“We have four divisions available to us here in Waset: Horus, Thoth, Set, and Re,” Pennekheb said. “The men can be ready to march in a few days. The other nomarchs can call on their reserve troops to supply us with several more divisions.” The admiral looked confident. “Don’t worry, Hemet. We’ll bring the Nubians to heel for you. This generation won’t rebel again.”
Her father had once regaled her with stories of his conquest in Nubia; the pharaoh had sailed home to Waset with the naked body of the Nubian chief hanging from the prow of his boat. Osiris Tutmose’s presence on the front lines had guaranteed the army’s loyalty to the royal house and ensured that Nubia saw the strength of the pharaoh himself, ending the chance of further rebellions while Tutmose lived. Unfortunately, her brother had shirked the opportunity to prove his worth in battle when he’d been given the chance. Now the Nubians had risen again—a safe gamble if they thought the ruling house was weak or inept. With a child on the throne and a woman as regent, Egypt surely seemed vulnerable to open insurrection. But if Nubians saw firsthand the full might of Egypt and the declaration of power behind the throne, they might think twice before revolting again. Plus, this was an opportunity to secure the loyalty of Hatshepsut’s military, something that might prove useful in the future.
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
The room fell silent.
“Absolutely not,” Pennekheb countered. His tone was even, but both of his frail hands clutched the top of his cane. “The battlefield is no place for a woman, no matter how capable you’ve proven yourself elsewhere. Not only that, but this will be a much bloodier affair than our foray into Nubia when your brother took the throne.” He glanced at Senenmut, squared his shoulders. “I’m sure your steward agrees with me.”
Senenmut looked at her, his expression inscrutable. There was a pause so long that she wished she could hear his thoughts. “She should go,” Senenmut finally said.
“You can’t be serious.” Pennekheb threw his hands up.
“As long as you’re not planning on joining the men on the front lines. I don’t doubt you might do something foolish in Egypt’s name.”
He knew her well, but she was no fool.
She glared at him. “I’m not a soldier. But my presence is necessary.”
Pennekheb’s mouth fell open in disgust. He shook his head. “No, I absolutely won’t accept this. It’s too dangerous to risk the regent’s life on a border skirmish. No one else can be trusted to take up the regency if something happens to you.”
“I’ll be perfectly safe,” Hatshepsut said. “The Nubians won’t stop fighting until they realize I won’t allow them to carve away pieces of my kingdom. Let them see firsthand whom they’re dealing with. There will be no mercy for those who survive.”
Pennekheb stood in stony silence, glowering. “I won’t have the death of the regent on my hands.”
Hatshepsut snorted. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we?” She grinned wickedly. “Then it’s settled. We go to war!”
Chapter 19
The bedraggled ostrich feathers from her stallion’s bridle fluttered in the desert air. Weeks ago, the jaunty plumes had pranced in time to the horse’s trot as they traveled the edge of the Nile’s moist black bank, but now, covered with the thick film of red dust that coated everyone and everything, the feathers sagged, exhausted in the heat.
Hatshepsut, Admiral Pennekheb, Senenmut, and the Royal Treasurer Ti rode in chariots at the front. The commanders and a company of archers marched behind them, the biting head of a snake that slithered closer to Nubia and the impending war. The plodding footsteps of thousands of soldiers coughed up dust and sand behind them.
Leaving Waset and the palace behind with the promise of a war not yet fought had been exhilarating for Hatshepsut, but they’d been at this slog along the desert border for what seemed like an eternity, Re scorching their backs as they traced the Nile’s curves. Their ranks swelled with each city they passed and the nomarchs delivered the reserve troops Admiral Pennekheb had guaranteed. Egypt’s sands stretched behind them as they passed the rapids of the First Cataract and then the Second and crossed Nubia’s borders. Isis hadn’t wept yet to flood the river, but the waterfalls roared and lifted everyone’s spirits as they trekked past. But both times the river had calmed and left the landscape precisely as it had looked since they’d left Waset, a never-ending expanse of undulating brown.
