Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  And even as he filled her body, Hatshepsut cried out at the emptiness that overwhelmed her ka.

  PART II

  Great Royal Wife

  1492 BC–1488 BC

  The kisses of my beloved are on the other bank of the river,

  A branch of the stream floweth between us,

  A crocodile lurketh on the sandbank.

  But I step down into the water and plunge into the flood.

  —EIGHTEENTH DYNASTY LOVE SONG

  Chapter 7

  YEAR ONE OF PHARAOH THUTMOSIS II

  Hatshepsut awoke to darkened chambers and the soft snores of her husband beside her.

  Husband.

  It was a foreign word, a weight that couldn’t possibly belong to her. And yet it did.

  She had lain awake long after Thut had sated his desire, and now her abused body protested even the slightest movement. A flicker of consternation had marred his features when he had first entered her, and then he had lost himself, finally stiffening with a grunt and falling upon her. Several times during the night, Hatshepsut had woken to the sensation of his fingers at the cleft of her legs, and she had done everything in her power to bring him to a speedy climax. She hoped she would soon find herself with child and could beg off this portion of her marital duties.

  She pulled the rumpled sheath over her head and slipped from bed. Her brother’s chest rose and fell with each muted snore, his jaw prickly with a day’s worth of stubble. He might sleep through the priests’ hymns as Re rose, but she wouldn’t waste the day in bed.

  Turning away, Hatshepsut ran her hands over her scalp, still burning from the monstrosity of a wig she’d endured all yesterday. She planned to sneak out undetected, but the door’s hinges gave a shuddering groan.

  “Leaving so soon?” Thut’s voice was thick with sleep.

  “I have things to attend to,” she said. The first item on the list was to have the door oiled. “Shall I send your slaves to see to you?”

  She’d sacrifice a vial of myrrh to Hathor if she managed to escape without Thut demanding an encore of last night’s performance.

  He interlaced his fingers behind his head and reclined against the wall. “Send Mensah to meet me in my apartments instead.”

  “Mensah?”

  “I’ve elevated Imhotep’s son to the position of Cupbearer of the King. Their family is the highest in the Two Lands, at least after ours. It seemed only fair, after his father’s retirement.”

  Hatshepsut choked but turned it into a cough. She’d have preferred that Thut make Mensah governor of one of Egypt’s provinces, preferably one at the ends of the kingdom. Now he’d be constantly underfoot.

  Thut yawned. “Tell him to bring breakfast so we can discuss the trade agreements with the Akkadians. I’m starving.”

  “Of course,” Hatshepsut said. The priests of Re had begun their hymns on the other side of the gate to the Hall of Women, their faint chants welcoming the sun god and praising his success in defeating Apep, the god of darkness and chaos, throughout the night. She was almost out the door when Thut stopped her.

  “Oh, and sister—”

  “Yes?” She wanted to get out of there and take a bath. A very long bath. And when she returned to her chambers she wanted Thut gone. And the sheets changed.

  “No more work. You have only one job now.”

  Naked, he crossed the room to wrap her in a tight embrace, then stepped back and stroked her flat stomach to the bones of her hips. “You might already carry Egypt’s heir. I don’t want you overtaxing yourself and jeopardizing your health.”

  “Of course, brother,” she assured him. Perhaps a few weeks of running their kingdom alone would convince him of how much he needed her help.

  “Good.” He grinned. “And I wouldn’t want you worn out this evening, would I?”

  Hatshepsut managed a smile. This was to be her life now, at least until Thut could get a son on her. If that was the solution to reclaiming her bed, then she would do everything in her power to ensure that she became pregnant as soon as possible.

  Sitre waited for her across the courtyard in the empty bathing pavilion, buckets of hot water already prepared and fresh linens laid out. Thut had retired all their father’s women to their various estates, allowing only Ahmose and his own mother to remain, out of respect for their stations as wives of the former pharaoh. The sunny courtyard that had hummed with the idle gossip of Egypt’s faded flowers echoed instead with the angry slap of Hatshepsut’s sandals.

