Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  Admiral Pennekheb and Ineni stopped her after the ceremony, both of their expressions as serious as if etched onto their tombs.

  “We hoped to have a word with you.” Pennekheb scanned the crowd, his eyes young in the face of one so old. “Alone.”

  “Of course,” Hatshepsut said. They followed her to her office. The servants had moved many of her belongings over earlier that day, after a fair bit of sweeping and dusting. She sat in her father’s old chair and rubbed her hands over the worn wooden armrests, then motioned for the men to take the seats opposite her.

  “What is this urgent matter that is making you forgo the festivities?”

  The two traded knowing glances. “We’re concerned for your safety,” Pennekheb said.

  “My safety?” That was the last thing on her mind. “Here in the palace? I have the medjay nearby, at least most of the time.”

  “Nearby? Most of the time?” Pennekheb groaned and shook his head.

  “You’re the regent of the Two Lands now.” The topic only somewhat dampened Ineni’s perpetual smile. “Do you realize what would happen if someone decided to harm you?”

  “Or if they succeeded?” Pennekheb asked.

  She hated that they were right. “The Isis Throne would be fair game for anyone, at least until Tutmose comes of age,” she admitted. She rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I promise to increase my guard. And Tutmose’s as well.”

  “A prescient idea. I would propose keeping a personal bodyguard with you at all times,” Pennekheb said. “One can’t be too careful.”

  “I really don’t think that’s necessary.” She didn’t care to always have someone lurking in her shadow.

  Pennekheb didn’t hesitate. “It is necessary, at least until the dust settles on the succession. There could be any number of possible domestic coups, not to mention foreign uprisings. Do you have anyone in mind for the position of bodyguard?”

  “No,” Hatshepsut answered. “But I’m quite sure you do.”

  The men exchanged a quick look, confirming her suspicions of a conspiracy. “One of your brother’s former guards, a man named Nomti, is held in high esteem by the other men. He was elevated to the medjay in your father’s later years, based on his service in the Division of Thoth. Of all the present guards, he should most please you,” Pennekheb assured her. “He will protect you with his own life and isn’t afraid to speak his mind.”

  Ineni’s eyes twinkled and his cheeks dimpled with a fresh smile. “It’s what got him removed from Osiris Thutmosis’ service.”

  That piqued Hatshepsut’s curiosity. “I like him already. What did he do?”

  “You can discuss that when you interview him.” Pennekheb stood, his joints creaking in protest, and Ineni followed suit. “We just wanted to make sure you were protected. I’m quite sure Nomti can recommend other men who would be suitable for guarding the pharaoh.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” Hatshepsut rose to show them out. “Whatever would I do without you?”

  Ineni gave a little bow, hand over his heart. “We wouldn’t care to find out, Hemet.”

  She watched them depart, Pennekheb leaning on his cane like a willow in the breeze, while Ineni shuffled beside him like a hippo searching for shade. They were an unlikely pair of councilors, but strong and steady. Hatshepsut beckoned to a waiting attendant. “I require a meeting with Nomti, one of Osiris Thutmosis’ former medjay. Summon him to the palace immediately.”

  She pushed back the billowing sleeves of her tunic, grinning at the mountain of papyrus scrolls on her table. In the meantime, she had work to do.

  • • •

  Nomti was announced before the horizon swallowed Re that evening. He had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the top of the door. She immediately recognized the swirling vortex of tattoos on his face and arms, the face that would send most of Egypt’s enemies cowering into a corner. A foreigner, probably a Hittite. Gooseflesh crawled up her arms. She didn’t care to think about the last time she’d seen the man, outside her brother’s chambers.

  “Nomti, I’ve summoned you because my advisers believe I should have a permanent bodyguard with me at all times.” She turned her back to him so he wouldn’t see how he’d disconcerted her. Could she trust this man with her life? Almost two heads taller than she was, with shoulders like an ox, he could certainly hold his own against anyone who sought to harm her. But he’d been there the night Senenmut had died, and he might have had a hand in carrying out her brother’s orders.

