Daughter of the Gods (9 page)

Hatshepsut refused to dignify that comment with a response. Instead, she turned and stormed out the door.

•   •   •

The clay pot shattered into a myriad of rainbow pieces. Shards of striped azure and carnelian rained upon the royal dais, the delicate dust settling on Hatshepsut’s painted hands.

“Love your wife.” The priest intoned the common maxim to Thutmosis. “Fill her belly, clothe her back. Make her happy while you are alive and you will profit from her womb. Neither judge her nor raise her to a position of power.”

The horde of assembled courtiers erupted into a deafening chorus of cheers, but to Hatshepsut it seemed as if she were far off in the Western Valley. Only the faintest murmur of the screaming masses penetrated her senses. Someone grabbed her cold hand and lifted her arm in a gesture of jubilation. The murmuring of the crowd grew louder until the monstrous reality broke upon Hatshepsut all at once.

Neither judge her nor raise her to a position of power.

She looked at the man who held her arm so triumphantly aloft, as if he were carrying the severed hand of some barbarian recently conquered. But this golden man at her side was no warrior.

He was her brother.

And now he was her husband.

Hatshepsut glanced down at her gown. The fine film of dust that had settled upon her bathed her tangibly in her own marriage. Her eyes strayed for the briefest moment to the opaque smudge on her arm; its missing gold dust likely still clung to Senenmut’s arm. Damnable man—she wished a scorpion might sting him in his sleep or a hippo would overturn his boat one day and crush him in its jaws. He deserved a long, drawn-out death.

At her feet lay the jagged edges of what remained of the clay pot. Made of the finest silt dredged from the depths of the Nile and painted with vibrant blues and reds, it was inscribed with formal prayers in stiff hieroglyphs. Before the brief ceremony Hatshepsut had spared a glance at some of them—typical wedding prayers to be sent on the winds to the gods as soon as the pottery shattered.

May your wife give you a son while you are youthful.

May your home be blessed with peace and prosperity.

May your husband treat you as a treasure—clothe you, feed you, and keep you in your old age.

The petitions were trite, hollow supplications made since time immemorial at the cold granite feet of the gods. Instead, she prayed for Amun’s guidance to keep her place beside the Isis Throne and pleaded with Hathor to grant her patience as she became Thut’s wife.

“You could smile.” Thut muttered the words through his teeth as he shook her arm, encouraging louder roars from the ocean of nobility that stretched before them.

She formed her lips into a smile so wide she feared her face would crack. After an eternity the crowd quieted for the speech from the pharaoh and his Great Royal Wife.

“Gathered friends,” Thut began. “It is a great honor to have you witness the union of Amun’s beloved children. We promise to serve you dutifully and guide Egypt into its golden age!”

Then he paused and looked to Hatshepsut.

She stepped forward. “May the gods eternally bless Egypt as they have seen fit to bless the children of Osiris Tutmose today. Join us in the banquet hall to celebrate this great gift from the gods. Wine, food, and dancing for all!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and waved palm fronds as Hatshepsut led Thut from the dais. He had forgone his cane today, so she had to slow her pace to match his, letting him lean on her while maintaining the illusion that he was walking on his own. They waited while the spectators filed into the formal dining hall.

“You did well,” said Ahmose at Hatshepsut’s side, her cinnamon-colored eyes warm with pride. “As I knew you would.”

“Thank you.” Hatshepsut blinked once to ease the stinging in her eyes. She was saved from having to find her voice as Mutnofret pulled Hatshepsut into a smothering hug.

“My daughter! You’ve made me so happy today.” Mutnofret’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “But not as happy as I’ll be when you deliver my first grandson. This has been a day blessed by the gods.”

It hardly seemed possible, but Mutnofret had gained even more weight since Osiris Tutmose’s death; her honeyed rolls had added a third chin to her repertoire. She was beginning to resemble one of her favorite desserts—a huge brown date with no discernable waist or neck.

“The honor is all mine,” Hatshepsut said. She tried to step back even as she was enveloped in another myrrh-drenched hug.