  “You’re a godsend.” Hatshepsut didn’t wait for help undressing, but pulled her sheath over her head while Sitre poured the pails of steaming water into the waiting granite tub, a gift from the Cretan ambassador. She sank into the warm water, unable to stop the groan of pleasure that escaped her lips. “I’m not getting out of here all day.”

  “Then I’ll tell Senenmut he’ll have to brief you out here on all of his building plans,” Sitre teased as she added a mixture of juniper oil and milk to the bath.

  Hatshepsut was glad the water was hot, a good excuse for the sudden heat in her cheeks. “And the Akkadian ambassador,” she said. “Perhaps the thought of negotiating trade agreements over a bath would throw him off enough for me to secure all the cedar I want.”

  Her stress melted away as the juniper relaxed her tense muscles. Morning sunlight danced on the water’s surface, and Sitre buzzed about the pavilion like a giant dragonfly on a mission, stopping here and there to straighten a pot or fold a towel while she hummed a little tune to herself. It was a song Hatshepsut remembered from her childhood, an old lullaby Sitre would sing to her before she drifted off.

  The sweet one, sweet in love in the presence of the king,

  The king’s daughter who is sweet in love,

  The fairest among women, a maid whose like none has seen.

  Hatshepsut grimaced. That was enough of that.

  “Sitre?”

  “Hmm?” Her old menat didn’t look up, but continued to arrange the clay pots of various unguents and bath oils, some of which smelled like a flower garden in full bloom and others a pungent animal musk.

  “If I needed something, some sort of potion to help me conceive faster, do you think you could find one?”

  She felt ridiculous asking, but knowing from experience that there were ways to avoid unwanted pregnancies, she figured there had to be ways to speed the process.

  “You’re that eager to get Thutmosis out of your bed?”

  Not only that—a son of Thut’s would guarantee she’d never be shoved into obscurity. A son meant power for any wife of the pharaoh.

  Hatshepsut picked at a flaw in the granite tub with her nail. “I don’t know how many nights of it I can take.”

  “I’ve heard some women travel to the temple of Hathor and expose themselves publicly to the statue of the goddess.”

  “Does that work?”

  “I’m not sure.” Sitre shrugged and replaced the lid on a silver pot shaped like a pomegranate. “You’re young. It won’t take long for you to find yourself heavy with child, but there’s an old crone in the city who may be able to help. She was once a chantress in the temple of Isis.”

  “So she dabbles in magic?”

  “I’ve heard more than one woman swear Djeseret helped her conceive.”

  Hatshepsut stood and accepted the linen towel Sitre held out for her. The bathwater pearled on her skin as she stepped from the tub. “If you could arrange a meeting with this Djeseret—”

  “I’ll seek her out today.” Sitre helped her dry off. “You’ll soon be heavy with child. Then you’ll barely fit on your bed alone, much less with the pharaoh.”

  • • •

  That evening Hatshepsut sat alone in her rooms, curled up before the brazier as the merry fire warded off the night’s chill. It was the season of Peret, when fresh mud bricks were laid out to dry and pale green seedlings stretched their faces to touch Re’s warmth. A time of new beginnings.

  The crickets chirped their
nightly song in the garden while the fire popped and crackled inside. Mouse had snuck Hatshepsut the tribute ledgers from the northern governors earlier in the day, and the seasonal tribute from the Sinai had just been received. Hatshepsut had spent much of the evening happily reconciling the current ledgers for the Royal Treasury to determine how much could be spared for Senenmut’s building projects in the south. There would be plenty for the temples as well as enough to start building tombs for her and Thut on the West Bank. Hatshepsut planned to be buried near their father, but she had yet to discuss the idea with her brother. He’d likely tell her to focus more on creating life and less on dying.

  She knew she should stop for the evening, but the thought of Thut waiting for her kept her in her chair. Mensah had already breached the inner sanctuary of her office once this evening to coolly remind Hatshepsut of her appointment with her brother, but she’d sent him away with an earful of sharp words. She was even less impressed with her former lover now that Thut had promoted Mensah and he was able to order her about. Still she lingered.

