Daughter of the Gods (25 page)

He drew back as if slapped. “Of course.”

He stood, turning his back so she was confronted with his scars again.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Senenmut.”

“I forgot,” he said, his voice so cold that she shivered. “I’m just a
rekhyt,
someone you can use and then send on his way.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t want to explain myself to every man outside, at least not yet.”

He tied the kilt around his waist, then turned to face her. “You don’t know what you want. You never have.”

She stood, scrambling to cover herself. “How dare you speak to me like that—”

“I’ll speak to you however I want,
Hemet
. I’ve earned at least that much.”

Hemet.
His mouth twisted with the title and his eyes flickered with pain. Old pain, the kind that lingered and festered, the type that could destroy a man. Then it was gone, replaced with the dull flame of anger.

“Thut is gone and I’m regent.” She stood and took a tentative step toward him, the wool blanket around her waist. “I can do what I want.”

He gave a bark of laughter, turned from her, and lifted the tent flap. Re’s bright glare cut into the tent. “You mean like you did last time?”

“What are you talking about? We both wanted that kiss in the valley.”

Soldiers passed, their curious eyes glancing inside, but she no longer cared.

Senenmut stopped and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he had heard. “You asked Thutmosis to dismiss me after that kiss. He took great joy in informing me just before he broke my nose.”

She stared at him, openmouthed. She could almost hear her brother crowing from the Field of Reeds. “My brother’s final revenge.”

“What?”

She laughed but the sound was hollow. “My brother told me you’d asked his permission to leave court, that you planned to leave me.”

“What?” The tent flap fell, guttering the daylight. “When did he say that?”

“Right before he beat me.” She wouldn’t speak of the rest, of Thut taking her on the ground. Some things were better left unsaid. “Then he sent me your heart the next day.”

“My heart?”

“What I thought was your heart. It must have been a pig’s, maybe a goat’s.” She glanced up at him. “I had it mummified, buried it in my garden.”

“You mummified my heart?”

“So Anubis could still judge you. It wasn’t that difficult.”

Now she understood his coldness since his return to court. As if he didn’t have enough reason to hate her—

He gave a long, slow exhale and ran his hands over his scalp. “All this time—”

“We both thought the worst of each other.” She waved her hand, couldn’t look him in the eyes for fear of what she might see. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. You can leave if you wish.”

He closed the space between them, stopping a handsbreadth before her. They didn’t touch, but she could feel the heat of him, was drawn to it like a lotus to the sun. He held her hands and turned them over, traced the pale scars on her wrists with his thumbs. “If I knew what was good for me, I’d have left you long before that day in the valley.” She opened her mouth to berate him, but he smiled. “Unfortunately, I’ve always been a fool where you’ve been concerned.”

The wool blanket fell to her feet. His cheeks under her hands were rough, covered with a day’s dark stubble. She kissed him, tasted the saltiness of his lips, breathed in the exotic scent of cinnamon. This time when he took her it was even more urgent than before, as if he were trying to capture the time they’d lost.

Afterward, lying face-to-face with her chest pressed to his, she touched the scars on his back, hesitant at first and then feeling their rigid edges under her fingers. He kissed her palm, wove his fingers through hers.

“I’ll make it up to you, all those lost years,” she said. “I swear it.”

“You already have,” he said, kissing each of her fingers. “Although there’s still one thing I can’t believe.”

Her heart fell. “And what is that?”

“You really mummified my heart?”

She laughed, almost wanting to cry as she remembered the desolation of those early days without him. “I did indeed.”

He pulled her on top of him, their damp flesh pressed together, almost as close as they’d been only moments earlier when he’d moved inside her. His thumb followed the outline of her bruised lip.
“Then some pig is rolling in the mud in the Field of Reeds right now, wondering how he got so lucky.”

She wrinkled her nose with a huff and slid down to nestle in the crook of his arm, wanting to be close to him. He moved—too far away for her liking—but then she felt his lips trail kisses down her spine. “You have Sah’s belt on your back.” He kissed the spot again. “Three perfect freckles, all in a line. And one is fainter than the others, like the constellation.”

“Do I?” She shivered as his fingers traced a line up the back of her thigh. If she could carry only one memory with her to the Field of Reeds, this would be it. Entwined with the man she loved, flush with a perfect victory, her future bright.

