Daughter of the Gods (19 page)

Hatshepsut felt a flush of triumph. She’d have gone ahead with the tutor anyway, but it was better to have an understanding with Thut to avoid any future disagreements. After all, these days she made it a point not to deal with her brother if she could avoid it.

“I need to go inside,” Thut said. There were beads of sweat at his temples, tiny glistening drops bleeding into his kohl, yet it wasn’t that hot outside.

“Is something the matter?”

He shook his head and pushed hard with the heel of his hand above his heart. “I don’t feel myself today.”

“Perhaps you should get some rest.”

Her brother appeared ready to agree, but smiled at something behind her. She turned to see Aset and Tutmose on their way back from the lion, the little boy running down the path. Hatshepsut had already ceased to exist.

“And, brother, at your leisure, I have plans regarding some improvements to Karnak temple. Obelisks and whatnot.” This was one of those projects Thut wouldn’t let her take part in anymore, but she itched to get her hands on the temple plans. He’d have to acquiesce sooner or later if she badgered him enough. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Fine, fine.” Thut waved his hand again.

There was much chattering from Tutmose to his father about the lion, little of it discernible, but Thut played along. Aset shot Hatshepsut a sympathetic look over her son’s head.

“Have fun with the monkeys, Neferure,” Aset said. “I’ll see you this afternoon. I have a new dance to show you, too.” She planted a kiss on the girl’s scalp as the pharaoh and Tutmose walked back up the red dirt path to the palace. Aset hurried to catch up with them, then paused to wave at Hatshepsut and blow Neferure a kiss.

Neferure had the love of not one, but two mothers. And although she hadn’t borne him, Hatshepsut had been surprised to discover her love for Tutmose. She thanked the gods again for bringing Aset into her life.

Kipa and one of the other monkeys hung upside down by their tails, causing Neferure to try to stand on her head. Hatshepsut held the basket of grapes with one hand and was brushing the dirt from her daughter’s hair with the other when a scream rent the air.

“Thutmosis!” Aset’s yell sent the monkeys screeching and scampering for the safety of the treetops.

Hatshepsut turned in time to see Thut stumble off the path and fall headlong into the red dirt. She waited for him to rise, but he didn’t move. Aset collapsed to her knees, and Tutmose’s forlorn wails joined his mother’s as Aset tugged on her husband’s arm.

“Thutmosis, get up!” Aset’s voice was panicked.

Hatshepsut dropped the grapes. They burst underfoot as she ran to Thut’s side as fast as her feet would carry her.

“Help me,” she said to Aset, but Thut was too heavy for both of them, his limbs like sacks of grain. Sebi hurried over and used his heft to help roll Thut over.

“I’ll get Gua,” he said, shooting a worried look at the pharaoh’s face, as white as alabaster.

Thut was barely conscious, his breathing erratic and his glassy brown eyes rolling with terror. He gripped Hatshepsut’s hand with the strength only those confronting Anubis could possess. She felt for his heart, which was pounding as it raced ahead to Ma’at’s scales in the afterlife.

“Thutmosis.” Aset’s eyes bulged from their sockets. Tutmose sat on her lap, his tears tracing wet paths down the dirt on his face. “You have to get up. Our son—”

Neferure began to cry, a peripheral sound that barely reached Hatshepsut’s consciousness until she felt her little hand on her shoulder.

Anubis was quick this time, unwilling to allow the pharaoh’s
ka
to linger in this life when the jackal god had already been intoxicated by the scent of death. Thut opened his mouth once, then twice, looking like one of the carp freshly pulled from the Nile. His eyes pleaded with Hatshepsut. His fist a vise on hers, the pharaoh managed to push two words out of his throat.

“Help Tutmose.”

And then he was gone. The grip on Hatshepsut’s hand slackened, and the heart that had raced so ardently rested from this life and prepared for the next. Thut’s glazed eyes stared past her, and Aset sobbed quietly, arms wrapped tightly around her son, as she stared at their husband. Hatshepsut gently pressed Thut’s eyelids to forever close them to this world. His face was smudged with red dust, a premature death mask that would soon be replaced with one of gold.

She became aware again of Neferure, the whisper of the girl’s tiny hand on her back.

“Father hurt?” Her lower lip trembled.

