsut’s voice was low.

  “Your brother is a good man,” Senenmut assured her. “But we men all have our weaknesses.” His gaze caught hers, but she only chuckled.