Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  “Mama scared?” The girl’s chin wobbled, but Hatshepsut tickled Neferure’s ribs until she giggled. She’d never encountered such a sensitive child as her daughter, so different from herself when she was that age. A single harsh word could send Neferure into a flurry of tears that might last all afternoon.

  “Yes, you little monkey, I was very scared.” Hatshepsut tried not to look too stern, instead covering her daughter’s chubby cheeks with kisses. “Would you like to go see the animals?”

  “Yesh!” The imp placed her little hands, still sticky from the honey she’d eaten at lunch, on Hatshepsut’s cheeks and planted a sloppy kiss on her lips. Neferure squirmed from her mother’s arms and grabbed her hand, yanking her in the direction of the Hall of Women’s new royal menagerie. Thut had ordered the pens and cages near the women’s quarters built shortly after Enheduanna had first conceived to better entertain what he had anticipated would be his growing brood of children. Instead, only two small children served as the menagerie’s meager audience.

  The pharaoh and all of Egypt waited for the births of more royal children. Thut took more concubines, filling the Hall of Women with idle chatter and a permanent haze of perfumes. He called Aset to his bed most evenings, but even she failed to become pregnant again. More often than not, Thut couldn’t summon his manhood to do his duty when he visited Hatshepsut’s bed. It was as though the pharaoh’s seed had suddenly withered and died.

  And yet, despite all that, Tutmose and Neferure thrived, growing as fast as papyrus reeds.

  “Monkeys!” Neferure scampered as fast as her bare feet would carry her, past the fowl yard with the hawks soaring overhead to her favorite animals. The silvery primates chattered in high-pitched voices and jumped from limb to limb when they recognized their favorite visitor. The pharaoh’s daughter could always be relied on for tasty treats.

  The Keeper of the Menagerie, a long-limbed man named Sebi, lumbered around the corner and offered a frayed basket of green grapes to Neferure. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d miss you today, satnesut,” he said, bending down to the girl’s height.

  Neferure popped a grape into her mouth, but smiled sweetly upon seeing Hatshepsut’s pointed look. “Thank you,” she chirped. The vervets began talking in earnest now, begging the princess for the precious treats she held. Thut’s little monkey, Kipa, now gray around the snout, leapt forward and swiped the grapes from her hands. Neferure squealed with glee. “Monkeys, monkeys, monkeys,” she sang, dancing from one foot to the other.

  Hatshepsut smiled, enjoying the moment. Her daughter was growing too fast. She wanted to hold on to each instant and draw it out to eternity, cherish each new word and discovery.

  “Mama, look!” Neferure pointed up the path. Three figures were coming toward them.

  Hatshepsut shielded her eyes from Re’s glare to see Thut and Aset swinging Tutmose between them as they walked toward the menagerie. Thut leaned heavily on his cane, but together they managed. “It’s your father.” Hatshepsut waved and Aset returned the gesture with her free hand. “I’ll bet Tutmose wants to see Adjo.”

  Neferure wrinkled her nose and let out a ferocious roar to imitate the old lion. Adjo was missing almost all his teeth and had only a few patches of hair left, but Tutmose loved him as dearly as Neferure adored her monkeys.

  “That was a very good roar, my little monkey,” Hatshepsut whispered as the entourage drew near. “Now, remember what I taught you about meeting your father.”

  Neferure’s pretty face grew suddenly somber as she scrambled to perform a henu. The bow lacked grace, but was adorable nonetheless.

  “You may rise, Neferure,” Thut said. He bent to his daughter’s height and tugged on her youth lock. “Are you being a good girl for your mother?”

  “Yesh.” Neferure clambered to her feet as Thut pulled something from the pocket of his kilt.

  He held out both fists. “Pick one.”

  Neferure thought hard, the tip of her tongue between her teeth, and tentatively poked the left with her little finger. Thut grinned and opened his palm, revealing a new green ribbon—Neferure’s favorite color. “For my best-loved princess,” he said, and tied it over the yellow string at the end of her youth lock.

  He might be a terrible husband, but Thut had proven himself a decent father to Neferure, even if she wasn’t the son he’d wanted.

  He laid his hand on Tutmose’s shoulder. “Are you ready to see Adjo?”

