"Pah! Our borders are already as wide as the sun's journey." She shuffled the dispatches waspishly, thinking not of proud and mighty Gaza but of proud and mighty Thothmes, who fumed and stamped from his palace to hers and out to the barracks and back again and up and down the country with his men. At last she rubbed the back of her neck under the black and white striped helmet, a headache lurking somewhere behind her eyes. "Very well. Take three or four divisions, and capture Gaza."
He looked at her in disbelief. "Just like that?"
"Just like that. Gaza has long been a thorn in our side, but as you know, I have managed to keep it from pricking too deep until now. If you think that Rethennu will lie quiet once Gaza has fallen, then by afl means take it. But do not die, Thothmes, whatever else you do!"
They smiled at each other, still able to stand back and see their struggle from the angle of a sporadic family feud.
He bowed deeply. 'Thanks, Mighty Pharaoh. Gaza shall fall, and I shall undoubtedly come home."
''Undoubtedly." Her mouth quirked in a half-smile. "But remember that the spoils fall to me."
He laughed. "I shall pile them at your feet." She dismissed him and turned to the uncomfortable, wary men, smiling at them quizzically. They stirred and smiled back with sympathy, listening while, outside, Thothmes shouted for the heralds to summon his generals.
They all left Thebes for the north: Thothmes in his golden helmet and silver Commander's armbands, Min-mose, Nakht, Menkheperrasonb, Yamu-nedjeh, May, Yamu-nefru, Djehuty, Sen-nefer, and fifteen thousand men, the Divisions of Horus, Set, and Anubis. Hatshepsut watched all morning while the glittering cavalcade swarmed along the river road. When the last baggage cart had disappeared, she left her balcony and went inside to a quiet, empty palace. She felt the anticlimax acutely, and thought of how she herself had marched happily away, leaving her husband to drift about the apartments at Assuan. Now it was Thothmes who spearheaded Egypt in the field, and she was left to pasture like an old horse, wandering peacefully in the sun. But it was good to wake up and hear Hapuseneb singing the hymn and to dress leisurely and go to the temple in peace, not having to worry about the day's endless grinding quarrels and Thothmes' subtle barbs. She did not relax her vigilance entirely, knowing that he would have left behind many spies. She continued to have her halls patrolled day and night, but she did not think that Thothmes would make a move against her unless he was in the city to snatch up the Crook and the Flail, and she allowed herself some measure of rest.
She was becoming anxious about the expedition, and in all the cities along the Nile she stationed messengers to bring her word if the ships were sighted. But day followed cloudless day, and still that word did not come. She spent more time with Meryet, trying to interest herself in the girl's constant, silly, spiteful gossip; but she shrank from the common, mean streak in her daughter. Hatshepsut knew that Thothmes and Meryet were becoming very close. She also knew that when the time came, Meryet would undoubtedly go cheerfully to the temple with him, applauding her mother's end. Hatshepsut sorrowed for the wistful and silent Neferura, who would at least have given her what support she could, frail though that would have been.
Meryet thought Hatshepsut cool and superior, and she obviously pre-
ferred the company of Thothmes' mother. Hatshepsut saw them often, walking together in the garden, arm in arm, aglitter with jewels, both thin and beautiful in a predatory, disturbing way, weaving slowly in and out of the trees, talking and laughing. Hatshepsut watched them expression-lessly, blaming only herself for Meryet's defection. It had not been easy, growing up under the shadow of a mother who was also an empire's Pharaoh.
Spring grew hot, became summer, and the day on which Senmut had sailed away two years before came and went without any message of her fleet's whereabouts. Hatshepsut regularly received dispatches from the army, now camped on the plain outside Gaza, preparing for battle. Sometimes Thothmes sent his own greetings, together with letters for Aset and Meryet. Feeling no compunction, Hatshepsut had the other letters opened and read them. But they contained no information about his plans for her. She did not think that they would, but she was coolly aware that the time of her overthrow grew ever nearer, and she took no chances, missed no loopholes. Thothmes' letters to Meryet were full of affection, but guarded. Reading them, Hatshepsut smiled grimly, knowing that Thothmes would not be foolish enough to endanger Meryet by any compromising words that might be construed, even at this late date, as treason. While Anen carefully resealed the scrolls she thought how, in spite of his blustering ways, Thothmes was deep, deep and wily. He made certain that nothing would go on papyrus that could be used against him in the unlikely event of a sudden change in his fortunes. She was pleased. Egypt would have a wise and far-seeing Pharaoh.