Her skin tingled as his fingers circled the delicate brown spots. “You’re my beautiful star—my
nefersha.
” He covered her body with his, hugged her to him. “A star, even if you are as haughty, infuriating, and temperamental as Sekhmet herself.”

“Some of my best qualities.”

He laughed. “Gods, but I love you, Hatshepsut.”

Those words would never get old.

T
he days tumbled by and Akhet had almost passed by with its season of easy sailing before the army returned to Waset, triumphant with the heavy spoils of war. This was a superstitious season, when wine should be drunk all day instead of beer, and it was said a man destined to die on the sixth day of the second month would likely meet Anubis as a result of intoxication. It was said that some lucky children born during this season were gifted by the seven Hathors with a future death by copulation, while those born on an unfortunate day during the last month were doomed to die of old age with an offering of beer poured in their face. But Hatshepsut didn’t care about superstitions now. She knew the gods favored her.

The long trip home had been a gift from them, one that Hatshepsut had done her best to prolong, using the excuse of wishing to visit with Egypt’s
nomarchs
along the way. Each day her ears were filled with praise for the glorious campaign in Nubia, but as soon as Re fell, Senenmut would sneak into her tent and they’d spend the dark hours, while the sun god battled Apep, in each other’s arms, making love and dreaming of the future. She’d remember each of those nights until the gods called her to the sky.

With mixed emotions she watched Waset come into view, eager to return to Neferure and share the spoils of the Nubian victory with the City of Truth, but reluctant to hear the gate at the Walls of the Prince clang behind her. She’d relished her absolute freedom in the deserts of Nubia, surrounded by her people and spending time with Senenmut. Now she returned to the heavy responsibilities of ruling Egypt. Things couldn’t remain the same.

Upon their arrival at the palace, she spent the morning with Neferure and Tutmose, their lessons canceled for the day. It had been only a few months since she’d been gone, but both of them had grown. Three years old now, Tutmose was as sturdy as a date-palm trunk, with scratched knees and elbows, while Neferure was like a delicate piece of sedge grass. Hatshepsut would have liked to play with the children all day, but the governors of each province stretching all the way to the Great Sea had sent their annual reports regarding exports and what tribute they would send to the palace in the way of grain, copper, turquoise, gold, and other precious metals. In addition to all of that came the tribute pouring in from Nubia: ivory, ebony, and ostrich feathers, along with sacks of gold dust and herds of cattle. It would be a monumental yet mundane task to reconcile the ledgers, and one Hatshepsut felt a responsibility to oversee.

“I’m glad you’re back, even if you’re as dark as a girl-slave.” Aset hugged Hatshepsut, then stepped back with her hands still on Hatshepsut’s shoulders. “And skinny, too. Didn’t they feed you on the campaign?”

“Mostly sandy bread and stale beer. But it was wonderful.”

Aset felt her forehead. “You’ve bitten too many mandrake berries. Sleeping on a cot, surrounded by foulmouthed soldiers, and bumping about a chariot hardly sounds wonderful.”

“It was nice to see something of Egypt outside Waset.” Hatshepsut steered the topic to calmer waters. “Did you know I’d barely been outside the City of Truth until now?”

Aset shrugged. “There’s nothing I could possibly want outside these palace walls.”

“But Egypt has so much to offer. Some of the cities I saw might have been in Phoenicia or Canaan for how different they were.”

“Then I’ll live vicariously through you.” Aset smiled, glancing over her shoulder at Tutmose play-spearing one of the palace cats. It was a good thing for the cats that his aim still belonged to a three-year-old. “We can talk about your trip over dinner.”

Hatshepsut had planned to eat with Senenmut; she craved his company even though they’d spent the last night in her tent making love until dawn. She yawned into her hand. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll have a tray sent to my chambers. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Aset cocked her head to the side, then gave her another quick hug. “Well, it’s good to have you home.”

She returned the hug. “And it’s good to be home.”

And it was true, except that the whitewashed walls pressed in upon her and the air in the corridors tasted stale and brittle. She yearned for an open stretch of sand, the freedom of Nut’s vast belly blanketing her at night.

But such things were not to be. Not anymore.