Hatshepsut nodded and drew Neferure onto her lap, treasuring the sweet smell of life on Neferure’s sun-kissed skin. The two women and their children surrounded the pharaoh, a funereal wreath around the dead. Pounding footsteps heralded the approach of Gua and the
medjay,
their spears ready to slay any enemy who threatened their pharaoh. But it was too late—their weapons were useless against Anubis, Guardian of the Dead. Nothing could call Thut back to this world now that his
ka
had flown into the sky.

And that meant one thing: Hatshepsut would be regent, ruling Egypt single-handedly until her two-year-old stepson came of age.

Regent

1488
BC
–1481
BC

O my heart—

May naught stand up to oppose me in the presence of the lords of the trial,

Let it not be said of me and of that which I have done,

“He hath done deeds against that which is right and true.”

—
BOOK OF THE DEAD
, FROM THE PAPYRUS OF NU:

PRESERVING THE HEART

YEAR ONE OF PHARAOH TUTMOSE III

T
he double crown dwarfed Tutmose’s head, falling over his brow to almost obscure his bright eyes. The combined red crown of Lower Egypt and the white crown of Upper Egypt was an enormous weight upon such a young boy. The
uraeus
ringed the shaven head of a child who had barely seen two harvests, the stealthy cobra poised to strike anyone who dared threaten the new pharaoh.

The High Priest of Amun chanted a hymn and climbed the steep steps through a heavy cloud of incense onto the dais. The scent of myrrh was thick in the air as Tutmose eyed the leopard skin draped across the priest’s shoulders, the cat’s mouth frozen in a yawn of death. Hatshepsut wondered how her stepson would feel in later years, given such power but unable to recall the day it was bestowed upon him. If he remembered anything at all, it would likely be the sight of the leopard, its empty eye sockets watching him as he sat stock-still upon the throne.

And what would she remember if she were in his place? The heavy weight of the double crown? The expectant looks on the faces of her courtiers? Or a rush of terrible joy?

She pushed the thoughts away. The gods had seen fit to make her regent, a position few women in Egypt had ever managed, and even fewer had handled successfully. Egypt under her hand would grow and prosper, and Tutmose would become pharaoh when he came of age, just as the gods willed it.

The priest finished his hymn to Amun and handed Tutmose the ceremonial crook and flail, the same ones her father and Thutmosis had held when passing judgment in the Court of Reeds. Her stepson squirmed upon the hard seat of the Isis Throne, the sacred triad of gods spreading their arms to wrap the little pharaoh in a golden embrace.

Hatshepsut nodded to Tutmose, their secret cue for him to stand. He grasped the crook and flail and tottered to his feet. The double crown slipped down to his eyebrows, and she had to resist the urge to straighten it upon his head. A small group of nobility gathered below the dais for the ceremonial crowning of a child who wouldn’t be ready to rule for at least a decade. Amidst the faces was the new pharaoh’s mother. Today anxious pride was evident in Aset’s twisting hands and beaming face. And yet underneath her expertly applied kohl, dark circles of grief ringed Aset’s eyes.

The High Priest of Amun stepped aside and his voice boomed across the hushed throne room to announce the new pharaoh’s titulary for the first time. “Tutmose, the being of Re is established; Horus strong bull arising in Thebes; two ladies enduring of the kingship like Re in heaven; golden Horus powerful of strength, holy of diadems; king of Upper and Lower Egypt; Menkheperre, Son of Re Tutmose, beautiful of forms!”

The courtiers clapped politely at the boy wearing the trappings of the highest office in the Two Lands. Hatshepsut’s gaze lingered for a moment on each of their faces. Her hand had selected them all. Each was a man she inherently trusted—aging Admiral Pennekheb; jovial and hardworking Ineni; and two courtiers new to her inner circle, twin brothers Ti and Neshi, now Chief Treasurer and Chancellor. They were all men who would continue to support her while she served Egypt in her new role, and each was eager to impress the new regent. Mensah wasn’t there; her brother’s vizier had been put under permanent guard in his chambers until Hatshepsut could finalize her plans for him.

She wore no golden headdress or double crown to proclaim her new position, but she was now the acknowledged leader of Egypt, although her role as regent would last only until Tutmose reached adolescence. All her struggles were brought to fruition today. There would be no obstacles placed in Hatshepsut’s path as she sought to continue the golden era for Egypt that her father had begun.

This time, she wouldn’t fail.

Unbidden, Djeseret’s curse surfaced in her mind, words Hatshepsut had forgotten for almost three years.

Your name shall 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.

