Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  Hatshepsut took Neferure’s hand as they followed him outside through hundreds of black granite statues of the gods, past Mut’s crescent lake, to the middle sanctuary of Amun’s temple, the ceiling open to Nut’s blue belly. A clutch of priests had gathered under the ancient statue of the plumed god, their monotonous voices intoning a prayer, while a precious white bull lay on a raised altar, legs bound together and long horns bedecked with cornflower garlands. The beast, so close they could smell its sweat, snorted at Egypt’s regent and her daughter. Hatshepsut had arranged for this sacrifice as soon as Thut had died, a gift to the supreme god for his blessing upon her reign as regent, but it hadn’t seemed appropriate to have the ceremony until after the period of mourning had passed.

  “Be very still,” she said to Neferure.

  She took her place near the High Priest as he brandished a knife and slashed the bull’s neck with an expert stroke. Blood poured into a bowl of gold decorated with scenes from the god’s life. Some splattered on her white sheath, and a coppery tang mixed with the heavy blanket of incense in the air. The bull knocked over the bowl in a final struggle against his ropes and blood sloshed onto the granite step, staining it with a sluice of red. Neferure gave a shrill cry and buried her face in Hatshepsut’s leg, her little fingers digging into her mother’s thigh. The animal’s eyes rolled back and its body stilled.

  Hatshepsut had made offerings to the gods before, but this was her first sacrifice as Egypt’s regent. Where they might have ignored her before, now the gods would have to hear her.

  Lord of ma’at, god of the gods,

  Creator of men, maker of all life,

  You are Amun, the lord of the hidden.

  She chanted with the priests and stared at the polished tiles through the braids of her wig, sending an additional prayer to the invisible god for plentiful harvests and the wisdom to guide her people.

  There was something she wished for, an impossible dream she had refused to speak aloud since Tutmose’s crowning. Just the thought of it might offend the gods, but she no longer cared.

  “Please take Neferure back to Mut’s temple,” she said to Senenmut. Her daughter’s face was as white as clouds, her eyes round little moons as they stared at the dead bull. “There’s something else I must attend to.”

  She slipped off her sandals so as not to defile Amun’s home with dust and followed the path to the invisible god’s inner sanctuary, so sacred that few men ever set eyes on its façade. The red and black flecks of the granite entrance gleamed dully in Re’s fleeing light. The offerings of the day—loaves of flatbread, jugs of pomegranate wine, and bouquets of lotus blossoms—remained piled in the outer sanctuary. A single priestess and a musician were the only people within, the priestess tidying the gifts to the god while the man strummed his lyre. His eyes were clouded with a milky haze, his vision taken but replaced with the rare gift of attending the invisible god.

  “No one may enter the god’s inner sanctum,” the priestess said, then gasped. “I’m sorry, Hemet. I didn’t realize—”

  Hatshepsut held up a hand and smiled. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  The priestess gaped and retreated with the musician, leaving Hatshepsut alone with the god.

  Painted scenes of Amun’s cult statue being transported in a veiled shrine covered the outer walls of his innermost sanctuary. The door to the tiny inner temple was sealed with dull yellow wax, the holy center admissible only to the pharaoh and the High Priest. However, as regent, Hatshepsut was also now allowed within the sacred confines.

  She retrieved the small faience bottle of precious myrrh oil from her pocket and left it on the offering table with the rest of Amun’s gifts, then carefully peeled back the wax seal with her fingernail. A blue shroud covered the massive granite shrine, cloaking the invisible god’s golden statue. The faint glow of gold shone through the sheer material as the hidden god reflected the light of the torches. The hieroglyphs covering the walls with permanent hymns to Egypt’s supreme god moved in the flickering light, and the scent of fragrant oils clung to the air. Unable to see the Great Cackler, but feeling his presence, Hatshepsut’s knees buckled and she fell into a full henu, arms outstretched with her forehead pressed to the damp flagstones. Something cold pressed upon her chest, as if her heart was already being weighed against Ma’at’s feather.