She arrived at her office to find her Chancellor and Chief Treasurer already there with Senenmut, bent over piles of papyrus and the remains of a meal spread out over the long table. Neshi and Ti were aristocrats, twins raised within the Walls of the Prince, both thin and effeminate. In fact, they were the same twins who had once cornered her outside a banquet before Neferubity had died, and both had plied her with ineffectual kisses. Hatshepsut had discovered their more potent bureaucratic abilities soon after Thutmosis had passed to the West. Ti especially had proven his worth when the final spoils of war from Nubia had been tallied and added to the Royal Treasury.

“The tribute will be good this year.” Senenmut looked up from his tabulations. “Very good.”

Hatshepsut bent over to inspect his scroll, glancing at Ti and Neshi to make sure they were absorbed in their work before caressing the back of Senenmut’s neck. She’d been delighted to discover the other night that her merest touch there could drive him mad. Their relationship would remain a secret until he was better established at court, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t tease him a little. He shifted in his seat, picked up his brush, and scrawled almost illegible hieroglyphs down the margin of his papyrus.

Keep doing that if you want me to do something that would embarrass Ti and Neshi.

She chuckled, straightening in a hurry as Neshi glanced up. “Impressive figures,” she said.

“The harvest was more than ample this year.” Ti tapped the end of his brush on the paper as he added some figures. “Tutmose is lucky to receive the throne during a year of plenty.”

Neshi cleared his throat and the twins exchanged a glance. Senenmut didn’t seem to notice, blotting out his hidden message and rolling up the scroll. She straightened. “What is it? Out with it.”

Ti wrinkled his nose. “We don’t wish to bring bad tidings.”

“But we’ll tell you if you promise not to kill us.”

She gave them a look of mock severity and drummed her fingers over the thick gold bands on her forearms. “This must be important for you both to risk your necks.”

Neshi stroked his smooth chin but avoided her eyes. “We decided it would be best if you heard from us.”

“And not the gossips,” Ti said.

“By the great nine gods,” she said. “I’m going to lose my patience, and then I can guarantee you’ll both be a head shorter by morning.”

Senenmut chuckled, reached for a glass of lukewarm beer. “This sounds highly entertaining either way.”

Neshi wrinkled his nose at Senenmut. “There’s a priest of Amun who has been making overtures for the throne. I believe you know him. He used to be a cupbearer and then vizier to Osiris Thutmosis?”

Senenmut’s face turned dark. “Mensah? You let him live?”

Hatshepsut raised a hand to stop him—that was a long story she didn’t care to tell in front of Ti and Neshi. Perhaps she’d made the wrong decision in sparing his miserable life.

“Has he committed treason?” If so, she’d have him thrown onto a spike in front of the palace and his body burned. Mensah was out of second chances.

Ti shook his head but his eyes laughed. “Hardly. He thinks to marry you.”

Senenmut choked on his beer, but Hatshepsut sat dumbstruck, then burst out laughing. “Where on earth did you hear such nonsense?”

“From my spies at Amun’s temple.” Neshi shrugged. “It pays to be informed.”

“Does he think me an idiot?”

Ti looked to his brother. “We’re not sure what he thinks.”

“If he thinks at all,” Senenmut muttered.

She rubbed under her eyes, careful not to smudge her kohl. “The jackal hasn’t even had the courage to broach the subject with me yet.”

“Do you want him to?” Senenmut asked. Hatshepsut thought she detected a note of jealousy. It was evil of her, but she rather liked the sound.

“Perhaps he thinks to woo you first.” Ti gave a wild grin.

“Trade my throne for a
wa’eb
priest and imperil the whole country?” Hatshepsut tsked as she picked up her stack of papyrus again. “He must be mad.”

“That jackal’s not a
wa’eb
anymore,” Neshi said. “He’s risen to Second Lector Priest in the temple of Amun now. Many of his supporters at court think it would be a good match, especially considering his lineage and former position as vizier.”

Hatshepsut cursed Thutmosis all the way in the Field of Reeds for elevating Mensah to vizier. She might have confiscated Mensah’s wealth and property, but his family was ancient. He’d always have friends in high places.

Ti whistled. “Perhaps he’s deluded himself into believing his pedigree and your crown might be a better combination to continue the dynasty than little Tutmose.”

“Facing a stake in Waset’s square might change his mind.” Senenmut crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, testing her.

“No. Send him to the fortress at Buhen,” she said. “He can govern it for all I care, but get him out of Waset before he does anything he’ll regret. That should teach him a lesson.”

