*'So far that I do not believe I shall ever come back. This garrison is out on the desert, surrounded by the men of Kush. But the years are longer than the miles. In a word. Majesty," he finished bluntly, '*I am banished."
Her mind refused to function, her thoughts darting away from her grasp. Not you, Menkh! My last friend, my last living memory! If you are to go, then who will tell me of my childhood in these days when there is nothing else left to me? Thothmes knows this. How implacably thorough of him, how typically full of spite. Is it not enough that he has my throne?
''What of Ineni?" she snapped. "Surely Thothmes will listen to him."
Menkh shrugged. "My father went to Pharaoh. Thothmes gave him all deference and honor, but it did no good. Father is old, and his hands shake. There is no oil of persuasion now on his long tongue. He was told that if his son chooses to associate himself with a traitor, then his son must pay the price."
Her eyes narrowed. "And if I go to him?"
"What good would it do? Forgive me. Majesty, but you would only fan his hatred."
"And you would suflfer. I know him! But what more suffering can you endure than this, dear friend of my youth?"
He looked about him slowly, savoring the day, squinting into the sun. The trees rustled above their heads, and the strident whistling of the birds
was like a tuneless music. ''I have lived all my life in paradise," he said. He laughed. "Now I must tread the underworld. A hot march it will be, and without hope. Yet, Majesty, 1 do hope." He spoke lightly, trying to cheer her, but she was not deceived.
Something within her coiled tightly and broke. *'Amun, Amun," she cried. ''Have I not been dutiful? Have I not been your faithful Daughter? Why this, too?"
Her voice echoed back to her from the other side of the training ground, bringing to her other words than the ones she had spoken. And have I not given you your heart's desire? Did you think that the price would not be heavy?
She bit her lip. ''Hope if you will, dear one, but I fear you will die of it. I, for my part, have had done with all hopes and all delight."
He stepped closer to her. "Farewell, Hatshepsu, Pharaoh, Living Forever. We have done much together. How much more would have been possible without the intervening hand of fate." He spoke not as servant to lord but as friend to friend.
Although she searched his eyes she could find no trace of the youth who had danced at her feasts, who had twirled his whip so gaily over the heads of her proud horses, who had laughed at her on the battlefield for her sweat and grime and anger. She silently said good-bye to the laughter, the lighthearted foolishness that had warmed them throughout the years. The man who stared back at her so intensely was not Menkh. He was a deeply serious stranger, all frivolity gone forever, replaced by a calm that was neither healthy nor natural. She had a premonition that the gods would strike him down long before the men of Kush could ever raise their bows.
She leaned forward very slightly and kissed him on the mouth. "Speak no more of fate," she said harshly. "Remember me, Menkh, when the desert nights are long, as I shall remember you."
He bowed and picked up his pack, slinging it over his naked shoulder as the soldiers closed about him and prepared to march. "So be it," he said. "Perhaps you will find another charioteer. Majesty, but none with my grace, I swear!" The smile was ghoulish, a parody of his easy grin.
She did not reply but stood still and watched until he and his guards had vanished among the thick trees beside the water.
She never hunted again.
Thothmes' ruthless reorganization went on. Tahuti was spared because of his knowledge, but he was relegated to the post of Under Treasurer, and the wild Min-mose, with his loud laugh and reckless manner, was appointed Treasurer. May became Royal Fan Bearer at the Right Hand
of the King. Hatshepsut's own Fan Bearers were dismissed, and she sorely missed the men who had walked beside her, their scarlet fans waving over her crowned head. Her women had to carry her fans instead, but she walked proudly and disdainfully in spite of this new emblem of humiliation walking beside her, for the position was always given to men. Nakht, the chariot driver who had never lost a race, became Thothmes' Royal Messenger, and his bronze wheels flashed up and down the country, busy for the Pharaoh whose stony eyes turned ever north, to Rethennu and the lands beyond. Suddenly the halls of government were filled with warlike men, the cohorts of Thothmes' military days; their thoughts were arrogant and quick, filling Thebes with the tumultuous words of battle.