  “Your advisers are wise men.”

  “They believe you would be the best man for such a post. Do you agree?”

  “I do. If the gods will it.”

  She finally turned to face him. He stared straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back. “I understand you were released from service by Osiris Thutmosis?”

  The black lines around Nomti’s eyes hardened. “Yes, I was.”

  “And?”

  “Osiris Thutmosis didn’t take kindly to a guard questioning his edicts.”

  “Did you ever question my father?”

  The tattoos around his eyes softened at the mention of the elder Pharaoh Tutmose. “Your father was a good man, Hemet. He welcomed the opinions of those who spoke their mind. Your brother did not.”

  “May I ask what my brother did that made you question him?”

  “I asked Osiris Thutmosis if it was fair to beat a defenseless man.”

  Her body went cold. She shouldn’t ask any further questions, but couldn’t stop herself. “And what man was that?”

  “Senenmut of Iuny. I served with him during the campaign in Canaan. He was reckless, but a brave man with a good ka. He came to see the pharaoh just before you did that night.”

  “I remember.”

  His eyes flicked to her face for a moment, but then he looked away. “I didn’t hear everything that was said, but Senenmut resembled a pile of meat when he was dragged from the pharaoh’s rooms afterward. I asked the pharaoh whether Ma’at would agree with such treatment. He dismissed me on the spot.”

  “I see.”

  And then Senenmut was executed, his heart ripped from his body.

  “It was brave of you to question my brother.” She struggled to keep her mask in place. “If you’re prepared to accept the position, I’d be well served to have you as my bodyguard. I’ve been accused of having a temper, but I always welcome honest opinions.”

  Nomti’s lips turned up, probably the closest gesture to a smile he ever managed. “I would be honored to accept, Hemet. It will be a privilege to protect the royal family again.”

  “I’ll expect you tomorrow morning. I hope you’re an early riser—I’ll be in my offices before Re rises.”

  Nomti bowed, then paused at the door. “May I offer you some advice, Hemet?”

  “Of course. Everyone else does these days.”

  “It might be best to surround yourself with more men who are loyal to you. Like Senenmut.”

  She flinched, swallowed hard. “Senenmut is dead.”

  “I hadn’t heard of his passage to the West.”

  “My brother had him executed the night he was beaten.”

  Nomti cocked his head at her. “I believe you were misinformed, Hemet. Senenmut was banished, not executed.”

  She shook her head, trying to keep her voice level. “My brother only wished for the court to believe he’d returned to Iuny. I have Senenmut’s heart buried in my garden to prove otherwise.”

  Nomti arched an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know whose heart is in the dirt of your garden, Hemet, but it is not Senenmut’s. I watched him being thrown onto the boat bound for Aswan, destined for a life of hard labor, but there are rumors he was released and is back in Iuny, serving the Temple of Thoth.”

  She stared in shocked silence, unable to draw words into her mouth. She’d spent the past three years locked in the Hall of Women, surrounded by walls tall enough to silence all rumors of the outside world. Rumors and perhaps the tr
uth, too.

  Hope flickered deep in her ka. He might be alive.

  “Hemet?”

  She blinked. “Are you sure?”

  “I know only what I saw. Senenmut might not have survived the journey to Aswan, mangled as he was, but he wasn’t executed. At least not that night.”

  “Thank you, Nomti. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She waited until the door closed before falling to her knees. Perhaps the gods had played a terrible trick on her. What if Thut hadn’t found it in himself to order the murder of his friend?

  Hope was a terrible thing.

  She needed the rest of the story. And there was only one other person who might possess it.

  • • •

  Hatshepsut ignored the hasty henus of courtiers and slaves as she made her way to the Hall of Women. The name was no longer accurate, as she’d dismissed the rest of Thut’s women so only Aset remained in the northern wing of the palace. The massive gilded gate was wide-open, no scowling guards standing at attention. Desperate to finally leave the chambers she so despised, Hatshepsut had moved into the pharaoh’s rooms as soon as they were emptied, relishing the lack of flowers and perfume, the final feeling of freedom. It was a presumptuous move for a regent and she knew it, but she didn’t care.