“A geography lesson, certainly.” Ti laughed. “Buhen’s the edge of the civilized world.”

“Precisely.” She gave a wicked grin. “And there’s nothing to say he’ll actually make it that far.”

There were all sorts of dangers on the road to Buhen—lions, snakes, and bandits, to name only a few. Maybe his horse would step in a scorpion hole and throw him along the way. In any case, she wouldn’t waste more time or energy on the fool.

She scanned the figures Ti had added at the bottom of his papyrus. Her eyes widened at the amount of copper the governor of Sinai promised to send. “The treasury will overflow this year.”

Ti chuckled. “We might have to build a bigger treasure house just for the copper.”

Neshi peered over her shoulder and let out a low whistle. “Lucky us.”

“This calls for a celebration.” Hatshepsut motioned to one of the boy-slaves waiting outside. Moments later, a wonderful vintage of date-palm wine appeared with four blue faience glasses.

“To Hapi, the fat old Man of the Fishes!” They pounded their glasses on the table. The wine tasted of earth and air, dates, and a hint of honey. “May the god of the Nile bless us with another bountiful Inundation and harvest next year!”

The four of them sipped their wine as they chipped away at the mountain of papyrus scrolls. Hatshepsut traveled her way up the Nile through the ledgers as the hours slipped by, moving farther away from the City of Truth with each
nome
’s accounts. Finally, as slaves came in to light the lamps, she gave voice to an idea that had blossomed slowly in her mind.

“Tutmose and I should take a journey down the Nile. A royal procession to celebrate our victory in Nubia.”

And to boost her own popularity with her people.

The men’s brushes stopped moving and they all looked up at her.

“That’s a good idea,” Senenmut said after a moment. “An extremely good idea.”

“It’s not often that the
rekhyt
get to see the living god or regent,” Ti said. “And Osiris Thutmosis never went on procession.”

“My father never had a chance either,” Hatshepsut added. “He took me to visit some of the religious centers near Waset when I was young, but that’s as close as he got to a true procession.”

“He had his military campaigns,” Neshi said. “That gave the people a chance to see their pharaoh and his might. But that was a decade ago. A procession is long overdue.”

“How big would your entourage be? And how long would you be gone?” Ti was already sketching a long column of figures.

“I’m not sure how long.” She thought for a moment. “Several weeks? The Nile is sluggish at this time of year. The group should be small—myself, Aset, some servants and guards.”

“The children?” Senenmut asked.

Hatshepsut nodded. “Of course.”

“And your favorite Chancellor and Treasurer,” Neshi said.

Hatshepsut grinned. “That goes without saying. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s certainly workable,” Ti said.

Their easy acceptances pleased Hatshepsut. “Appropriate the funds, and we’ll be on our way as soon as Isis ceases her tears and the Nile recedes.” Her stomach rumbled; she realized she hadn’t eaten since the morning meal with the children. “Shall we continue this tomorrow?”

“We’ll be here before Re wakes,” Ti said.

She stood, eager to tell Aset and the children about the procession. The children’s tutors would have to join them for so long a trip, or Tutmose and Neferure would fall behind in their lessons. A tutor schooled in military traditions had been acquired for Tutmose shortly after Senenmut’s arrival, but Senenmut was still officially Neferure’s tutor, despite his absence while in Nubia.

Hatshepsut stopped with a start. If both the children’s tutors came, Senenmut would travel on the same ship with her, the two of them confined in very close quarters for weeks on end.

There was no way they’d be able to keep their secret for much longer.

•   •   •

The day of embarkation dawned crisp and clear. Three cedar boats with Horus’ giant gold eyes emblazoned on their hulls sat at the dock, red and white royal pennants listless as they waited for the breeze. Hatshepsut, Aset, the children, and their servants would sail on the first boat, with the courtiers on the second. The final barge would carry a stable of goats and oxen ready to be slaughtered for the expedition’s dinners, and a floating kitchen to prepare the majority of their meals. All that remained now was for the passengers to board.

Hatshepsut’s loose traveling sheath brushed her legs as she made her way to the royal nursery to collect the children. Aset was helping her son pack the last of his carved wooden soldiers for their journey.

“One is missing,” she said to Hatshepsut, looking slightly frayed as she smoothed the braids of her wig. “It’s been a crisis.”