Hatshepsut moved quietly among them, winning their grudging admiration by her silent, lithe grace and the wisdom of her few words. But she fled them often, for the palace was no longer a peaceful, well-ordered place, and even her own servants spoke of nothing but Thothmes' might and the enjoyable prospects of war. She would cross the river in the early dawn and pace the stones of her temple avenue alone, her sphinxes watching her passage with calm, uncomprehending eyes, not recognizing their creator in this slow-moving, quiet woman. She would walk up the ramps in the sun's radiance and wander through her shrines, followed by her worshiping priests, allowing the unchanging peace and beauty of the pillared halls to comfort her.
She never stopped to read her biography or Senmut's, either. The words were forever engraved on her soul in flaming hieroglyphs. She did not need paint to remind her who she was and from whence she came. Thothmes or no Thothmes, she was still God and always would be. As she walked under the green shade of her myrrh trees and dipped her fingers in the sacred pools, it seemed to her that Senmut walked beside her, his strong arms waiting to embrace her.
How short a time it has been, she thought, looking back down the terraces to the hot silver ribbon of the river. It seems as if only yesterday I parted the reeds to see him standing there in his coarse linen, his head bare and my throwing-stick clutched in his hand. Little we'eb priest! Tomorrow I will see him, walking and talking with Ineni as they ponder some odd problem. The day after that he will come and feast with me and pour my wine and press the sweet, blue lotus to my face. Great Erpa-ha, Prince of Egypt for all time!
I remember thinking once that only two things really mattered to me, the people and the power, but I was wrong. Behind the people and the power are two far greater mysteries. The God. And the love of Senmut.
Epilogue
After twenty years of struggle to rise, struggle to rule, struggle to hold onto what was hers, there was no longer any need even to think, and the grayness of uselessness threatened to engulf her. Far better, she thought, listening to the silence, that my days should have ended with Senmut, under the assassin's knife, in a burst of blood and sudden fear.
In the soft lamplight the door was flung open. Her stepson strode into the room, the guard groveling behind him, uttering polite little noises of protest. But Thothmes shut the door in his face and came forward. His body glistened with the perfumed oils of the feast, and his eyes were rimmed with kohl. The ankh on his breast shot golden fire into the duskiness, and on his head reared the symbols of his kingship, the cobra and the vulture. He stopped by the couch, his hands on his slim hips, and she waited.
'This room is cold," he said. ''Where are your servants?''
"I have one left to me for the night, two for the day, as you well know. Even my scribes and my faithful Nofret have been dismissed. What do you want?''
'To talk of Kadesh. Were you asleep?"
"Almost. I have had difficulty sleeping of late. Now what of Kadesh? Do you seek my advice?" Her tone was caustic. It had been long since he had looked to her for counsel.
"No. But the envoy and his entourage have just decided to leave tomorrow—and in high dudgeon. Soon I must follow."
"War?"
"War."
"Then you are a fool. Is it not enough that our borders are secured and our land at peace? Can you not be satisfied with an occasional foray for slaves, a salutary warning or two?"
"No. The time has come to teach our enemies that Egypt is the center of the world. I am going to bu
ild an empire that all men will speak of to the end of time. I am, after all, a soldier. You made me one."
"Yes, I did. To command under me, to follow my wishes. No matter what you do, proud Thothmes, you cannot hide the fact that you took my throne from me."
He leaned over her suddenly, his black eyes alive with anger. "Speak not of treason to me, usurper! For twenty long years you kept my crown upon your own pretty head. But now I am at last the stronger, and I have taken what has been mine since my father died. I have captained for you in Rethennu, in Nubia. I fell upon Gaza at your command with all the might of my army and took it. Now I captain for myself. I am Pharaoh. I!''
They glared at each other, trembling on the verge of more bitter words, but Hatshepsut reached up and laid a hand on his cheek. He smiled and sat beside her on the couch.
**We have said all this many times before," she remarked, ''and always we arrive at the beginning again. I am getting too old for such open strife. Tonight I left the feast because my daughter, your shallow, simpering wife, refused to speak to me. Me! Goddess of the Two Lands! Would that Neferura were still living!"