“Thutmosis!” Mutnofret released Hatshepsut and yanked her son into her arms. “When are you going to make me a grandmother?”

“As soon as we can.” Thut offered a warm smile as Mutnofret cackled. Hatshepsut prayed with renewed fervor for Amun to grant her strength.

A herald shuffled before them and bent into a deep
henu
. His ancient bones creaked as he rose. “The guests await their pharaoh and Great Royal Wife.”

“We’re ready.” Thut took Hatshepsut’s hand and kissed it, leaving a film of saliva on her skin. She resisted wiping it off.

The herald opened the door to the banquet hall and banged his heavy staff on the floor to quiet the courtiers. He announced the wives of Osiris Tutmose with little fanfare, but then it was time for the first presentation of the pharaoh and his new wife.

The herald’s voice bludgeoned the silence with the titles of the new pharaoh and his Great Royal Wife.
“
Aakheperenre Thutmosis, great is the manifestation of Re, the strong bull, the great one, divine of kingship, powerful of forms, Thutmosis
,
Thoth is born!” He continued on. “Eldest great daughter,
lady of the Two Lands,
King’s Great Wife, Hatshepsut!”

Thut pulled Hatshepsut into the banquet room. Re’s light spilled from skylights to illuminate the painted images of gods carved amongst the pillars. The nine ancient gods and much of Egypt’s younger pantheon bore witness to this royal celebration from their granite columns: falcon-headed Horus; Re, wearing his sun-disk crown; green-faced Osiris; Hathor with her cow ears; and Isis, the goddess of many names. The guests erupted into cheers at the sight of their two new leaders. Hatshepsut played along until she caught sight of the one man in the room who was not celebrating.

Senenmut.

His penetrating gaze shifted to her. He gave a stiff bow and then melted back into the crowd of nobility.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur—platters piled high with roast ox and river fowl dressed in their own feathers, acrobats contorting their bodies into impossible poses, and harps and sistrums played to sustain the jubilation. The oiled bodies of naked dancers gyrated, and the pharaoh’s best wine flowed freely. Mensah was there, dressed in his finest linens and wearing almost as much gold as the royal family. The last son of Egypt’s eldest family stood surrounded by all the up-and-coming young men of court, as if he were a pharaoh in his own right. His ancient father had been sickly of late and had received permission from Thutmosis to retire to their family estates prior to the wedding. Rumors already flew as to whether Mensah would replace his father, but it seemed strange that he hadn’t yet pressed the issue with Thutmosis, at least not that Hatshepsut had heard of. But then she hadn’t seen Mensah since the day she’d attended the Court of Reeds. In fact, it seemed Mensah was doing his best to ignore her even now, keeping his eyes on the pretty acrobats while reigning over his followers. Perhaps she was finally rid of him.

The room filled with the overpowering scents of roasted meats, sweat-slicked bodies, and the melting perfume cones worn on the heads of men and women alike. No one appeared to notice if Hatshepsut’s smiles ever rang true.

After sunset, Sitre escorted Hatshepsut away from the banquet and returned her to her chambers. The old
menat
exchanged the golden wedding finery for a loose white sheath—one so delicately woven as to be transparent—and took away the wig and jewels that denoted her new position. Even Sekhmet’s jasper amulet came off, leaving her naked and vulnerable.

Sitre folded the gold wedding sheath, worry written plan in the lines knit above her brows. “Hatshepsut, do you know what Thutmosis will expect of you tonight?”

A nervous laugh bubbled in Hatshepsut’s throat. She nodded.

Sitre clasped Hatshepsut’s hand. “It will hurt for a moment, but the pain will pass. I’m sure the pharaoh will be gentle.”

Hatshepsut could only stare. She’d given Mensah her maidenhead; it had never occurred to her that Thut would wonder why she came to him already a woman.

Sitre stroked Hatshepsut’s short curls. “I’ve never seen you so terrified.”

“I’m not terrified,” Hatshepsut snapped. “I want this to be over.”