  Gentle footsteps alerted her to someone’s approach. Mensah had likely come with orders to fetch her this time. An excuse ready to fly from her lips, Hatshepsut was surprised to see Sitre enter the dimly lit office. Her dark face blended into the shadows so that it was impossible to read her expression.

  “I’ve brought Djeseret as you requested, Hemet,” Sitre murmured. “I’ll see that you are not disturbed.”

  “Thank you.”

  A hunchbacked figure swathed in a white linen cloak shuffled into the room. An ancient hand spotted with age and tipped with ragged fingernails reached from the hidden folds of the rough fabric to push back the hood. The crone’s face was as white as the room was black. Skin, hair—everything except her eyes. One eyelid drooped to obscure its rheumy pupil and the other sparkled bright with the color of freshly spilled blood. The hag’s decrepit face was littered with deep canyons; wrinkles crisscrossed jowls hanging from old bones.

  She was albino.

  No wonder the woman was credited with great powers. Those like her received special gifts from Isis, the goddess of mothers and magic.

  Unbidden, the gnarled woman sank into a chair with a great exhalation. Hatshepsut could smell the reek of garlic and onion along with something else, an herb she couldn’t put a name to.

  “Thank you for coming to see me,” Hatshepsut began, but the witch held up a hand to stop her.

  “Your menat tells me you need to quicken your womb.” Djeseret’s voice belied her age, as smooth as honey and filled with the cadence of youth.

  At least the woman wasn’t going to waste her time.

  “If that’s possible.”

  “Oh, it’s possible.” The crone cackled at some joke known only to her. “Anything is possible with Isis’ help.”

  “Of course,” Hatshepsut said. “I’m just glad the great goddess has seen fit to send you to me. With Isis’ good graces, how long do you think it will take before I conceive?”

  “Isis works on her own timetable, Hemet. I only stoke the embers, not predict when they’ll flame.” Djeseret stood and retrieved two burnished snake wands from her robe and slowly traced Hatshepsut’s body. Their silver tongues seemed to flicker in the firelight. She stopped, then a clawed hand retrieved a small green bag emblazoned with the golden scarab, the symbol of rebirth. “Brew these herbs into a tea and drink it each morning as you break your fast. It will soften your womb and allow your husband’s seed to take root.”

  Hatshepsut took the bag and sniffed carefully. The notes of nettle, anise, and fennel filled her nose. “Will this work?”

  The wattle of flesh under Djeseret’s jaw swayed as she chortled. She reached into her cloak once more and pulled out a tiny ivory statue of Hathor and an amulet depicting the fertility god Min. The god’s giant phallus was unmistakable as it stood at attention. She eyed the jasper insignia of the Sekhmet at Hatshepsut’s neck. “The lion goddess of death does not welcome new life, Hemet.”

  Hatshepsut reluctantly unclasped the necklace, tucking its warmth into her palm.

  “Wear this at all times,” Djeseret instructed, handing Hatshepsut the amulet. “If you pray faithfully to Min, Hathor, and Isis they will grant your wish.”

  Hatshepsut took the cold stone in her other hand. “Thank you.” She expected the audience to end, but Djeseret remained. The crimson eye scrutinized Hatshepsut, making her feel as if beetles were crawling up her flesh. “Is there something more?”

  When Djeseret finally spoke her voice was hauntingly low, with an otherworldly vibration. “You have a unique path before you, my child, one not tread by most mortals. Most of us walk the earth and are swept into obscurity soon after our life is spent. But not you.” Djeseret’s unblinking red eye remained focused on her. “Not you.”

  Hatshepsut’s heart pounded. “I don’t know what you mean. I am only the wife of—”

  “Your name will live forever.” The unwavering voice cut her off. “You shall do great things while you walk this land. When you pass to the West your eternal name shall be repeated for generations.”

  Hatshepsut could find no words to answer the woman. It was Thut’s name that was to be lauded through the ages while hers became a whisper in time, a woman’s curse. And yet what Djeseret prophesied was entirely different, intoxicating, even.