  “Adjo!” Tutmose yanked his father’s hand toward the lion’s den.

  “I’ll take him,” Aset said. “You haven’t seen Neferure in a few days—I’m sure she’d like to spend some time with her father.” Aset intercepted her son and gave Neferure a hug. “Then perhaps you and I can play dress-up later today. I have a new green sash that would look beautiful on a little girl who loves the color green.”

  Neferure leaned closer to whisper in Aset’s ear, loud enough so everyone could hear. “I love green.”

  “You do?” Aset pretended shock and tweaked Neferure’s nose. “Then it will look perfect on you!”

  “Would you like your father to help you feed the monkeys?” Hatshepsut asked Neferure as Aset straightened.

  “Yesh!” Neferure thrust her hands into the mound of fruit and handed a bunch of plump grapes to her father. Thut watched Aset and his son skip off, then plucked a grape from its stem and threw it to the ground before the chattering vervets. Kipa recognized the pharaoh and jumped onto his shoulder, chattering as if catching up on old times. Neferure giggled.

  This was as good a time as any to bring up a subject Hatshepsut had wished to discuss for some time. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “I’m going to hire a tutor for Neferure.”

  She wasn’t asking permission, mostly because she could predict Thut’s reaction.

  “Whatever for?” Thut put Kipa on Neferure’s shoulders. “She’s a girl. She’ll marry Tutmose as soon as she comes of age and bear his sons.”

  “And she’ll be his Great Royal Wife. She should be educated. As I was.”

  He glanced at her from heavily kohled eyes. “It seems to me you could have done with a little less education.”

  “And you with a little more,” Hatshepsut said under her breath.

  “Would you care to repeat that?”

  Neferure looked up at her father’s tone, but Hatshepsut smiled and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “You’re doing a wonderful job feeding those monkeys.”

  Thut’s eyes narrowed as Neferure went back to playing with the vervets. “You would do well not to contradict me in front of her.”

  “If our father saw fit to have his daughters tutored, I see no reason why his granddaughter shouldn’t receive the same privilege.”

  “She’s too young,” Thut countered, but Hatshepsut was prepared for that excuse as well.

  “A child is never too young to learn. Tutmose is already receiving lessons, and Neferure handles a brush and ink well enough to scribble. She’s old enough to start learning basic hieroglyphs.”

  “Hieroglyphs? When will she ever need to write anything? That’s what scribes are for.”

  Sekhmet’s breath. Hatshepsut wanted to throttle him.

  “Scribes aren’t always reliable,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “Especially if you can’t read the characters yourself. Our daughter is royal. She will not be ignorant.”

  “Fine.” Tight-lipped, Thut waved his hand to dismiss both her and the conversation.

  Hatshepsut felt a flush of triumph. She’d have gone ahead with the tutor anyway, but it was better to have an understanding with Thut to avoid any future disagreements. After all, these days she made it a point not to deal with her brother if she could avoid it.

  “I need to go inside,” Thut said. There were beads of sweat at his temples, tiny glistening drops bleeding into his kohl, yet it wasn’t that hot outside.

  “Is something the matter?”

  He shook his head and pushed hard with the heel of his
hand above his heart. “I don’t feel myself today.”

  “Perhaps you should get some rest.”

  Her brother appeared ready to agree, but smiled at something behind her. She turned to see Aset and Tutmose on their way back from the lion, the little boy running down the path. Hatshepsut had already ceased to exist.

  “And, brother, at your leisure, I have plans regarding some improvements to Karnak temple. Obelisks and whatnot.” This was one of those projects Thut wouldn’t let her take part in anymore, but she itched to get her hands on the temple plans. He’d have to acquiesce sooner or later if she badgered him enough. At least that’s what she told herself.

  “Fine, fine.” Thut waved his hand again.

  There was much chattering from Tutmose to his father about the lion, little of it discernible, but Thut played along. Aset shot Hatshepsut a sympathetic look over her son’s head.

  “Have fun with the monkeys, Neferure,” Aset said. “I’ll see you this afternoon. I have a new dance to show you, too.” She planted a kiss on the girl’s scalp as the pharaoh and Tutmose walked back up the red dirt path to the palace. Aset hurried to catch up with them, then paused to wave at Hatshepsut and blow Neferure a kiss.