“Soon,
sherit
.” Sitre frowned and shot her a look akin to pity. Then she bowed and left.

Hatshepsut perched on the edge of her bed and clutched the plush mattress like one of the caged doves in the palace aviary. Time was not kind. Each moment dragged into eternity—it was all she could do to sit still while she waited for Thut. She jumped at every noise, and her stomach mimicked the acrobats at the feast, contorting into impossible positions.

The ebony door creaked open and Hatshepsut jerked to her feet, her heart pounding like a drum before battle. A head poked around the heavy panel, and Hatshepsut sank back into the mattress. “Mouse! What in the name of Amun are you doing here?”

“He’s on his way,
Hemet
. The pharaoh just left his chambers.” Mouse bit her lip. “I know I shouldn’t say anything, but Sitre told me you were nervous. You don’t have to worry, at least not if the girl-slaves in the kitchens are to be believed. They say the pharaoh is a lamb in bed.” She winked. “A quick lamb.”

Hatshepsut exhaled slowly, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Thank you, Mouse.”

The attendant scurried out after making a tiny
henu
. Hatshepsut stood and turned around, but the sight that greeted her only made things worse. Stretched out before her was what would shortly become her bed of torture. Soon those linens would be twisted around naked limbs as Thut became her husband in body as well as name. She almost wished she came to Thut a virgin tonight and that she hadn’t known such heights of pleasure with Mensah, for surely she’d never know such passion again. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the door open.

“You looked beautiful today.” Thut’s low murmur in her ear sent a jolt of shock through her body. Hatshepsut jumped, but before she could pull away, her brother’s arms bound her to his chest.

“Gods, but you scared me!” Hatshepsut stepped away from him, burned by his touch.

“Hardly the reaction I intended, sister.” Thut’s eyes traced the lines of Hatshepsut’s body through her sheath and he gave a satisfied sigh. “The sight of you makes me feel as if I’m drunk without wine.”

And yet, she could smell the wine on his breath. She sent another silent prayer to Hathor as Thut laid down his cane and stepped closer. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

“No.” She swallowed hard. “Are you?”

Even in the moonlight, she could make out the flush that spread across his cheeks. “A little. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Hatshepsut tried to relax, shoving unwelcome thoughts from her head. She had written her future in her mind without even giving Thut an opportunity to prove himself; there was still a chance that he might surprise her, that she might find happiness with him. She forced a smile. “I’m a lucky woman.”

Thut untied the gilded rope that held his kilt, the silhouette of his manhood hard and erect. His hands felt clammy as he undid the strings at her shoulders and let her sheath fall in a heap at her feet. She fought the urge to cover herself. “And I’m a lucky man,” he said, running his fingers over her nipples.

She shivered, but he touched his lips to hers, picked her up, and managed to carry her to bed despite his limp. He laid her out on the feather mattress as if making a precious offering to the gods, spread her legs, and entered her with one swift stroke.

And even as he filled her body, Hatshepsut cried out at the emptiness that overwhelmed her
ka.

Great Royal Wife

1492
BC
–1488
BC

The kisses of my beloved are on the other bank of the river,

A branch of the stream floweth between us,

A crocodile lurketh on the sandbank.

But I step down into the water and plunge into the flood.

—EIGHTEENTH DYNASTY LOVE SONG

YEAR ONE OF PHARAOH THUTMOSIS II

H
atshepsut awoke to darkened chambers and the soft snores of her husband beside her.

Husband.

It was a foreign word, a weight that couldn’t possibly belong to her. And yet it did.

She had lain awake long after Thut had sated his desire, and now her abused body protested even the slightest movement. A flicker of consternation had marred his features when he had first entered her, and then he had lost himself, finally stiffening with a grunt and falling upon her. Several times during the night, Hatshepsut had woken to the sensation of his fingers at the cleft of her legs, and she had done everything in her power to bring him to a speedy climax. She hoped she would soon find herself with child and could beg off this portion of her marital duties.