  “And my brother?” she asked, but Djeseret silenced her with a wave of her hand.

  “There is more, a price Isis shall extract from you in exchange for this great gift.” Djeseret’s voice was detached, disembodied from her eerie white body. “The gods will pour down a storm upon you from which you cannot emerge. While your name shall be repeated for all eternity, your praises sung, and your everlasting ka safe throughout the ages, your mortal life shall take a twisted path.”

  Hatshepsut sat back as if stung. “A twisted path? What does that mean?”

  “You shall be the downfall of those you love.” Djeseret’s voice was a strangled whisper. “Egypt will prosper, but those closest to you shall find only anguish and ruin.”

  Hatshepsut sputtered in protest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Djeseret blinked once, then heaved her ancient bones to stand. “The gods don’t ask permission before they cast your fate, Hemet. You have no control over your destiny.”

  “I will not cause those I love to suffer, no matter what you believe.” The heat of Sekhmet’s angry breath filled her mind as she glared at the woman. “Find your own way out. Sitre will pay you for the herbs.”

  The old crone bowed slightly before covering her dingy hair and limping silently from the room. Hatshepsut stood alone in her cold office; the fire in the brazier had burned out sometime during the audience. Djeseret’s words pummeled her like a multitude of fists.

  Your name will live forever.

  You shall be the downfall of those you love.

  Egypt will prosper, but those closest to you shall find only anguish and ruin.

  “Son of Set!” She punched the wall, wincing and muttering several more curses at her scraped knuckles, but noting with some satisfaction the delicate crack that now ran up a fresco of a hunting scene.

  The albino taunted paying customers with ideas of glory, only to yank both back with prophesies of doom. She should be whipped for fraud.

  Stomping over to her desk, Hatshepsut flung open a box of ebony and threw Hathor’s statue, the amulet, and the packet of herbs inside before slamming it shut. The oil lamps flickered with the impact. “The crazy old witch likely would have poisoned me with this.”

  “Hatshepsut?”

  Mensah was the last person she wanted to see right now, yet here he was. She swallowed another curse, knowing precisely why her brother’s steward dared intrude upon her for the second time that evening. “I believe you’re supposed to address me as Hemet now that I’m Great Royal Wife.”

  He glanced about, one eyebrow arching to his wig. “Might I ask who were you talking to?
” He paused for effect. “Hemet.”

  She sighed. “Only myself.”

  Mensah would relish telling Thut that his wife was losing her mind, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

  “I see.” He cleared his throat. “The pharaoh awaits your presence in his chambers. He instructed me not to return without you this time.” He stepped closer and glanced about her empty offices, his stern facade melting into a tantalizing smile. “But perhaps he wouldn’t notice if his Great Royal Wife took her time. The pharaoh may be Horus here on earth, but I’d imagine he has a difficult time satisfying Sekhmet in his bed. I, on the other hand—”

  She didn’t think. She slapped him. Hard.

  “Speak to me like that again,” she whispered, “and I’ll ensure that same pharaoh has you so thoroughly dismembered that the murder of Osiris shall pale in comparison.”

  The color drained from his face, and he held his face with one hand. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Perhaps not.” She ignored the sting of her palm. “But do you really want to chance it?” Turning her back, she dropped Sekhmet’s red jasper amulet into a worn reed basket, letting her fingers linger on Neferubity’s gift. She blinked hard and barely glanced at the box of herbs before brushing past Mensah. “And I’m not Sekhmet anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”

  The oil lamps flickered as she walked down the corridors toward Thut’s chambers and her last responsibility of the night.

  One final duty, and then she hoped to forget this day had ever happened.

  Chapter 8

  The moon had waxed and waned twice now, but Hatshepsut still refused to touch Djeseret’s stash of herbs. Instead, Sitre had found her a terracotta amulet of a naked mother suckling an infant and tied it round her waist with seven knots. Yet each month she continued to purify herself with natron and oil at the appearance of her moon bloods. Exposing herself before Hathor’s statue was beginning to sound more appealing with each of Thut’s nightly advances. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.