  “King of the gods, I have come here as your humble servant and daughter in gratitude for the blessings you have rained upon my country and myself.” She spoke into the ground. “I hope and pray for your daily guidance, that you will aid me as you did my father when he wore the double crown. Everything I do, everything I’ve ever done, is for Egypt. I only hope to prove myself worthy of the Isis Throne.”

  Of course, not even the regent could sit upon the Isis Throne. That belonged only to the pharaoh.

  She remained prostrate on the floor in the hope of receiving even the slightest reassurance from Amun. The air cooled and her shoulders ached. Pins burrowed into her legs, but there was no sound, no divine light, no rustle of movement from the shrine.

  Nothing. The god of gods refused to acknowledge her.

  Hatshepsut ignored the painful tingling in her legs and, head bowed, backed from the god’s dark presence into a rare afternoon rain. She retraced her steps, covering her head and swearing under her breath the entire way. Amun’s silence was almost as terrible as hearing the god hurl curses upon her head.

  Perhaps his silence was a curse.

  Then she tripped, forcefully, as if someone had shoved her, falling to her knees on the altar of Amun’s middle courtyard. She scrambled to her feet on the damp tiles and looked up to see the ancient statue of the Great Cackler watching her with glaring granite eyes, rain pouring down his face. There was a crack like a whip snapping in the air, and a fissure at the god’s neck opened as if an invisible sculptor had hit his chisel too hard. A shower of granite dust exploded into the air and was quickly eaten by the rain.

  Amun, the god of gods, bowed his head to her.

  Then a second crack rent the air, a boom of thunder, and the ancient head crashed to the ground, shattering the white tiles with the impact. The force cleaved the head cleanly in two, from the chin to the left ear. The god’s glazed eyes stared blankly at her from the ground.

  She blinked and shook her head, then opened her eyes to see the statue still staring at her. She reached out to touch Amun’s face, the granite under her hands broken and all too real.

  The High Priest came running, leopard paws bouncing off his chest and sandals slapping the wet tiles. “Hemet, are you all right?”

  She wiped her arms, shivered. “I don’t know what happened.”

  He stared openmouthed at the statue, wrung his hands as if strangling a pheasant. His fingers were long and thin and fluttered like bird wings, the wine stains like blood trickling down his arms. “This is a bad omen. A terrible omen.”

  She’d be condemned if word got out that Amun’s statue had collapsed in her presence, that she had caused the damage. That the great god had condemned her.

  “Don’t tell anyone I was here. Please.”

  “I cannot keep such a secret in good conscience, Hemet. This is a message for you, something the other High Priests must be informed about.”

  “Please. I’ll fund Amun’s building projects, the new chapel you requested here at Karnak.”

  His gaze lingered on the statue for a long moment before he gave a tight nod. “I’ll keep everyone out for as long as I can. You must go now.”

  The High Priest shuffled out from the same direction he’d come. Soon the courtyard would be crowded with priests and priestesses, all horrified at the desecration of the god’s sacred altar.

  The statue was stiff and cool, now empty of the god’s presence. Perhaps the granite had simply failed, a weak vein in the aged stone damaged by the rain causing the head to fall.

  A shriek of laughter overwhelmed Hatshepsut’s mind, the hot roar of the desert wind mixed with the loud cackl
e of a goose.

  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.

  Amun’s voice, echoing Djeseret’s prophesy of doom. Hatshepsut stumbled from the courtyard, chest heaving, and pressed her back into Karnak’s walls to keep her knees from buckling again.

  She’d have done anything not to hear those words again.

  Chapter 18

  Shomu drew to a close and the rekhyt finished bringing in the harvest of oats, wheat, and barley that would feed Egypt for another year. The Nile’s benevolence meant plenty of grain to add to the storehouses and stockpiles of food for leaner years. Hatshepsut could ignore Amun’s curse when the land was so blessed; she could believe she had imagined the hidden god’s voice in her head. The High Priest had kept his word, and she hadn’t spoken of the incident to anyone.

  She would take the secret with her to her tomb.