^4^
Egypt gasped and panted its way toward the Inundation, and at last Hatshepsut heard the words she had begun to doubt would ever be spoken. Duwa-eneneh came running toward her over the grass as she was walking to her lake to bathe. His face was alight, and she stopped and waited for him, anxiously, her hands clenched at her sides. He stumbled to a halt before her and bowed. She barely restrained herself from taking him by the shoulders and shaking him.
'They have been sighted!'' he shouted. ''Entering the river from the canal! The messenger is within!"
She turned and flew back the way she had come, her women after her. In the audience chamber the Medjay prostrated himself.
"Up! Tell me all! Are the numbers still five? How did they look?"
"Like five bedraggled swans. Majesty," the man smiled. "But moving swiftly for craft that must buck the beginnings of the flood."
"How long?"
"I would say about another five weeks, perhaps even six. They appear to be heavily laden and will soon have to slow as the water rises."
She turned to the shrine in the corner, a rush of new life welling within her, but she could not say her thanks. Amun smiled complacently, but it was Senmut's name that she whispered, half-dazed, in a trance of happiness. She dismissed the messenger and sent for Hapuseneb.
He came quickly, relieved at her radiant expression. When she told him that the ships had been sighted, he felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Thanks be to Amun! Are there letters. Majesty?"
"No, only the message. Soon there must be word from Senmut himself, but meanwhile prepare for a day of festivity, Hapuseneb. We will welcome him as no Pharaoh has ever been welcomed by his people before!"
"I do not understand." He had gone suddenly cold. His eyes, the color of gray slate, sought hers.
"Neither do I, but it may be that Thothmes will be cheated of the throne despite his strength."
Suddenly Hapuseneb knew. He stepped convulsively to her. "Majesty,
I beg you, I implore you as my Divine Ruler and my God, do not do this thing!"
''Why not? Why should I not marry him? He would be a powerful Pharaoh."
"Yes, but too powerful. Do you think that he would be content to take the titles while you kept the power, as it was with the God Thothmes? As your right arm he is mighty in his strength, but as your head he would leave you vacant. And how long would it be before Thothmes raised an army and marched to claim from Senmut that which he thinks is his? Then nothing would have been gained but time."
'Time," she murmured, looking about her long, echoing room. "Time. I am sorry, Hapuseneb. I sought only to avert what is to come, in a moment of weakness."
"It cannot be averted. Majesty. It can only be delayed. Forgive me, but it is beneath your divine perfection to attempt to prolong the agony in this cheap way."
"You offend me," she said quietly, her eyes closing and passively opening again, "but you are right. You are always right, old friend. There will be agony, will there not? Will I ever be ready for it? But let us put aside the future and dwell for as long as we can on the present. Arrange to bring Amun into the city on his Sacred Barque as before. We will greet the ships together. It will
not be long."
He wondered whether the plan for Senmut had been taking shape in her mind for a long time, growing under Thothmes' jibes, or whether it was a sudden flash of rebellion. He had no wish to spend his last years in killing, and he had no doubt that if she moved as she said she would, then killing would be his destiny. She turned from him pensively, and he dared say no more about it. "It is a great achievement, this," he said. "No Pharaoh will be able to equal it."
She stood still and said coolly, without looking around, "Thothmes will."
Every day brought fresh reports from her lookouts, and the five ships struggled on upriver, battling the brown, muddy wrath of Isis's Tear. At last a tired sailor brought Hatshepsut a scroll bearing Senmut's own seal. She tore it apart in her eagerness to get at the contents. She had forgotten that Senmut knew nothing of what had passed since his departure and that for all he knew she was a prisoner and Thothmes was King. The words were polite, admiring, a subject's words to his lord. No hint of affection colored the pale pages. They were well and had lost no men. They had reached Ta-Neter and had stories to tell of its wealth and its barbarity.