  Aset smiled and waved as Hatshepsut entered the courtyard, then motioned for quiet with a finger over her lips. Tutmose poked a black dung beetle with a stick, and Neferure lay cuddled on Aset’s lap, sucking her thumb and idly fingering a linen rag doll that Aset had given her for her second naming day. The doll was from Aset’s childhood, its face drawn on anew with Aset’s kohls and malachite eye paints. Neferure was the only daughter Aset would ever have now that Thut had gone to the West.

  Neferure’s face brightened as she spotted her mother. “Mama!” She leapt from Aset’s lap and into Hatshepsut’s arms, and just as quickly writhed to get down, pulling Hatshepsut’s hand as she pointed to the giant black beetle scurrying across the fountain. “Bug! Bug!”

  “It’s a scarab,” Hatshepsut said, kissing the top of her head. “He’s a very special bug related to Khepri, the god of rebirth.”

  “Sca-rhub.” Neferure ignored the religion lesson to try out the new word as Tutmose stalked the beetle. As the children became entranced with their six-legged visitor, Hatshepsut signaled for their menats to take over.

  Aset stifled a yawn behind her hand. She looked worn, but it wasn’t as if the duties of the pharaoh’s mother—making sure Tutmose ate his vegetables and attended his lessons—were strenuous. More likely it was still grief at Thut’s passing that etched the lines around her lips and stole the luster from her skin. A faience jug of wine sat on the table next to her, its clay seal bearing Thut’s cartouche and first regnal year discarded on the ground.

  “Tutmose did well at the coronation.” Aset’s breath smelled strongly of wine, not for the first time since Thut’s death. She watched the children’s antics with the scarab. “He’ll be a strong pharaoh one day.”

  It seemed presumptuous to gauge Tutmose’s future talent as a ruler based on his ability to sit still as a child, but Hatshepsut wasn’t going to say that to Aset. She shifted in her seat. “I had an interesting conversation with one of Thut’s former medjay, a guard named Nomti.”

  Aset rubbed the back of her neck but didn’t take her eyes from the children. “The name sounds familiar.”

  Hatshepsut continued. “He was dismissed from Thut’s service the night Senenmut was banished to Aswan.”

  Aset’s eyes jerked to Hatshepsut’s. “He told you that?”

  “He told me Senenmut wasn’t executed, but banished to the quarries,” Hatshepsut said. “Is that true?”

  The long silence was interrupted only by the children’s squeals and the hushed admonitions of their nurses. Aset bit the edge of her thumb, but finally nodded. “Yes.”

  “And you never told me?”

  Hatshepsut’s tone was so sharp that Neferure looked up with wide eyes, but a nurse quickly distracted her. Hatshepsut lowered her voice. “Don’t you think that’s something I’d have wanted to know, that I hadn’t caused a man’s death?”

  “Thutmosis made me swear I wouldn’t tell you.” Aset clasped her hands in her lap and looked up with sad, wide eyes. “I couldn’t disobey him.”

  “He made you swear because he wanted to punish me.”

  Aset stared at her a long moment. “That, and because it was by my request that he didn’t kill Senenmut.”

  “What?”

  “I asked Thutmosis not to kill Senenmut.” She shrugged. “Maybe it was Hathor speaking through me—I don’t know—but it didn’t seem right to kill a man who’d acted out of love.”

  “Senenmut wasn’t in love with me.”

  Aset sipped her wine and said nothing.

  “And my brother listened to you?”

  “A man will do all manner of strange things for the woman he loves.”

  “And Thut loved you.” Hatshepsut had thought at first that he might have been acting to spite her, gifting Aset with lands and spending most of his free time in her chambers, but it had become clear over the years that he truly loved the woman. Hatshepsut might never forgive him for his treatment of her, but some small part of her was glad that both he and Aset had enjoyed love, at least for the short time they were together.

  “Senenmut was one of Thut’s best advisers,” Hatshepsut said, changing the subject. “Someone I’d like to have back at court.”