''Well, she is not!" he replied harshly. They fell silent. "Touching Kadesh," he began again, "I am going to mount a full-scale campaign in the near future. I will be away from Egypt for some months—"
As he hesitated, she jumped in. "And who is going to govern while you are away? Your featherbrained wife?"
"Thebes is a city full of able and loyal advisers and administrators," he said slowly. "But of one thing I am sure. You, dear aunt-mother, are not to put one finger on the reins of command. Do you understand?"
"Of course I understand. But who, dear nephew-son, is better able to direct the country than I?"
"You make things very difficult for me. I cannot take you with me, and I cannot leave you here, for I know, as surely as Ra rises triumphant each day, that I would return to find my Viziers dismissed and you seated firmly on my throne once more. Let go, Hatshepsu, let go." His fingers closed about her arm, and he bent lower still. "You have lived as no Queen has done before. You have pressed out the grapes of power. You have tasted the joys of the gods, and still you are hungry. I have seen it in your eyes. I see it now, the hope that I shall go and once again it shall be as you wish. But it can nevermore be. The traitor Senmut is dead. There is no one left to bind your wrists with golden chains to the kingship that was never yours. No more scheming, aunt-mother, no more secret whisperings and plottings."
She wrenched her arm away, and as the fur slipped from her breasts, she struck him on the mouth. "I should have ended your life when I had the chance," she hissed at him, "but I would not. It would have been so easy when you were a child, dependent on my good will. The priests and all my ministers would have turned their backs and pretended not to see.
But no! I spared your life! The good Senmut spared your life! Have a care, Thothmes. The old queen bee can still sting!"
The Lord of All Life rose and put a hand to the corner of his mouth. ''Do not threaten me," he snarled. 'Tou are in no position to do so, and such reckless courage will only bring you death. I say it plainly. You are in my hands, and the glory of Egypt comes before all things, including you. If you must die for the good of this country, then do not be mistaken, you will. You make it hard for me, Hatshepsu. I cannot make a decision, and that is unlike me. I tell you plainly, for four years you have been on the brink of death, and I have stayed my hand. Why, I do not know."
'*I do," she said softly. ''It is a debt. You loved me once as a young man loves for the first time, blindly, passionately, with great single-mindedness. And as with a young man's first love the fire quickly died, but the memory burns still." She shrugged. "Forget it, Thothmes. Do what you must. I am ready."
High up in the walls, a faint gray light began to seep through the windows, and she could see him more clearly. He, too, had not slept this night, and he looked tired, the heavy-lidded eyes veiled. The lamplight sank to a sickly yellow glow, and the cold silence of early morning enveloped them as they waited, watching another day start to invade the room.
Hatshepsut spoke, quietly, without emotion, her hands limp and motionless beneath the beautiful fur. "Morning is here," she said. "Soon the High Priest will come. Perhaps he is already on his way, with the Second High Priest and the censers and the acolytes. They will all gather outside your room, with the Royal Fan Bearer and the Keeper of the Royal Seal and the King's Sandal Bearer and the Chief Herald and—there are so many of them, are there not? They will begin the Hymn of Praise. 'Hail, immortal Incarnation, rising as Ra in the east! Hail, Life-Giver, Living Forever!' How does it feel, proud Thothmes, to know that you are not worthy of their praise? How does it feel to know that it is I, not you, who am the right and true Incarnation of the God, chosen by him before I was born, named before I was born, given the crown by my earthly father long before you opened your eyes in the women's quarters to see a common dancer as your mother? That is all that really matters, is it not? You cruelly slaughtered Senmut, and you may silently poison me, but that— that you cannot change! Never! You may destroy my name, you may forbid the records of my deeds, but your own unworthiness you cannot obliterate with the stonemason's ax. Now go. Go and receive the adoration of the priests. Go and fight your wars. I am tired unto death. Go!"
He heard her out in silence, the anger building up behind his eyes and
his face becoming taut. When she had finished, he strode to the doors and flung them open with such force that they crashed back against the walls. 'Tou are an extraordinary woman, Hatshepsu, extraordinary!" he shouted. ''And beautiful still, and cruel. So cruel still. See how I repeat myself! You have angered me!" He straddled the doorway, his chest heaving. ''Do you fear nothing?" He turned on his heel and was gone.