  Neferure had the love of not one, but two mothers. And although she hadn’t borne him, Hatshepsut had been surprised to discover her love for Tutmose. She thanked the gods again for bringing Aset into her life.

  Kipa and one of the other monkeys hung upside down by their tails, causing Neferure to try to stand on her head. Hatshepsut held the basket of grapes with one hand and was brushing the dirt from her daughter’s hair with the other when a scream rent the air.

  “Thutmosis!” Aset’s yell sent the monkeys screeching and scampering for the safety of the treetops.

  Hatshepsut turned in time to see Thut stumble off the path and fall headlong into the red dirt. She waited for him to rise, but he didn’t move. Aset collapsed to her knees, and Tutmose’s forlorn wails joined his mother’s as Aset tugged on her husband’s arm.

  “Thutmosis, get up!” Aset’s voice was panicked.

  Hatshepsut dropped the grapes. They burst underfoot as she ran to Thut’s side as fast as her feet would carry her.

  “Help me,” she said to Aset, but Thut was too heavy for both of them, his limbs like sacks of grain. Sebi hurried over and used his heft to help roll Thut over.

  “I’ll get Gua,” he said, shooting a worried look at the pharaoh’s face, as white as alabaster.

  Thut was barely conscious, his breathing erratic and his glassy brown eyes rolling with terror. He gripped Hatshepsut’s hand with the strength only those confronting Anubis could possess. She felt for his heart, which was pounding as it raced ahead to Ma’at’s scales in the afterlife.

  “Thutmosis.” Aset’s eyes bulged from their sockets. Tutmose sat on her lap, his tears tracing wet paths down the dirt on his face. “You have to get up. Our son—”

  Neferure began to cry, a peripheral sound that barely reached Hatshepsut’s consciousness until she felt her little hand on her shoulder.

  Anubis was quick this time, unwilling to allow the pharaoh’s ka to linger in this life when the jackal god had already been intoxicated by the scent of death. Thut opened his mouth once, then twice, looking like one of the carp freshly pulled from the Nile. His eyes pleaded with Hatshepsut. His fist a vise on hers, the pharaoh managed to push two words out of his throat.

  “Help Tutmose.”

  And then he was gone. The grip on Hatshepsut’s hand slackened, and the heart that had raced so ardently rested from this life and prepared for the next. Thut’s glazed eyes stared past her, and Aset sobbed quietly, arms wrapped tightly around her son, as she stared at their husband. Hatshepsut gently pressed Thut’s eyelids to forever close them to this world. His face was smudged with red dust, a premature death mask that would soon be replaced with one of gold.

  She became aware again of Neferure, the whisper of the girl’s tiny hand on her back.

  “Father hurt?” Her lower lip trembled.

  Hatshepsut nodded and drew Neferure onto her lap, treasuring the sweet smell of life on Neferure’s sun-kissed skin. The two women and their children surrounded the pharaoh, a funereal wreath around the dead. Pounding footsteps heralded the approach of Gua and the medjay, their spears ready to slay any enemy who threatened their pharaoh. But it was too late—their weapons were useless against Anubis, Guardian of the Dead. Nothing could call Thut back to this world now that his ka had flown into the sky.

  And that meant one thing: Hatshepsut would be regent, ruling Egypt single-handedly until her two-year-old stepson came of age.

  PART III

  Regent

  1488 BC–1481 BC

  O my heart—

  May naught stand up to oppose me in the presence of the lords of the trial,

  Let it not be said of me and of that which I have done,

  “He hath done deeds against that which is right and true.”

  —BOOK OF THE DEAD, FROM THE PAPYRUS OF NU:

  PRESERVING THE HEART

  Chapter 15

  YEAR ONE OF PHARAOH TUTMOSE III

  The double crown dwarfed Tutmose’s head, falling over his brow to almost obscure his bright eyes. The combined red crown of Lower Egypt and the white crown of Upper Egypt was an enormous weight upon such a young boy. The uraeus ringed the shaven head of a child who had barely seen two harvests, the stealthy cobra poised to strike anyone who dared threaten the new pharaoh.

