Daughter of the Gods (17 page)

Hatshepsut pocketed several amulets and an ivory clapper, then hurried back to her own chambers with the bricks.

Aset was still draped across Hatshepsut’s bed, moaning and writhing from side to side as if to shake the babe from her swollen body. Sitre took the blocks from Hatshepsut. “This babe is in a hurry.”

“Come to the blocks.” Hatshepsut wrapped her arms around Aset’s waist to help her stand and positioned her feet squarely on the blocks. “Taweret will keep you safe.” She looped one of the amulets around Aset’s neck and placed two more at her feet.

Aset squatted, sitting on the blocks and howling with each pain. It didn’t take long before the head emerged, a dark swirl of hair followed immediately by the rest of the body.

A boy.

Hatshepsut snapped the ivory clapper together so that the loud crack would scare off any spirits seeking to harm Aset or her son. The flood of disappointment that surged through her was thrust aside at Sitre’s next words.

“The cord.”

The umbilical cord, pulsing with Aset’s blood, was wrapped tight around the child’s neck. The baby’s face matched the blue of the cord. He still hadn’t made a sound.

“What’s wrong?” Terror made Aset’s pupils huge as Sitre untangled her son and massaged his chest.

Hatshepsut pushed sweaty tendrils of hair from Aset’s eyes and blocked her view with her body. “Everything’s going to be fine. Give Sitre a moment.”

Aset tried to shove her away. “Let me see my son!”

Hatshepsut sent a prayer to Isis to spare the child just as she heard the first cry. The child opened his little pink mouth and howled at having been so rudely expelled from the comfort of his mother’s womb. They didn’t need a priestess or the seven Hathors to decipher the child’s destiny. His first sound had been a gusty
“Ny!”
and not the ill-fated
“Mbi!”

Aset’s son would live.

“Congratulations.” Hatshepsut wanted to cry and laugh at the same time as she hugged her friend and helped her off the blocks to the waiting bed. Sitre cut the umbilical cord with a bronze knife, wrapped the infant in white linen, and handed the precious parcel over to Aset’s waiting arms. The child nursed greedily, sucking loudly and leaving all three women to marvel at the perfect fingers and toes, the whorl of dark hair on his crown tangled with traces of the womb.

“Thank the nine gods he was early,” Sitre muttered under her breath, so quietly that Aset couldn’t hear. “If the babe was any bigger, he’d never have made it out. We would have lost them both.”

“Thank the gods,” Hatshepsut repeated.

The entire court waited to hear news of this birth. Hatshepsut was tired and Re hadn’t even reached the pinnacle of Nut’s belly. Aset must be exhausted.

“Thut will want to know he’s the father of a healthy baby boy.” Hatshepsut hoped no one would notice the note of envy that crept into her voice. The eldest son would not be hers. She had failed yet again.

“Thank you. For everything.” Aset barely looked up from her baby as she nibbled the traditional honey cake that all new mothers ate to keep demons from the netherworld at bay. The monsters walked upside down, had mouths for anuses, and ate their own feces, but were repulsed by the sweet taste of honey. Aset would have been a tempting target for them, her cheeks flushed and brown hair lit with a halo in Re’s afternoon light.

Hatshepsut left them to dream together. To her surprise, she found Thut waiting in the hallway. He leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, but straightened as she closed the door, a soldier on alert. She caught a whiff of natron, a sign that he had purified himself for Taweret.

“How is she?” he asked, arms clamped in front of his chest.

“Aset is well. She’s resting now.”

“And the child?” He took a step toward the door, but stopped short.

“You have your son.”

His face was transformed. He whooped and pulled Hatshepsut into a giant hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning around. She laughed with him, feeling for a moment like the old times, before they were married and everything fell apart. His sentiment would echo through the kingdom as fast as a falcon’s flight, an unstoppable wave spreading to every farmer and fisherman along the Nile. Hatshepsut only wished she were the instrument of such joy. But her time would soon approach, and, with any luck, her fully royal son, the true heir, would be welcomed with the same joy.

Thutmosis shoved open the door and strode into the room. “I want to see my son!”

He planted a kiss on Aset’s forehead and plucked the sleeping infant from her arms. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, Aset. I love you.”

Standing forgotten in the doorway, Hatshepsut turned to go, embarrassed to intrude on such an intimate scene. Thut’s next words stopped her in her tracks.

“His name will be Tutmose.”

Their father’s name. The name Hatshepsut planned to call the son of her own body. Instead, her brother had bestowed that precious gift upon the child of a common-born dancer. As much as she loved Aset, she couldn’t swallow the slight.