As regent, Hatshepsut’s name was inextricably linked to that of three pharaohs: her father, her brother, and now her stepson. Chiseled onto monuments, her likeness and name would forever be tied to young Tutmose, and both etched into eternity. Egypt would prosper under her hand, but she scoffed at the last words of the portent of gloom. Those closest to her—Aset, Tutmose, and Neferure—would never suffer because of her, not if she could help it. Neferubity and Senenmut had long ago settled into the Field of Reeds, but Hatshepsut’s hand hadn’t caused Thut’s death. Thinking about her brother, Hatshepsut admitted a certain dose of grief at Thut’s passing. One by one, Anubis had recalled her family members, leaving only her mother, Mouse, and Sitre as fragile links to Hatshepsut’s childhood.

The witch who had prophesied the curse was a fraud. She had to be.

As soon as the ceremony finished, the nobles dispersed and a
menat
whisked Tutmose off to the nursery. Thut’s passing had postponed the search for Neferure’s tutor, but Hatshepsut promised she would find someone to teach both children as soon as the seventy days of mourning ended.

Admiral Pennekheb and Ineni stopped her after the ceremony, both of their expressions as serious as if etched onto their tombs.

“We hoped to have a word with you.” Pennekheb scanned the crowd, his eyes young in the face of one so old. “Alone.”

“Of course,” Hatshepsut said. They followed her to her office. The servants had moved many of her belongings over earlier that day, after a fair bit of sweeping and dusting. She sat in her father’s old chair and rubbed her hands over the worn wooden armrests, then motioned for the men to take the seats opposite her.

“What is this urgent matter that is making you forgo the festivities?”

The two traded knowing glances. “We’re concerned for your safety,” Pennekheb said.

“My safety?” That was the last thing on her mind. “Here in the palace? I have the
medjay
nearby, at least most of the time.”

“Nearby? Most of the time?” Pennekheb groaned and shook his head.

“You’re the regent of the Two Lands now.” The topic only somewhat dampened Ineni’s perpetual smile. “Do you realize what would happen if someone decided to harm you?”

“Or if they succeeded?” Pennekheb asked.

She hated that they were right. “The Isis Throne would be fair game for anyone, at least until Tutmose comes of age,” she admitted. She rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. “I promise to increase my guard. And Tutmose’s as well.”

“A prescient idea. I would propose keeping a personal bodyguard with you at all times,” Pennekheb said. “One can’t be too careful.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary.” She didn’t care to always have someone lurking in her shadow.

Pennekheb didn’t hesitate. “It
is
necessary, at least until the dust settles on the succession. There could be any number of possible domestic coups, not to mention foreign uprisings. Do you have anyone in mind for the position of bodyguard?”

“No,” Hatshepsut answered. “But I’m quite sure you do.”

The men exchanged a quick look, confirming her suspicions of a conspiracy. “One of your brother’s former guards, a man named Nomti, is held in high esteem by the other men. He was elevated to the
medjay
in your father’s later years, based on his service in the Division of Thoth. Of all the present guards, he should most please you,” Pennekheb assured her. “He will protect you with his own life and isn’t afraid to speak his mind.”

Ineni’s eyes twinkled and his cheeks dimpled with a fresh smile. “It’s what got him removed from Osiris Thutmosis’ service.”

That piqued Hatshepsut’s curiosity. “I like him already. What did he do?”

“You can discuss that when you interview him.” Pennekheb stood, his joints creaking in protest, and Ineni followed suit. “We just wanted to make sure you were protected. I’m quite sure Nomti can recommend other men who would be suitable for guarding the pharaoh.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Hatshepsut rose to show them out. “Whatever would I do without you?”

Ineni gave a little bow, hand over his heart. “We wouldn’t care to find out,
Hemet
.”

She watched them depart, Pennekheb leaning on his cane like a willow in the breeze, while Ineni shuffled beside him like a hippo searching for shade. They were an unlikely pair of councilors, but strong and steady. Hatshepsut beckoned to a waiting attendant. “I require a meeting with Nomti, one of Osiris Thutmosis’ former
medjay
. Summon him to the palace immediately.”

She pushed back the billowing sleeves of her tunic, grinning at the mountain of papyrus scrolls on her table. In the meantime, she had work to do.

•   •   •

Nomti was announced before the horizon swallowed Re that evening. He had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the top of the door. She immediately recognized the swirling vortex of tattoos on his face and arms, the face that would send most of Egypt’s enemies cowering into a corner. A foreigner, probably a Hittite. Gooseflesh crawled up her arms. She didn’t care to think about the last time she’d seen the man, outside her brother’s chambers.