She pulled the rumpled sheath over her head and slipped from bed. Her brother’s chest rose and fell with each muted snore, his jaw prickly with a day’s worth of stubble. He might sleep through the priests’ hymns as Re rose, but she wouldn’t waste the day in bed.

Turning away, Hatshepsut ran her hands over her scalp, still burning from the monstrosity of a wig she’d endured all yesterday. She planned to sneak out undetected, but the door’s hinges gave a shuddering groan.

“Leaving so soon?” Thut’s voice was thick with sleep.

“I have things to attend to,” she said. The first item on the list was to have the door oiled. “Shall I send your slaves to see to you?”

She’d sacrifice a vial of myrrh to Hathor if she managed to escape without Thut demanding an encore of last night’s performance.

He interlaced his fingers behind his head and reclined against the wall. “Send Mensah to meet me in my apartments instead.”

“Mensah?”

“I’ve elevated Imhotep’s son to the position of Cupbearer of the King. Their family is the highest in the Two Lands, at least after ours. It seemed only fair, after his father’s retirement.”

Hatshepsut choked but turned it into a cough. She’d have preferred that Thut make Mensah governor of one of Egypt’s provinces, preferably one at the ends of the kingdom. Now he’d be constantly underfoot.

Thut yawned. “Tell him to bring breakfast so we can discuss the trade agreements with the Akkadians. I’m starving.”

“Of course,” Hatshepsut said. The priests of Re had begun their hymns on the other side of the gate to the Hall of Women, their faint chants welcoming the sun god and praising his success in defeating Apep, the god of darkness and chaos, throughout the night. She was almost out the door when Thut stopped her.

“Oh, and sister—”

“Yes?” She wanted to get out of there and take a bath. A very long bath. And when she returned to her chambers she wanted Thut gone. And the sheets changed.

“No more work. You have only one job now.”

Naked, he crossed the room to wrap her in a tight embrace, then stepped back and stroked her flat stomach to the bones of her hips. “You might already carry Egypt’s heir. I don’t want you overtaxing yourself and jeopardizing your health.”

“Of course, brother,” she assured him. Perhaps a few weeks of running their kingdom alone would convince him of how much he needed her help.

“Good.” He grinned. “And I wouldn’t want you worn out this evening, would I?”

Hatshepsut managed a smile. This was to be her life now, at least until Thut could get a son on her. If that was the solution to reclaiming her bed, then she would do everything in her power to ensure that she became pregnant as soon as possible.

Sitre waited for her across the courtyard in the empty bathing pavilion, buckets of hot water already prepared and fresh linens laid out. Thut had retired all their father’s women to their various estates, allowing only Ahmose and his own mother to remain, out of respect for their stations as wives of the former pharaoh. The sunny courtyard that had hummed with the idle gossip of Egypt’s faded flowers echoed instead with the angry slap of Hatshepsut’s sandals.

“You’re a godsend.” Hatshepsut didn’t wait for help undressing, but pulled her sheath over her head while Sitre poured the pails of steaming water into the waiting granite tub, a gift from the Cretan ambassador. She sank into the warm water, unable to stop the groan of pleasure that escaped her lips. “I’m not getting out of here all day.”

“Then I’ll tell Senenmut he’ll have to brief you out here on all of his building plans,” Sitre teased as she added a mixture of juniper oil and milk to the bath.

Hatshepsut was glad the water was hot, a good excuse for the sudden heat in her cheeks. “And the Akkadian ambassador,” she said. “Perhaps the thought of negotiating trade agreements over a bath would throw him off enough for me to secure all the cedar I want.”

Her stress melted away as the juniper relaxed her tense muscles. Morning sunlight danced on the water’s surface, and Sitre buzzed about the pavilion like a giant dragonfly on a mission, stopping here and there to straighten a pot or fold a towel while she hummed a little tune to herself. It was a song Hatshepsut remembered from her childhood, an old lullaby Sitre would sing to her before she drifted off.

The sweet one, sweet in love in the presence of the king,

The king’s daughter who is sweet in love,

The fairest among women, a maid whose like none has seen.