She stepped back into the room. “That was the name I’d chosen for my child, should the gods grace me with a son.”

Thut and Aset looked up from their happy cocoon. Her brother shrugged. “Your child will have a different name, one blessed by the priests.” He hugged his son to his chest and pressed his lips to the baby’s forehead. “But this, my firstborn, is Tutmose.”

Hatshepsut’s face tightened. Either Thut was being deliberately cruel or incredibly thoughtless. “May we discuss this later?” she asked. This discussion would end in disaster if she continued now.

Thut shook his head, his gaze fastened on Aset and his tiny son. “There’s nothing to discuss. It’s only right that my firstborn should carry our father’s name. We’ll find another name for your child.” His eyes swept over her rounded belly. “And who knows? You may bear a girl.”

He’d already deemed her a failure.

Hatshepsut’s hands ached to slap him, claw his eyes, and make him take back those horrible words. Aset’s huge brown eyes implored Hatshepsut to let the matter drop.

Gnashing her teeth, she forced herself to concede. She would never win now that Thut had made up his mind. It was small consolation to know that Ma’at would judge him harshly for this one day when he passed to the West. Ammit might devour Thut’s heart before he reached the afterlife, but Hatshepsut would make him regret this move in this life.

She blinked back hot tears.

“As you wish,” she whispered.

“I
s it a boy or a girl?”

The Royal Physician cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one hip to the other. “I took the sample of your urine and sprinkled it on both the barley and emmer seeds. The test is not always accurate, but if the barley sprouted, the child would almost surely be a boy.”

“And if the wheat were to sprout—”

“The child would likely be a girl.”

“And which was it?”

Gua frowned. He pursed his lips together, holding back the words Hatshepsut so desperately wanted to hear. Finally he heaved his shoulders into a shrug. “Both the barley and wheat have sprouted,
Hemet.
The test is inconclusive.”

Hatshepsut closed her eyes against her disappointment. She had known the test would likely be futile, but she was weary of watching Thut parade Aset’s son before her.

With Aset’s dancer’s figure returned, she had been welcomed back into Thut’s bed as soon as her period of purification had ended. Then, just a few nights ago, she had crawled into bed next to Hatshepsut, her feet cold and her skin prickled with gooseflesh.

“Enheduanna is pregnant,” she whispered. Her hot tears spread in a stain upon Hatshepsut’s back. “He sent me away to spend the night with her. What if she has a boy?”

And what if Hatshepsut had a girl? Nothing would ever be the same.

But she had smiled and dried Aset’s tears, patted her hand. “Thut will always love you and your son. Only the gods know what will happen.”

“I love you, Hatshepsut.” Aset had wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “And I’ve been doing everything I can to convince Thutmosis to forgive you. He’ll come around eventually—I know it.”

And yet so far he hadn’t.

The past month had been torture and now there would be two more months to endure before Hatshepsut would know whether she was mother to a royal princess or the future hawk in the nest.

“Thank you.” She motioned to Mouse to show the physician from her chambers, then rubbed her belly. “You’re going to keep me in suspense, aren’t you?”

There was a resounding kick against her hand. She giggled and patted the spot. It shouldn’t matter if she had a boy or girl; she would love this child no matter what.

But it would be better if it was a boy.

•   •   •

When her time came there were no gushing waters or screams. The net of henna tattoos painted on her abdomen had done its duty to keep the child tucked safely within her womb until the babe was ready to emerge. Those painted ochre threads were stretched to their breaking point as Hatshepsut’s labor began. Surrounded by Sitre, Mouse, and her own mother, she clamped her lips against the screams that threatened to break as she strained and struggled for two full days to bring new life into the world. It wasn’t until the full moon that her child decided to be born, the smell of warm earth and flowers wafting through the night air to mingle with the salty scent of sweat from Hatshepsut’s skin. Finally, in the darkened arbor of the birthing pavilion, supported by the same bricks that had held Aset, she felt a perfectly formed and healthy baby slide from her womb and into Sitre’s dark hands.

A girl.

Hatshepsut startled as Sitre snapped the ivory clapper. Her daughter whimpered, but the sound was an icy fist around Hatshepsut’s heart.

“Mbi!”

Quiet, but unmistakable. The first cry of a child bound to die.

Hatshepsut hushed her with kisses and a hennaed nipple. Wide-eyed, her daughter suckled greedily, scarcely the demeanor of a babe about to be claimed by Anubis.