Nehesi also sent his respectful greetings. She put it aside, near to tears, overwhelmed by the time that had gone by. She had scarcely finished reading it when another dispatch arrived, this time from Gaza. As she skimmed its contents, she began to smile and then to laugh hysterically. The scroll was from Thothmes. He had taken Gaza and was on his way home.
On the last night, when the fleet was anchored briefly twenty miles downstream, due to arrive the next morning, she did not believe that she would be able to sleep. But she did, deeply, dreamlessly, as she had in her youth. She awoke to the tips of the morning sun and the priests' high voices, feeling more vital and refreshed than she had in many months. She sent Hapuseneb to perform her devotions in her place so that she could prepare herself to greet the men who had gone so far and come back, almost as if from the dead. She was bathed and dressed carefully. She chose a short kilt, golden helmet, and beaded sandals, amethyst and carnelian, turqoise and gold and jasper about her throat and her arms, her fingers and her ankles. The palace also woke to a new vigor. The crowds already streamed from the city, shouting and laughing, milling about beside the jetties. The streets from the wharf to the palace had been festooned with flowers. Flags snapped from the tall wooden flagpoles, the Braves of the King standing beneath them in fufl, shining regalia. Their faces were solemn and inscrutable as they watched the comings and goings, missing nothing.
Amun was brought forth from the temple, and a great, awed hush descended on the motley city dwellers as the sun smote his hot, golden body. Pharaoh paced beside him, carrying the symbols of her authority crossed on her jeweled breast, her head high and a slight smile on her red mouth as the people swayed and lay before her on the stone streets. The nobles of Egypt came behind her, and the hush deepened, for many of the men following her were already legendary, their names on everyone's lips for almost twenty years. Avid eyes drank in every detail of their sober faces. There was something else in the air, too, a feeling of sadness mingled with the glorious joy of the occasion, as if it afl was coming to an end in a final burst of majesty. The sun bathed them all in liquid light, a light that flowed mellow and molten, seeming to transform them into living flames from Ra's fiery Barque. The spefl broke, and the cheering began again. Hatshepsut and her lords reached the river carried along by the deafening applause.
She sat, and the court gathered around her. She was motionless, gazing upriver to the bend stifl lying empty, a pool of brown water between the
browner fields that spread to distant, rearing hills. Gradually all sound was replaced by an expectant, tense quiet. All heads were turned. All eyes grew tired from peering to the north. P"or an hour they stood thus, the spell holding them, a gathering of timeless statues.
Someone gave an excited, half-strangled cry, and pointed. Hatshepsut sprang to her feet, dizzy and faint from the sudden rush of fear and elation that coursed through her. They came, taking the bend with a ponderous slowness, oars dipping and rising, sails set to catch the prevailing north wind. Their decks were crammed with tiny black figures that began to wave and cry out, their voices carrying faintly to the seething city. Hatshepsut clutched the Crook and the Flail, hugging them to her, pressing her arms to her breast, impatient. The ships came on. Now two people were discernible, standing high in the prow of the lead ship, not moving. Her eyes flew to them and stayed fixed on them. The wash creamed back, and the oars dipped. She could no longer hear the cries of the sailors, for all around her a thunderous ovation rang out, swell upon swell.
After a moment of waiting and watching that seemed to last forever, she found his face, the eyes steady and warm. They looked at each other over the rapidly diminishing stretch of water, not moving or speaking, just drinking, drinking. They began to smile, and Hatshepsut flung out her arms, grinning uncontrollably, as the incense rose again, triumphantly, and the priests sang, and the people welcomed them home.
'Thebes and all Egypt salutes you, warriors and princes," she shouted as the lead ship nosed gently to her mooring, glad to be home. The ramp was run out. The other ships were maneuvering to tie up, their decks piled with all kinds of strange delights. The people gazed avidly at them, but Hatshepsut saw only Senmut. He came toward her, Nehesi at his side, swinging easily down the ramp, then lying prostrate before her on the warm stone of the landing stage. They rose and waited, watching as she gazed at them.