Only Re’s movement overhead marked the passage of time, the buzzing of flies breaking the monotonous sounds of thousands of marching feet. The Third Cataract beckoned and past it, the city of Dongola. It was there that Admiral Pennekheb was sure the battle to retake Nubia would commence. This would be their last night camped together. Many of the men behind Hatshepsut carried cumin seeds in the pockets of their loincloths, symbolizing faithfulness to the wives and lovers waiting for them back home. Some of these men wouldn’t live to see another sunset, but would instead be buried here in Nubia with their memories and those seeds.
Hatshepsut shaded her eyes and squinted toward a disturbance on the horizon. Nomti reined his stallion to a trot. “It looks like a runner.”
Her elbow bumped him as she tried to get a better look. She’d ordered her own chariot, but Nomti and Senenmut had joined ranks with Pennekheb, all vehement that she needed a guard with her. What they meant was painfully obvious: Nomti wasn’t there to protect her from the Nubians, but rather from herself.
“They might be our scouts,” she said. The dust cloud loomed larger until she could make out two men like growing ants on the horizon. Their short kilts and light skin branded them as Egyptians.
“I’ll find out what they’ve seen.” Senenmut spurred on his horse and Pennekheb called a halt for the rest of the procession. The two disturbances in the sand inched closer to each other and eventually collided. It took only a few moments for Senenmut to reverse course.
If Hatshepsut had been on her own, she would have raced ahead to meet him. But she wasn’t alone, and hadn’t been since the moment they’d left Waset.
Sand sprayed from his horse’s hooves as the animal reared to a halt. “The Nubians are camped over the next rise just outside Dongola,” he said. “They think we’re still several days off, compliments of the reports our spies have planted.”
“Send more scouts,” Hatshepsut said to Pennekheb. “I want a full account on the layout of the terrain.”
“I’ll ready the troops,” the admiral said, the years melting from his face. “Tomorrow we shall have our victory!”
The red of blood and fire spread across the sky as the black line of the horizon swallowed Re’s body, an omen of death and destruction to come. The troops feasted on double rations of bread and beer to give them strength for the coming challenge, but Hatshepsut spent the night in her tent, prostrate before a makeshift altar to Set and Sekhmet. Her prayers to the warrior gods tumbled together and her joints grew stiff, but still she muttered the words. At some point, the gods blessed her with the precious gift of sleep.
It was Senenmut who woke Hatshepsut as he entered her tent well before dawn, his copper scimitar already strapped to his hip. He shook her gently. “It’s time. The admiral has a plan to give us an advantage, but we need to move within the hour to keep the element of surprise.”
His words chased away the last dregs of sleep. Her joints protested as Senenmut helped her from the reed mat tossed over packed sand. “This is what we’ve been waiting for,” he said. His hand lifted as if to brush a stray hair from her cheek, but dropped quickly to his side. “A day generations will remember.”
He clasped her hand to his chest, closed her fingers around something small and hard. “I asked Mouse to find this for you. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you wear it, but I thought you might want it today.”
She looked down to see Sekhmet’s red jasper amulet on a white string, the necklace Neferubity had given her so long ago. The stone was warm in her hand, as if alive, and for a moment it seem
ed that the lion goddess bared her teeth to growl before settling back to her complacent smile.
“I’d forgotten all about this,” she said, slipping the amulet over her head. “I hope the goddess will forgive the oversight.”
He smiled, that slow, lazy smile she hadn’t seen since the day in the Western Valley. “I think Sekhmet would forgive her favorite daughter almost anything.”
It was suddenly hard to breathe. Senenmut would be in the midst of the fighting today, traveling with the division of his beloved Thoth in an officer’s capacity, while Nomti kept her a safe distance away. She wanted to tell him to be careful, but the words stuck in her throat.
He bowed, turned on his heel, and let the tent flap fall behind him.