Hatshepsut was enraptured with the little creature as tears streamed down her cheeks and she looked into eyes as bright as Nut’s belly. The tiny girl yawned and clutched her mother’s finger with the strength of one much bigger than she.

She would not die. Anubis would have to claim Hatshepsut before he could tear her daughter into the afterlife.

Sitre looped an ivory amulet of a rising moon around Hatshepsut’s neck, and her mother left to seek the pharaoh and inform him of the birth of his daughter. Thut arrived dressed in a sleeping robe and as rumpled as if Ahmose had pulled him from bed herself. She probably had. The kohl around his eyes was smudged; he had either been sleeping or otherwise engaged, likely with Aset or Princess Enheduanna. Perhaps both.

Regardless, Thut hadn’t been waiting outside her door as he had for Aset. That stung more than Hatshepsut would ever admit.

She set aside the honey cake she’d been nibbling and the other women shuffled from the garden. Thut frowned and held the baby far from his chest. His daughter stared at him with wide eyes and whimpered once but didn’t cry. “She has your nose and lips,” he said.

“And your ears.”

“Perhaps.” He handed the bundle back as if the baby had been possessed by an upside-down demon. At least he had held her long enough to claim her as his own. His gaze slid toward the gate.

“I won’t keep you any longer.” Hatshepsut hugged her daughter close, breathed in the new scent of her.

“You’ll have a boy next time.” Thutmosis offered the platitude as he would a trinket. “I’m glad to see you’ve delivered safely.”

“Neferure and I are fine, thank you.” The name she had chosen for her daughter rolled from her tongue—“Beauty of Re,” one of the sweetest sounds she had ever heard. This baby would be her sunshine, the radiant light in a life that had been gray until now. She refused to ask for Thut’s approval of the name, still stinging from his theft of their father’s name. She had carried and birthed the child; she would name her daughter, Thutmosis be damned.

“Neferure?” His eyebrow arched. He seemed poised to attack the name, but his gaze darted to the gate once again. “I suppose the name will suffice.”

Their daughter chose that moment to cry, the tiny mewl of a kitten that made Hatshepsut’s breasts tingle with a rush of milk. She positioned Neferure to nurse, but Thut grabbed her hand. The baby howled, but her father ignored her.

“What are you doing?” Infuriated, Hatshepsut swatted his hand away, but Thut pulled Neferure from her arms. The child’s cries brought a regiment of women armed with angry scowls. Ahmose, Sitre, and Mouse all looked ready to attack if Thut didn’t release the infant.

“You’re not thinking of feeding her yourself, are you?” Thut asked. Neferure’s face was now as red as the radishes that grew in the palace garden.

“I most certainly am,” Hatshepsut replied. She reached for the child, but Thut held her just out of reach. Had the battered flesh between her legs not protested, she’d have lunged from the bed to throttle him.

He thrust the wailing infant into Sitre’s arms and shook his head at Hatshepsut. “You will bind your breasts, and as soon as Gua deems you ready, you’ll be back in my bed again. I will get a son on you and, in the meantime, a wet nurse will be found to feed this girl.”

Hatshepsut’s fingernails bit into her palms. “I will do as I wish with my body. You have no right—”

“I have every right.” Thut’s voice rose above their daughter’s howls. “And you would do well to remember it.” He strode to the gate, pausing only to fling his last order to Sitre. “See to it that a wet nurse is found for the child tonight.”

The gate slammed. Ahmose was the first to move. She took Neferure from Sitre’s arms and brought her to Hatshepsut.

“There’s no reason you can’t take care of her now.” She murmured the rebellious words as if she feared her stepson might overhear. “You have fourteen days of cleansing, far from Thutmosis’ eyes.”

Hot tears trickled down Hatshepsut’s cheeks. Her mother wiped them away with her thumb. “It’s hard, Hatshepsut, but bearing the pharaoh’s son
is
your duty.”

“I hate him.” Hatshepsut finally dared to say the words aloud. She had admitted her mistake to Thut, had more than paid the price. Still he tormented her. “I hate him more and more with every day.”

“Don’t think about the pharaoh right now,” Sitre said. “Think about your perfect daughter instead.”

She was right. Neferure yawned, her tiny pink hand splayed over Hatshepsut’s pale breast like a little lotus blossom. The trace of her daughter’s eyelashes fluttered against the softest skin she had ever seen.

She had just met this little person, but already she loved her more than anything else in this life. Neferure would be her lasting achievement, her gift to this world.

Nothing Thut could say or do mattered in the face of such perfect love.