He had not changed. If anything he looked younger and fitter than when he had left. His eyes were clear and no longer shadowed. The lines of worry that had begun to form about his nose and mouth had been smoothed away; his muscles had regained their former taut appeal. Nehesi, too, had changed little. The smooth planes of his black face were perhaps tighter, his massive, strong body more compact and lithe. He greeted her with the same quiet respect and monumental indifference for the roaring crowds and eager courtiers that he had always shown. She handed the Crook and the Flail to User-amun and embraced them briefly, tears glittering on her long eyelashes.
Senmut turned to the boats and indicated their loaded decks. "Gifts
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for Amun and for you, Majesty/' he said. Before she looked to the ships, she gazed across at him and smiled again, his voice sweet in her ears. Each deck was rigged with a canopy, and under each canopy the myrrh trees huddled, little, whippy young trunks and gay, waving branches. Their roots were sunk in the earth from which they had been dug, and they were bound lightly in wet sacking. More sacks were piled against them. *'Myrrh trees for the gardens in the holy valley," Senmut said, ''and sacks of myrrh ready for perfume and incense."
'Trees for Amun, just as he wished," she said, her eyes shining and her arms aching to reach out to him. "Oh, Senmut, this is truly marvelous! Have the sailors unload them immediately and take them across the river so the gardeners can begin to plant them. They will need much water. How many are there?" She could not tell by just looking, for they seemed to her to be a green forest, sprouting from the very decks of the ships themselves.
"Thirty-one. We have also brought cattle and much gold and other precious things."
For a while they stood and watched the trees being carefully unloaded. Amun was taken back to his sanctuary, and Hatshepsut and her court drifted back to the palace, chattering excitedly like a flock of bright peacocks. She mounted the throne in the audience chamber, and the nobles settled themselves around her, prepared to watch her receive the tribute. Senmut and Nehesi stood, one on each side of the golden throne, calmly watching as the gifts were carried one by one, according to ceremony, and placed at her feet. The sacks of myrrh came first, filling the room with their heavy, langorous scent. Tahuti and his scribes began to weigh them and note down their value.
Aset and Meryet stood with their retinues at the back of the room, awed in spite of themselves as the laden servants came and went. They had not believed that Senmut would return. Indeed, they had
hoped that he would not and that Hatshepsut would be made to look finally and irretrievably ridiculous.
Punt was as full of gold as Egypt herself, and Tahuti soberly watched as the nuggets and dust and countless bands were divided and noted, Amun's share and the royal treasury's.
Nehesi leaned to her and said, "There are many of the thick bands. Majesty, because the people of Punt make them to cover their legs. You will see in a moment, for seven of the chiefs and their wives and families wished to sail with us. They wanted to assure Your Majesty of their joy at being reunited once more to Egypt and to pledge peace and prosperity between the two lands." He was smiling a little cynically, and she laughed
quietly, not imagining for a moment that the chiefs of Punt had agreed to come of their own volition.
The gold was being piled on her right, and more servants were bowing, putting down a mound of ivory tusks and struggling under great slabs of ebony, black and gleaming dully. More slaves waited behind them, almost buried under animal skins: panther, leopard for the priests, and others. It was some time before she realized that not all the confused mass of hides belonged to dead animals, for twelve of her zoo keepers bowed with difficulty as they held onto leashed dogs, monkeys, and apes that set up an echoing rumble of barks and whimpers and cries, making her laugh. A cheetah was led forward, a lean, speckled, lordly beast that regarded them with a cold, unblinking stare. It sank onto its haunches and daintily began to wash its face. Senmut told her that this animal was a very special gift, sent by Parihu, the greatest of all the chiefs, for her exclusive use. He was a hunting cheetah, very swift and deadly. She took in her own hand the chain of golden links attached to his collar, and presently the beast got up and stood on the steps beside her, leaning its bony, warm body against Senmut's bare legs.
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