  In order to give the gods their due, Hatshepsut had already sat idle during the first two unlucky days at the end of the year, and recited spells from the Book of the Last Day of the Year over a piece of newly woven linen, which she tied around her neck to avoid the wrath of the gods. Now the people held their breath, hoping the five Days of the Demons at the end of the year would pass with a whimper instead of a roar. Osiris’ and Horus’ days had already gone by, but today was Set’s day, the most terrible of all.

  She couldn’t stomach another day of mindless boredom, and sent Mouse to inquire whether Senenmut might be willing to join her in breaking the rules.

  “Senenmut will do whatever you want.” Mouse sniffed. “That man would walk across a bed of scorpions if you asked him to.”

  “You must be growing senile if that’s what you think,” she said. “Senenmut can scarcely stand to be in the same room with me.”

  “And you must be blind.” Mouse rolled her eyes to the ceiling, blowing a puff of onion-scented breath in Hatshepsut’s direction. “That man swallows you with his eyes. I’m surprised there’s anything left of you after the past few weeks.”

  Hatshepsut’s cheeks flushed. She had noticed his gaze on her when he thought she wasn’t watching, but the look on his face had never been a happy one. More as if he were in terrible pain.

  She herded Mouse out the door, then double-checked her reflection in the copper mirror. Hathor’s cow face smiled benignly from the handle, mocking her. “Leave me alone,” she whispered to the goddess. She slammed the mirror onto the table. Facedown.

  Still, her heart did a traitorous little jump when she entered her offices.

  Senenmut was already seated at the table, shaking his head in disbelief as he ticked off lines in the ledgers with his stylus. “You must be the gods’ most beloved subject this side of the Nile.” He gave a dry chuckle at her pointed look. “Pardon me, Hemet. On both sides of the Nile.”

  She had recently promoted him to the Steward of Amun, a sort of reward for the completion of Mut’s temple at Karnak, and he wore the gold pectoral of his new office across an otherwise bare chest. She had granted him the position he sought at court and the power he craved. Everything she thought he wanted.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  Still he was aloof. She knew he craved more titles, wanted to help her rule Egypt. She just didn’t know how much more he desired.

  Her leg barely touched his under the table. She refused to move and kept her eyes to her papyrus, bit the end of her brush until the wood was as mangled as if a rat had gnawed it. Senenmut cleared his throat as if he were about to say something, but was interrupted by a rap at the door.

  The brush still touched her lips as Hatshepsut raised her eyes to his. She looked away, fearful Senenmut would be able to read the lust written plain across her face. Maybe it was more than lust. She didn’t know, would never get the chance to find out.

  “Enter,” she said.

  The door creaked open to reveal Nomti and Kahotep, the old palace herald. Her bodyguard held a large woven basket in his arms.

  “What is that?” She eyed the basket warily. After a bountiful harvest, it was likely some sort of extravagant bribe, a gift with a lofty request from some mayor or courtier seeking a favor. Why couldn’t people ask for what they wanted, plain and simple?

  “This just arrived with a Nubian messenger,” Kahotep said. “The boy looked like he’d been running for days, so I sent him to the kitchens before he collapsed.”

  “Nubia?” Hatshepsut’s eyebrow arched in question. She wasn’t expecting anything from Nubia; the troubled region had been strangely quiet lately.

  “I asked the messenger to repeat his message to me so you could receive it straightaway.” The herald shifted from one foot to the other. “He only said that General Pebatjma wished to send this gift to you. He was explicit that it is for your eyes only, Hemet.”

  Senenmut moved out of the way as Nomti set the basket on the table. “I don’t know that name—it sounds Nubian,” he said. “Is he one of the Egyptian officials you appointed to the region?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of him. I just appointed Khui as the new viceroy of Nubia. His report last month said things were going well.”

  “I should open this for you.” Senenmut’s tone brooked no argument. “You don’t know what it could be—scorpions or snakes, maybe worse.”

  “That seems a little dramatic.”

  “Neb Senenmut is right,” Nomti said. “It could be dangerous.”

  She rolled her eyes at their stern looks, but threw her hands up in the air. “Then I suppose you may have the honor.”