"Mighty Bull of Maat?" she called after him. "Pah!" And she began to laugh.
She lingered beneath the fur, unwilling to get up, smiling to herself as the light in the room became golden and she felt its new warmth lick her upturned face. When Merire knocked, she bade her enter, still lying with the soft, thick pile bundled under her chin. As Merire approached and bowed, Hatshepsut regarded the fat face and small, beady eyes with the same wave of revulsion she felt every morning when the plump little spy waited for her orders. How long? she thought in a sudden mad repudiation of the useless, senseless hours that stretched before her. How long has it been since Nofret greeted me with a smile and answered my questions as she extinguished my night-light and helped me into my bath? How many dead years?
"This morning I shall eat in bed!" she snapped at Merire. "Send slaves with fruit and milk but no bread; then come back in one hour to fill my bath." The silent woman bowed again and waddled out. Hatshepsut gave an exclamation of disgust and closed her eyes. To die with that face at one's elbow!
She dozed a little until Thothmes' Under Steward knocked. She sat up to receive his obeisance, and the slaves arrived, bearing her breakfast. They set it before her on her table and went out.
"How is Pharaoh this morning?" she asked the man.
He stood stolidly at the foot of her couch and answered without smiling. "Pharaoh is well," he answered. "He has gone to answer the dispatches."
Why does he not smile? she wondered as she sipped the milk and began to peel an orange. Every morning he smiles, but not this time. Not today. Why? "Is it a fine day?"
"It is."
"How is my grandson?"
"The Prince Amunhotep is likewise well. He attended school for the first time yesterday."
"Did he?" Her bright tone revealed none of the pain and pleasure his words brought to her. She had not held the baby since the day he was born, for Thothmes carefully kept her away from him lest he should
become fond of her. In all the four years since his birth Hatshepsut had seen the little Prince only three times. 'Then he will do well," she added, **for he is young to begin to learn."
The Steward continued to stand awkwardly, eyes downcast and hands behind his bac
k.
Hatshepsut sighed and dismissed him. "Are you not going to ask me if there is anything I need today?" she called after him.
He came back, blushing with embarrassment and something else, something she could not understand.
''Forgive me. Majesty. I grow forgetful."
"A bad omen for my day," she said lightly.
He stiffened and gave her an agonized look. "Accept my apologies for spoiling your day, Majesty."
She bit into the orange, sucking the juice thirstily. "You will not spoil my day, my friend, but Pharaoh will. Is it not so?" She shot a dark, penetrating look at him.
He lost his control. He bowed clumsily, fell beside the couch to kiss her hand, and then ran out the door.
She suddenly went still, the orange falling from her fingers, her appetite leaving her.
So it would be now, today, upon her with no warning after all. Although night after night she had steeled herself for the end that might overtake her before another sunset flooded her walls, she knew finally that she was not ready. She would never be ready. She swung from the couch and went into her antechamber to get her little ivory box. She carried it back into the other room, sat in her chair, and lifted the lid, sifting the contents with tender, wistful fingers. Here was the little ostrich fan that Neferura had given to her on a New Year's Day long gone; she stroked the wispy feathers slowly. Here a letter from Senmut, the one he had sent by messenger as his ships left the delta and turned into the canal on their way to Punt. She began to unroll it, but her courage failed her, and she dropped it with a light whisper. And here, right at the bottom, beneath the bright jewels of yesterday and the scrolls and pressed flowers, the ribbons and trinkets bringing back to her a sweet breath of days gone by, was the thick golden ring that Wadjmose had worn on the night he died. It was still black from the fire that ate his body. She drew it out and turned it over and over in her hand for a long time, seeing Nehesi's face when he laid it on her shaking palm. She slipped it over her thumb. Wadjmose. A brother she had never met. How many faces she had never seen, how many places hid delights she would never know! Solemnly she took off the ring and laid it back in the box. She closed the lid and locked it, for Merire
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