She listened until his muffled footsteps faded into silence. “Protect him, Sekhmet. Keep him safe, and I swear I’ll do anything you ask of me.”
Her eyes felt gritty as she splashed her face with water from a copper urn and allowed slaves to replace the loose sheath she’d worn last night with the short kilt of her soldiers. Upon this were layered broad bands of thick brown leather until they covered her entire torso. For the first time, she placed the pharaoh’s blue battle crown—the khepresh—upon her bare head.
Today she was not just regent, but also the supreme commander of the armed forces of Egypt. She would dress the part.
She strode from her tent but stopped at the sight before her. The Egyptian army stood ready, a sea of brown faces illuminated only by a few smoking torches. Archers stood at attention and scores of infantry brandished spears and cowhide shields. The air crackled with anticipation.
“Take me to the front of the line,” Hatshepsut said to Nomti as she climbed into her chariot.
“Don’t get any ideas.” He eyed her as if he expected her to leap from the basket at any moment.
“I’m not going to fight,” she said. “But I won’t hide in my tent either.”
The gilded chariot circled to the front of the Division of Horus, the image of the falcon god emblazoned on each man’s leather armband and the linen standards hanging limply in the warm air. This group of elite soldiers would lead the way and be the first to engage the Nubians outside Dongola. There would be heavy casualties.
Hatshepsut tried to commit each man’s face to memory. These were Egypt’s sons, husbands, fathers. The next time she saw many of them, they would be corpses on the battlefield.
She focused on her men as the chariot halted and projected her voice in the hope that the mouths of men would carry her words.
“Men of Egypt, sons of Sekhmet and Set! Before you waits an enemy determined to bring Egypt to her knees, flaunting the might of our great kingdom and inciting chaos and violence within our borders. Today we will bring these criminals to heel, and you shall be guaranteed your place of honor in the Field of Reeds. Let Ammit feast on the hearts of these rebels!”
She shook her spear in the air, prompting a roar so loud it could likely be heard all the way to Dongola. The noise crested to a deafening crescendo as the men pounded their shields with their spears. A nod to Admiral Pennekheb prompted the signal to move out. Thousands of men marched past her chariot with a salute, ready to discover what the gods had in store for them.
She spied Senenmut’s chariot as the division of Thoth drove past. His gaze lingered on her and then he raised his spear to her in salute.
His form disappeared over the rise. She prayed to Sekhmet that she would see him again.
Alive.
• • •
“The first reports are here.” Nomti held aside the opening for the messenger. Hatshepsut’s tent was a nest of activity as advisers buzzed to and fro and the wind kicked up outside. She wanted to see the action rather than hear secondhand reports about the battle that was unfolding in her name.
The messenger was covered with dust, beads of dirty sweat dripping from his temples. She held the golden ceremonial mace her father had taken to war against the Nubians and used it to impatiently motion the runner to a map of Dongola’s surrounding area. Miniature toy soldiers sat upon the frayed papyrus—those of Egypt in polished white alabaster amongst the ebony of Nubia’s troops.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“The Division of Horus has broken into the Nubian front line. Our surprise attack caught them off guard, but they regrouped quickly.” The runner’s chest heaved as he pushed out the words. “Our soldiers met with heavy casualties, especially the archers at the front of the regiment’s line, but they’ve managed to break the Nubians.”
That was good news. If the Nubians scattered, it would mean chaos among their ranks.
“And the other divisions?”
“The Division of Thoth has also moved in to provide reinforcements to Horus, to ensure that their line remains strong.”
Senenmut’s division. Hatshepsut kept her face a mask. She had to trust the gods to protect him.
“Are the other divisions preparing to move in as planned?”
The messenger nodded, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. She sent him away with a flick of her wrist and set down the mace, impatient for more news. She had to get out of the tent.
She was halfway out the door when Nomti stepped in front of her.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the top of the rise.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I refuse to stay while all those men fight for my kingdom. I need to see what’s happening.”
Nomti shook his head. “And if our forces have to retreat?”
“That will never happen.”