  Inside the basket was another basket, followed by another. Nestled inside was a large stone box, one carved with crude Nubian symbols. A rancid smell leapt into the air as Senenmut drew off the stone lid. He slammed the box shut, but it was too late. She had already glimpsed the putrid contents.

  Viceroy Khui’s head, or at least what was left of it.

  Rotting black flesh and empty eye sockets writhing with white maggots sent her retching in the corner. On her knees at the edge of the room, Hatshepsut roared, “Bring me that messenger!”

  “Hemet, I’m so sorry.” Kahotep looked about to weep as Nomti raced from the room. “I should have checked inside the baskets first before sending the boy to eat.”

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and struggled to her feet. “Find Admiral Pennekheb,” she said. “We’ll need his expertise before we move against the Nubians.”

  She paced while slaves scrubbed the flagstones of the remnants of her lunch.

  “We should have expected something like this,” Senenmut said. He looked far too relaxed, leaning against her desk, while she felt like a panther, ready to spring. Instead, she paced.

  So much for Set’s day passing with a whimper.

  “The Nubians will pay for this,” she said. “I don’t care how long it takes. I won’t be humiliated.”

  Pennekheb arrived and Nomti returned, dragging the Nubian messenger behind him. He shoved the boy into the middle of the room, and Senenmut barred the door.

  “What’s your name?” Hatshepsut prowled before him, prepared to do battle.

  “Awa.” The youth held his head high and dared her with his eyes, his gaze piercing her like an arrow.

  “You will bow before your regent!” Nomti slammed Awa to the ground and stepped on his back to force him into a henu. He shoved the basket under the Nubian’s nose. “Who did this?”

  “The greatest ruler Nubia has ever seen,” Awa shouted. “General Pebatjma!”

  Hatshepsut stopped before Awa. “So your miserable leader dares start an insurrection against the mightiest country on earth?”

  “Together with a thousand men, we’ve taken back our kingdom!” Awa looked up, only to have Nomti slam his face into the floor again. There was a crunching sound from the boy’s nose, like a walnut cracking open.

  “At what expense?” Admiral Pennek
heb asked, as if inquiring about the weather. Of everyone in the room, only he appeared to have his emotions in check.

  “We’ve overrun the fort and slaughtered all the Egyptian men. We separated their heads from their bodies and burned them so they can never rise in the afterlife.” A maniacal grin cleft Awa’s black face as he lifted his head. Blood ran from his nose to his mouth and covered his front teeth with a slick of red. “Nubia will never fall to Egypt again!”

  His words fanned Hatshepsut’s anger into rage as she thought of all those men, their hopes of the afterlife obliterated by the swords and torches of madmen.

  “Fall to Egypt?” she yelled, hot with fury. “Your kingdom was an unruly state of warlords without a law to protect its people until Egypt came along and offered her guidance. And this is how we are repaid? By constant revolt and rebellion? Our yoke has been soft upon your backs, but nothing says it has to stay that way.”

  Awa spat at her feet. “Better dead than ruled by a woman.”

  Senenmut looked about to smash his foot into the boy’s mouth, but Hatshepsut beat him to it. This time when Awa spit, two of his teeth clattered to the floor.

  She motioned to Nomti. “Lock up this traitor. And see to it that Khui’s remains are taken to the priests of Anubis.”

  Senenmut yanked Awa to his feet and passed him into Nomti’s custody. The atmosphere of the room had changed, charged like the afternoon sky before a thunderstorm.

  “We must invade.”

  Hatshepsut’s words were a clap of thunder.

  “Immediately,” Pennekheb agreed. “I’m surprised they waited so long to rebel after the succession.”

  “They probably weren’t expecting a new pharaoh,” Senenmut noted wryly. “It would have taken them a while to muster the men and supplies needed for a coup.”

  “Regardless of how or why this happened, the rebels must be rooted out and utterly destroyed,” Hatshepsut said. “I won’t allow Egypt’s borders to shrink while I guard the throne, nor can we afford to let the gold shipments from Nubia be disrupted.”