“Nomti, I’ve summoned you because my advisers believe I should have a permanent bodyguard with me at all times.” She turned her back to him so he wouldn’t see how he’d disconcerted her. Could she trust this man with her life? Almost two heads taller than she was, with shoulders like an ox, he could certainly hold his own against anyone who sought to harm her. But he’d been there the night Senenmut had died, and he might have had a hand in carrying out her brother’s orders.

“Your advisers are wise men.”

“They believe you would be the best man for such a post. Do you agree?”

“I do. If the gods will it.”

She finally turned to face him. He stared straight ahead, hands clasped behind his back. “I understand you were released from service by Osiris Thutmosis?”

The black lines around Nomti’s eyes hardened. “Yes, I was.”

“And?”

“Osiris Thutmosis didn’t take kindly to a guard questioning his edicts.”

“Did you ever question my father?”

The tattoos around his eyes softened at the mention of the elder Pharaoh Tutmose. “Your father was a good man,
Hemet.
He welcomed the opinions of those who spoke their mind. Your brother did not.”

“May I ask what my brother did that made you question him?”

“I asked Osiris Thutmosis if it was fair to beat a defenseless man.”

Her body went cold. She shouldn’t ask any further questions, but couldn’t stop herself. “And what man was that?”

“Senenmut of Iuny. I served with him during the campaign in Canaan. He was reckless, but a brave man with a good
ka
. He came to see the pharaoh just before you did that night.”

“I remember.”

His eyes flicked to her face for a moment, but then he looked away. “I didn’t hear everything that was said, but Senenmut resembled a pile of meat when he was dragged from the pharaoh’s rooms afterward. I asked the pharaoh whether Ma’at would agree with such treatment. He dismissed me on the spot.”

“I see.”

And then Senenmut was executed, his heart ripped from his body.

“It was brave of you to question my brother.” She struggled to keep her mask in place. “If you’re prepared to accept the position, I’d be well served to have you as my bodyguard. I’ve been accused of having a temper, but I always welcome honest opinions.”

Nomti’s lips turned up, probably the closest gesture to a smile he ever managed. “I would be honored to accept,
Hemet
. It will be a privilege to protect the royal family again.”

“I’ll expect you tomorrow morning. I hope you’re an early riser—I’ll be in my offices before Re rises.”

Nomti bowed, then paused at the door. “May I offer you some advice,
Hemet
?”

“Of course. Everyone else does these days.”

“It might be best to surround yourself with more men who are loyal to you. Like Senenmut.”

She flinched, swallowed hard. “Senenmut is dead.”

“I hadn’t heard of his passage to the West.”

“My brother had him executed the night he was beaten.”

Nomti cocked his head at her. “I believe you were misinformed,
Hemet
. Senenmut was banished, not executed.”

She shook her head, trying to keep her voice level. “My brother only wished for the court to believe he’d returned to Iuny. I have Senenmut’s heart buried in my garden to prove otherwise.”

Nomti arched an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know whose heart is in the dirt of your garden,
Hemet
, but it is not Senenmut’s. I watched him being thrown onto the boat bound for Aswan, destined for a life of hard labor, but there are rumors he was released and is back in Iuny, serving the Temple of Thoth.”

She stared in shocked silence, unable to draw words into her mouth. She’d spent the past three years locked in the Hall of Women, surrounded by walls tall enough to silence all rumors of the outside world. Rumors and perhaps the truth, too.

Hope flickered deep in her
ka
. He might be alive.

“Hemet?”

She blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I know only what I saw. Senenmut might not have survived the journey to Aswan, mangled as he was, but he wasn’t executed. At least not that night.”

“Thank you, Nomti. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She waited until the door closed before falling to her knees. Perhaps the gods had played a terrible trick on her. What if Thut hadn’t found it in himself to order the murder of his friend?

Hope was a terrible thing.

She needed the rest of the story. And there was only one other person who might possess it.

•   •   •

Hatshepsut ignored the hasty
henus
of courtiers and slaves as she made her way to the Hall of Women. The name was no longer accurate, as she’d dismissed the rest of Thut’s women so only Aset remained in the northern wing of the palace. The massive gilded gate was wide-open, no scowling guards standing at attention. Desperate to finally leave the chambers she so despised, Hatshepsut had moved into the pharaoh’s rooms as soon as they were emptied, relishing the lack of flowers and perfume, the final feeling of freedom. It was a presumptuous move for a regent and she knew it, but she didn’t care.