  The High Priest of Amun chanted a hymn and climbed the steep steps through a heavy cloud of incense onto the dais. The scent of myrrh was thick in the air as Tutmose eyed the leopard skin draped across the priest’s shoulders, the cat’s mouth frozen in a yawn of death. Hatshepsut wondered how her stepson would feel in later years, given such power but unable to recall the day it was bestowed upon him. If he remembered anything at all, it would likely be the sight of the leopard, its empty eye sockets watching him as he sat stock-still upon the throne.

  And what would she remember if she were in his place? The heavy weight of the double crown? The expectant looks on the faces of her courtiers? Or a rush of terrible joy?

  She pushed the thoughts away. The gods had seen fit to make her regent, a position few women in Egypt had ever managed, and even fewer had handled successfully. Egypt under her hand would grow and prosper, and Tutmose would become pharaoh when he came of age, just as the gods willed it.

  The priest finished his hymn to Amun and handed Tutmose the ceremonial crook and flail, the same ones her father and Thutmosis had held when passing judgment in the Court of Reeds. Her stepson squirmed upon the hard seat of the Isis Throne, the sacred triad of gods spreading their arms to wrap the little pharaoh in a golden embrace.

  Hatshepsut nodded to Tutmose, their secret cue for him to stand. He grasped the crook and flail and tottered to his feet. The double crown slipped down to his eyebrows, and she had to resist the urge to straighten it upon his head. A small group of nobility gathered below the dais for the ceremonial crowning of a child who wouldn’t be ready to rule for at least a decade. Amidst the faces was the new pharaoh’s mother. Today anxious pride was evident in Aset’s twisting hands and beaming face. And yet underneath her expertly applied kohl, dark circles of grief ringed Aset’s eyes.

  The High Priest of Amun stepped aside and his voice boomed across the hushed throne room to announce the new pharaoh’s titulary for the first time. “Tutmose, the being of Re is established; Horus strong bull arising in Thebes; two ladies enduring of the kingship like Re in heaven; golden Horus powerful of strength, holy of diadems; king of Upper and Lower Egypt; Menkheperre, Son of Re Tutmose, beautiful of forms!”

  The courtiers clapped politely at the boy wearing the trappings of the highest office in the Two Lands. Hatshepsut’s gaze lingered for a moment on each of their faces. Her hand had selected them all. Each was a man she inherently trusted—aging Admiral Pennekheb; jovial and hardworking Ineni; and two courtiers new to
her inner circle, twin brothers Ti and Neshi, now Chief Treasurer and Chancellor. They were all men who would continue to support her while she served Egypt in her new role, and each was eager to impress the new regent. Mensah wasn’t there; her brother’s vizier had been put under permanent guard in his chambers until Hatshepsut could finalize her plans for him.

  She wore no golden headdress or double crown to proclaim her new position, but she was now the acknowledged leader of Egypt, although her role as regent would last only until Tutmose reached adolescence. All her struggles were brought to fruition today. There would be no obstacles placed in Hatshepsut’s path as she sought to continue the golden era for Egypt that her father had begun.

  This time, she wouldn’t fail.

  Unbidden, Djeseret’s curse surfaced in her mind, words Hatshepsut had forgotten for almost three years.

  Your name shall 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.

  As regent, Hatshepsut’s name was inextricably linked to that of three pharaohs: her father, her brother, and now her stepson. Chiseled onto monuments, her likeness and name would forever be tied to young Tutmose, and both etched into eternity. Egypt would prosper under her hand, but she scoffed at the last words of the portent of gloom. Those closest to her—Aset, Tutmose, and Neferure—would never suffer because of her, not if she could help it. Neferubity and Senenmut had long ago settled into the Field of Reeds, but Hatshepsut’s hand hadn’t caused Thut’s death. Thinking about her brother, Hatshepsut admitted a certain dose of grief at Thut’s passing. One by one, Anubis had recalled her family members, leaving only her mother, Mouse, and Sitre as fragile links to Hatshepsut’s childhood.

  The witch who had prophesied the curse was a fraud. She had to be.

  As soon as the ceremony finished, the nobles dispersed and a menat whisked Tutmose off to the nursery. Thut’s passing had postponed the search for Neferure’s tutor, but Hatshepsut promised she would find someone to teach both children as soon as the seventy days of mourning ended.