Hatshepsut grimaced. That was enough of that.

“Sitre?”

“Hmm?” Her old
menat
didn’t look up, but continued to arrange the clay pots of various unguents and bath oils, some of which smelled like a flower garden in full bloom and others a pungent animal musk.

“If I needed something, some sort of potion to help me conceive faster, do you think you could find one?”

She felt ridiculous asking, but knowing from experience that there were ways to avoid unwanted pregnancies, she figured there had to be ways to speed the process.

“You’re that eager to get Thutmosis out of your bed?”

Not only that—a son of Thut’s would guarantee she’d never be shoved into obscurity. A son meant power for any wife of the pharaoh.

Hatshepsut picked at a flaw in the granite tub with her nail. “I don’t know how many nights of it I can take.”

“I’ve heard some women travel to the temple of Hathor and expose themselves publicly to the statue of the goddess.”

“Does that work?”

“I’m not sure.” Sitre shrugged and replaced the lid on a silver pot shaped like a pomegranate. “You’re young. It won’t take long for you to find yourself heavy with child, but there’s an old crone in the city who may be able to help. She was once a chantress in the temple of Isis.”

“So she dabbles in magic?”

“I’ve heard more than one woman swear Djeseret helped her conceive.”

Hatshepsut stood and accepted the linen towel Sitre held out for her. The bathwater pearled on her skin as she stepped from the tub. “If you could arrange a meeting with this Djeseret—”

“I’ll seek her out today.” Sitre helped her dry off. “You’ll soon be heavy with child. Then you’ll barely fit on your bed alone, much less with the pharaoh.”

•   •   •

That evening Hatshepsut sat alone in her rooms, curled up before the brazier as the merry fire warded off the night’s chill. It was the season of Peret, when fresh mud bricks were laid out to dry and pale green seedlings stretched their faces to touch Re’s warmth. A time of new beginnings.

The crickets chirped their nightly song in the garden while the fire popped and crackled inside. Mouse had snuck Hatshepsut the tribute ledgers from the northern governors earlier in the day, and the seasonal tribute from the Sinai had just been received. Hatshepsut had spent much of the evening happily reconciling the current ledgers for the Royal Treasury to determine how much could be spared for Senenmut’s building projects in the south. There would be plenty for the temples as well as enough to start building tombs for her and Thut on the West Bank. Hatshepsut planned to be buried near their father, but she had yet to discuss the idea with her brother. He’d likely tell her to focus more on creating life and less on dying.

She knew she should stop for the evening, but the thought of Thut waiting for her kept her in her chair. Mensah had already breached the inner sanctuary of her office once this evening to coolly remind Hatshepsut of her appointment with her brother, but she’d sent him away with an earful of sharp words. She was even less impressed with her former lover now that Thut had promoted Mensah and he was able to order her about. Still she lingered.

Gentle footsteps alerted her to someone’s approach. Mensah had likely come with orders to fetch her this time. An excuse ready to fly from her lips, Hatshepsut was surprised to see Sitre enter the dimly lit office. Her dark face blended into the shadows so that it was impossible to read her expression.

“I’ve brought Djeseret as you requested,
Hemet
,” Sitre murmured. “I’ll see that you are not disturbed.”

“Thank you.”

A hunchbacked figure swathed in a white linen cloak shuffled into the room. An ancient hand spotted with age and tipped with ragged fingernails reached from the hidden folds of the rough fabric to push back the hood. The crone’s face was as white as the room was black. Skin, hair—everything except her eyes. One eyelid drooped to obscure its rheumy pupil and the other sparkled bright with the color of freshly spilled blood. The hag’s decrepit face was littered with deep canyons; wrinkles crisscrossed jowls hanging from old bones.

She was albino.

No wonder the woman was credited with great powers. Those like her received special gifts from Isis, the goddess of mothers and magic.

Unbidden, the gnarled woman sank into a chair with a great exhalation. Hatshepsut could smell the reek of garlic and onion along with something else, an herb she couldn’t put a name to.