“We can’t know for sure.”
“Well, if they did retreat—which they won’t—I’d have to leave here anyway. I promised to keep away from the front, but I never said I’d stay hidden away in a field tent.”
Nomti sighed. He had served her long enough to know that she would do whatever she wished. “Fine. To the rise, but no more.”
“Agreed.”
His whip cracked overhead and the horse bolted. The wind roared, as hot as Sekhmet’s breath, spewing angry dust devils into the air and washing the imprint of her soldiers’ footsteps from the sand. If this continued much longer, the desert would soon claim all evidence of this battle, tucking the fallen soldiers into a blanket of sand for all eternity.
The view from the dune’s crest was something she’d remember until the day her ka flew to the sky. The back lines of the Egyptian infantry swarmed like locusts, a protective wall to fill any chinks in the divisions. The center teemed with thousands of men, mounted and on foot, light and dark, each side trying to devour the other. The gods circled the battle, cackling amidst the sandstorm and throwing back their heads to roar with bloodlust.
An ant of a man broke free from the melee and ran in their direction, slowly taking on legs, arms, and a head. Hatshepsut moved to grab the reins, but Nomti flicked them out of reach. “Don’t you dare,” he said.
The runner arrived minutes later, his bare chest spattered with someone else’s blood. His legs gave way and he barely managed to gasp out his message. “The Division of Thoth is fully engaged. There are heavy casualties, but the Division of Horus has penetrated the Nubian lines. The Division of Set has also been engaged.”
Hatshepsut’s throat constricted at the mention of deaths within the ranks of Thoth, but she gave a tight nod.
The next hours crawled by, Sekhmet seeming to slow time so she could guide each bronze arrow to its mark. Several more runners came to report the ebb and flow of the battle. At one point the Nubians resurged and delivered countless Egyptians to Anubis’ waiting jaws. The wind died down to make the torment of Re’s brutal heat unbearable, but calmed the storm of sand as the rebels were pushed back to Dongola.
The haze of evening approached and a final runner tore up the rise. This one was different—panting and out of breath, but with a gleaming smile shining like a beacon as he neared the royal chariot.
Thirsty for news, Hatshepsut di
dn’t even allow him the moment to bow. “We’ve won, haven’t we?”
“The rebels have been pushed back within the city, and the Divisions of Horus and Thoth have pursued.” The messenger’s smile never faltered. “Admiral Pennekheb wishes to know your orders regarding the destruction of the city and the taking of its inhabitants.”
“Assemble the rebel chiefs and their families—I’ll deal with them personally. Women and children will stay behind with the occupying force of Egyptians to work the gold mines. The Division of Re will remain in Dongola to ensure the Nubians don’t rise again.”
The runner repeated the message to commit it to memory, then retraced his steps back down the dune.
Nomti checked the position of Re’s sinking body. “It may be some time before the admiral and the others finish. Shall we return to the tent?”
“I’m not going back. I’m going down there to deal with the chiefs.”
“Absolutely not. They’ll bring the traitors to you.”
“The fighting is over.” Hatshepsut stepped out of the chariot, crossing her arms before her. “I’ll walk if I have to.”
Nomti glared at her, a black look borrowed from Ammit before the demon devoured the hearts of the dead. Hatshepsut turned and started to walk in the direction of Dongola.
“Fine,” Nomti growled, and she smiled into the dusk. She would have looked rather foolish walking onto the battlefield, but she’d have done it if she had to.
He offered his hand and pulled her back into the chariot. “But you’re not going within a stone’s throw of the city.”
“Or within an arrow’s shot.” Hatshepsut swallowed her laughter as Nomti glared again. She wouldn’t push her luck.
It didn’t take long before they came across the first body, that of a grizzled Nubian warrior past his prime. A bearded vulture perched on the man’s ribs, digging into exposed intestines. The bird looked at them, and the shiny innards clutched in its beak glistened in the setting sun. More buzzards circled overhead, drawn by the scent of blood.
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