  Aset frowned and set down her wine. “You think that’s wise?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re regent now, the most powerful person in all Egypt. And you’re a woman. Don’t you think any man would jump at the chance to share your bed, to use you as his puppet?”

  Hatshepsut gaped, at a loss for words.

  Aset held up her hands. “Isn’t there a chance that you’d be vulnerable if Senenmut returned? After all, he planned to leave you that night anyway.”

  “We don’t know that. He might have planned to return.” The words sounded ridiculous the moment they were out of her mouth. “And I would never let a man use me like that.” But she remembered Senenmut’s ambition, his thirst for power. Would he try to use her to stand in the shadow of the Isis Throne?

  She shook away the thought. Such worries were absurd, at least until she knew whether he was even alive. She stood to go, arms crossed before her chest. “Is there anything else I should know about that night?”

  Tutmose chose that moment to reappear, carrying the twitching scarab between his fingers. Khepri’s minion squirmed, apparently unimpressed at being plucked off the ground by a two-year-old and carted about like a trophy.

  “Mama, look!” He shoved the massive beetle in Aset’s face.

  Aset wrinkled her nose and stepped back. “That’s very exciting, Tutmose. Why don’t we put the bug back on the ground, where it belongs?”

  Tutmose’s lower lip trembled and Neferure lifted her arms to Hatshepsut for a hug. Hatshepsut squeezed her tight. “I’ve got to go, monkey, but we’ll play later tonight and have dinner. Does that sound like fun?”

  “Yesh.” Neferure planted a wet kiss on her mother’s cheek and hugged her neck. As soon as Hatshepsut put her down she was off, chubby little legs pumping as fast as they could. Tutmose chased her, the scarab forgotten.

  “I’d best go watch them,” Aset said.

  Hatshepsut touched her arm. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For saving Senenmut. You’re a good woman.”

  Aset smiled and kissed Hatshepsut’s cheek. “It was the right thing to do.”

  That was true, yet sometimes the right thing was the hardest to do.

  • • •

  Hatshepsut had written to Cretan kings, Nubian vassals, and the High Priests of every god in Egypt. But this brief invitation to court was the hardest she’d ever tried to write.

  The rest of the palace had long been silent, so only the mo
on and a sputtering oil lamp kept her company. Crumpled balls of papyrus littered the floor, and her fingers were stained with so much ink that they’d be black for days. She bit her lip and scanned her latest attempt at the letter.

  Greetings, Senenmut:

  By the blessings of the gods, may this letter find you well. My daughter, the princess Neferure, is now two years old, and I wish to have her educated by a tutor I trust. Please reply with haste if you are amenable to such a position.

  May the soles of your feet be firm,

  Hatshepsut, Lady of the Two Lands

  She frowned as she reread the letter. She was probably a fool, but she had decided to assume Senenmut was alive, letting hope overcome her ka. If he wasn’t, the letter would be returned with its messenger. She would deal with that setback when it came, not before.

  This was a formal request, and one she wanted accepted. She wished she could offer him a loftier position, but she didn’t want to court the gossip that would inevitably ensue. Should he accept her offer, he would surely prove himself capable and clear the way for future promotions.

  The letter would have to suffice. She scattered sand over the ink, rolled the papyrus, and bound it with a red string tied in a double knot. Mouse’s lusty snores threatened to wake the dead from the other side of her slaves’ door, but she tiptoed past it and down the pharaoh’s private corridor to the Hall of Women. Aset’s room was perfectly silent, her friend’s head propped up on a cedar headrest and her lips turned up in a gentle smile. Hatshepsut shook her awake.

  Aset groaned like she was birthing a camel. “This better be good. I was having the most wonderful dream about Thutmosis.”

  “I need this delivered to Senenmut,” Hatshepsut said. Nomti would never agree to leave her for so long, and the only other people she might trust with so important a letter were Sitre and Mouse. Her attendants were too old to undertake such a journey.

  Aset blinked, then struggled to sit up. “You mean you want me to leave the palace?”