“Thank you for coming to see me,” Hatshepsut began, but the witch held up a hand to stop her.

“Your
menat
tells me you need to quicken your womb.” Djeseret’s voice belied her age, as smooth as honey and filled with the cadence of youth.

At least the woman wasn’t going to waste her time.

“If that’s possible.”

“Oh, it’s possible.” The crone cackled at some joke known only to her. “Anything is possible with Isis’ help.”

“Of course,” Hatshepsut said. “I’m just glad the great goddess has seen fit to send you to me. With Isis’ good graces, how long do you think it will take before I conceive?”

“Isis works on her own timetable,
Hemet
. I only stoke the embers, not predict when they’ll flame.” Djeseret stood and retrieved two burnished snake wands from her robe and slowly traced Hatshepsut’s body. Their silver tongues seemed to flicker in the firelight. She stopped, then a clawed hand retrieved a small green bag emblazoned with the golden scarab, the symbol of rebirth. “Brew these herbs into a tea and drink it each morning as you break your fast. It will soften your womb and allow your husband’s seed to take root.”

Hatshepsut took the bag and sniffed carefully. The notes of nettle, anise, and fennel filled her nose. “Will this work?”

The wattle of flesh under Djeseret’s jaw swayed as she chortled. She reached into her cloak once more and pulled out a tiny ivory statue of Hathor and an amulet depicting the fertility god Min. The god’s giant phallus was unmistakable as it stood at attention. She eyed the jasper insignia of the Sekhmet at Hatshepsut’s neck. “The lion goddess of death does not welcome new life,
Hemet.
”

Hatshepsut reluctantly unclasped the necklace, tucking its warmth into her palm.

“Wear this at all times,” Djeseret instructed, handing Hatshepsut the amulet. “If you pray faithfully to Min, Hathor, and Isis they will grant your wish.”

Hatshepsut took the cold stone in her other hand. “Thank you.” She expected the audience to end, but Djeseret remained. The crimson eye scrutinized Hatshepsut, making her feel as if beetles were crawling up her flesh. “Is there something more?”

When Djeseret finally spoke her voice was hauntingly low, with an otherworldly vibration. “You have a unique path before you, my child, one not tread by most mortals. Most of us walk the earth and are swept into obscurity soon after our life is spent. But not you.” Djeseret’s unblinking red eye remained focused on her. “Not you.”

Hatshepsut’s heart pounded. “I don’t know what you mean. I am only the wife of—”

“
Your
name will live forever.” The unwavering voice cut her off. “You shall do great things while you walk this land. When you pass to the West your eternal name shall be repeated for generations.”

Hatshepsut could find no words to answer the woman. It was Thut’s name that was to be lauded through the ages while hers became a whisper in time, a woman’s curse. And yet what Djeseret prophesied was entirely different, intoxicating, even.

“And my brother?” she asked, but Djeseret silenced her with a wave of her hand.

“There is more, a price Isis shall extract from you in exchange for this great gift.” Djeseret’s voice was detached, disembodied from her eerie white body. “The gods will pour down a storm upon you from which you cannot emerge. While your name shall be repeated for all eternity, your praises sung, and your everlasting
ka
safe throughout the ages, your mortal life shall take a twisted path.”

Hatshepsut sat back as if stung. “A twisted path? What does that mean?”

“You shall be the downfall of those you love.” Djeseret’s voice was a strangled whisper. “Egypt will prosper, but those closest to you shall find only anguish and ruin.”

Hatshepsut sputtered in protest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Djeseret blinked once, then heaved her ancient bones to stand. “The gods don’t ask permission before they cast your fate,
Hemet
. You have no control over your destiny.”

“I will not cause those I love to suffer, no matter what you believe.” The heat of Sekhmet’s angry breath filled her mind as she glared at the woman. “Find your own way out. Sitre will pay you for the herbs.”

The old crone bowed slightly before covering her dingy hair and limping silently from the room. Hatshepsut stood alone in her cold office; the fire in the brazier had burned out sometime during the audience. Djeseret’s words pummeled her like a multitude of fists.